Chapter 1 — The Girl Who Was Afraid of Losing Her Mother’s Job
Chapter 1 — The Girl Who Was Afraid of Losing Her Mother’s Job
“But do you own her?”
The question followed Alessandro Moretti long after the sedan left Fifth Avenue.
Rain streaked the windows beside him, turning Manhattan into a city of blurred lights and shadows. Normally, he found the rhythm of rain calming. Tonight, every drop seemed to repeat the same sentence.
Do you own her?
Emma Delgado sat beside him in the oversized gray uniform her mother wore to work.
Her sneakers were wet.
One shoelace was untied.
The sleeve of the uniform covered half her hand.
She looked impossibly small inside the back seat of the black Mercedes.
Yet she had managed to make every man in Alessandro's study uncomfortable without raising her voice once.
He glanced at her.
She was staring out the window.
“Your mother works hard,” he said.
Emma nodded.
“She always does.”
“She shouldn't be afraid of losing her job.”
Emma looked at him.
“But she is.”
Alessandro didn't answer.
“She says you're not mean,” Emma continued.
He raised an eyebrow.
“She says I'm dangerous.”
From the driver's seat, Marco Rizzi remained perfectly still.
Alessandro looked at him through the rearview mirror.
Marco's eyes stayed on the road.
Emma continued.
“But she says dangerous doesn't always mean bad.”
Alessandro leaned back.
“Your mother told you that?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Last winter.”
“Why?”
“I asked why you have men with guns.”
Marco's hands tightened slightly around the steering wheel.
Alessandro almost smiled.
Almost.
“What did she tell you?”
Emma thought carefully.
“She said rich people need protection.”
“Is that what she believes?”
“No.”
Alessandro looked at her.
“What does she believe?”
“She says people with secrets need protection.”
The smile disappeared.
Alessandro turned toward the window.
Sophia Delgado was supposed to be a quiet employee.
Reliable.
Invisible.
The kind of person who arrived before everyone else and left after everyone else.
She cleaned rooms.
Polished silver.
Washed windows.
Folded linens.
She had never caused trouble.
She had never asked for favors.
She had never complained.
Alessandro suddenly wondered whether he had mistaken silence for contentment.
His phone vibrated.
Marco's voice came from the front.
“Boss.”
Alessandro checked the screen.
A message from his security director.
Sophia's medical records confirmed. Severe pneumonia. Doctors say she should have been hospitalized earlier.
Alessandro frowned.
He typed one word.
Why?
The answer came quickly.
She delayed treatment because she couldn't afford to miss work.
His jaw tightened.
He looked at Emma.
She was humming quietly.
She didn't know.
Or perhaps she did.
Children knew more than adults gave them credit for.
“Emma.”
“Yes?”
“Does your mother often worry about money?”
Emma nodded.
“She counts coins.”
“How often?”
“Every night.”
“What does she count them for?”
“Rent.”
Alessandro stared at the back of the driver's seat.
“Does she have enough?”
Emma shook her head.
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
“She says we're okay if we have cereal.”
Alessandro closed his eyes for a moment.
Cereal.
His refrigerator contained enough food to feed fifty people.
His wine cellar was worth more than Sophia's annual salary.
And a woman working inside his home had been choosing between rent and medical treatment.
Something about that felt wrong.
Very wrong.
When they arrived at St. Catherine Medical Center, two security men opened the doors.
Emma looked at them suspiciously.
“Do they come everywhere with you?”
“Usually.”
“Why?”
“Because of my work.”
“What work?”
Alessandro hesitated.
“Complicated work.”
Emma nodded as if that made perfect sense.
“My mom says grown-ups say complicated when they don't want children to know something.”
Marco coughed.
Alessandro looked at him.
“Are you laughing?”
“No, boss.”
“You are.”
“I'm trying not to.”
Emma smiled.
For the first time since she had entered the mansion, she looked like a normal six-year-old.
Then the hospital doors opened.
Her smile disappeared.
“Mommy.”
She ran inside.
Alessandro followed.
Sophia was awake when Emma entered.
The woman immediately tried to sit up.
“Emma?”
Her voice was weak.
Emma hurried to her.
“Mommy!”
Sophia wrapped both arms around her.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to work.”
Sophia pulled back.
“What?”
“I cleaned Mr. Moretti's study.”
Sophia stared at Alessandro.
Her face went white.
“I'm sorry.”
Alessandro stepped closer.
“Don't.”
“But she shouldn't have—”
“She was worried about you.”
Sophia's eyes filled with tears.
“I didn't want her to come.”
“I know.”
“I told her to stay with Mrs. Turner.”
“She left a note.”
Sophia closed her eyes.
“I should have known.”
“You couldn't breathe.”
“I thought it would pass.”
“It could have killed you.”
Sophia looked away.
“I couldn't lose my job.”
There it was again.
The sentence that had followed him all afternoon.
Alessandro pulled a chair closer.
“Why?”
Sophia didn't answer.
“Why were you so afraid?”
She looked at Emma.
Then at him.
“Because I have a daughter.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It is for a mother.”
Her voice cracked.
“If I lose my job, I lose my apartment. If I lose my apartment, Emma loses her school. If she loses her school…”
She stopped.
Alessandro understood.
Sophia didn't fear unemployment.
She feared the chain reaction.
One missed paycheck.
One late rent payment.
One eviction notice.
One child without stability.
One more thing falling apart.
She had been holding the entire structure together with two exhausted hands.
And no one had noticed.
Not even him.
“Your job is protected,” Alessandro said.
Sophia looked at him.
“For how long?”
“Until you recover.”
She hesitated.
“That's not enough.”
Alessandro's eyes narrowed.
“What would be enough?”
Sophia swallowed.
“I don't know.”
“Then let me decide.”
She looked confused.
“You're giving me paid medical leave.”
“Mr. Moretti—”
“Your hospital bills are covered.”
Her eyes widened.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I can't accept that.”
“You can.”
“I don't want charity.”
“It isn't charity.”
“What is it?”
“An employer correcting a failure.”
Sophia stared at him.
“What failure?”
“Mine.”
She said nothing.
Alessandro stood.
“You shouldn't have been afraid to get sick.”
Sophia looked down.
“I didn't know I was allowed.”
The words struck harder than he expected.
Allowed.
As though sickness required permission.
As though humanity was a privilege granted by employers.
Alessandro looked at Emma.
She was sitting beside her mother, holding her hand.
“Rest,” he said.
Sophia nodded.
He turned toward the door.
“Mr. Moretti?”
He stopped.
“Thank you.”
He glanced back.
“You don't need to thank me.”
“I do.”
“No.”
He looked at Emma.
“Just get better.”
Outside the room, Marco was waiting.
His expression had changed.
Alessandro knew that expression.
It meant trouble.
“What?”
Marco handed him a tablet.
“We found something.”
Alessandro scanned the screen.
It was Sophia's employment record.
At the bottom was a termination request.
Employee: Sophia Delgado.
Reason: repeated unreliability and unauthorized absences.
Alessandro looked up.
“Repeated?”
“She has no history of repeated absences.”
“Who submitted this?”
“That's what makes it strange.”
Marco swiped.
A second page appeared.
The termination request had been created three weeks earlier.
Alessandro's face hardened.
“Sophia wasn't sick three weeks ago.”
“No.”
“Who knew she might be absent?”
“No one.”
“Who authorized it?”
Marco didn't answer.
Alessandro looked at him.
“Marco.”
“The system says you did.”
Silence.
Alessandro stared at the screen.
“My account?”
“Yes.”
“My password?”
“Yes.”
“Was I in the system?”
“No.”
“Then someone used my credentials.”
“Yes.”
“Can you trace it?”
“We already did.”
“And?”
Marco looked toward the hospital room.
“The access came from the mansion.”
Alessandro's eyes narrowed.
“Which terminal?”
“Your study.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“There is more.”
Marco swiped again.
“The account was accessed twice.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“And?”
“Yesterday morning.”
Alessandro stared at the timestamp.
Yesterday morning.
Sophia had called in sick yesterday morning.
Someone had accessed his account at almost exactly the same time.
He looked toward Sophia's hospital room.
“Someone wanted her fired.”
“Yes.”
“Before she got sick.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We don't know.”
Alessandro's voice became colder.
“Find out.”
Marco nodded.
That night, Alessandro returned to the mansion.
He walked directly to his study.
The room looked different.
The desk was untouched.
The leather chair was empty.
But he could still picture Emma standing near the window.
Her little hand wrapped around a spray bottle.
Her mother's oversized uniform hanging from her shoulders.
He walked toward the window.
The chair was still there.
He touched the back.
Then noticed something.
A small white mark.
Almost invisible.
He crouched.
It wasn't a scratch.
It was a fingerprint.
A child's.
Alessandro stared at it.
Then his phone rang.
Marco.
“Boss.”
“Tell me.”
“We traced the access.”
“And?”
“It wasn't one of your employees.”
“Then who?”
“Someone used an old administrator account.”
“Whose?”
Marco hesitated.
“Your father's.”
Alessandro froze.
“My father died eighteen years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then how is his account active?”
“It shouldn't be.”
“Disable it.”
“We tried.”
“And?”
“It came back online.”
Alessandro's eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean someone is currently using it.”
Alessandro stood.
“Where?”
Marco's voice lowered.
“Inside the mansion.”
Alessandro looked toward the hallway.
“Which room?”
Another pause.
“The east wing.”
Alessandro's expression changed.
The east wing had been sealed since his father's death.
No one went there.
No servants.
No security.
No family.
Nothing.
His father had forbidden it.
When Alessandro was a child, he had once asked why.
His father had said only:
Some rooms are better left forgotten.
Alessandro had forgotten nothing.
He simply hadn't asked again.
Until now.
He walked toward the east staircase.
The mansion was silent.
Too silent.
The portraits of his ancestors watched him pass.
At the bottom of the staircase was an iron gate.
Locked.
He took out his master key.
The lock clicked.
The gate opened.
Dust filled the air.
Marco appeared behind him.
“You shouldn't go alone.”
“I won't.”
Alessandro looked at him.
“You're coming.”
Marco nodded.
They walked upward.
The air became colder.
At the end of the corridor stood an old wooden door.
A brass plaque hung above it.
The letters were faded.
But still readable.
NURSERY.
Alessandro stopped.
Marco looked at him.
“You knew?”
“No.”
“Your father had a nursery?”
“I didn't know.”
Alessandro reached for the handle.
Locked.
He tried his master key.
Nothing.
Marco pulled out his tools.
Thirty seconds later, the lock clicked.
The door opened.
Inside was a child's room frozen in time.
A small bed.
A rocking horse.
A wooden cabinet.
A shelf filled with old books.
A faded mobile hanging from the ceiling.
And photographs.
Dozens of them.
Alessandro stepped inside.
He walked toward the nearest photograph.
A woman stood beside the crib.
His mother.
She was holding a newborn baby.
Alessandro stared.
His mother had never had another child.
That was what he'd been told.
He picked up the photograph.
Written on the back were three words.
Elena. November 4.
His mother's handwriting.
Marco moved closer.
“Boss…”
Alessandro turned the photograph over.
A second picture was underneath.
His father.
Holding the same baby.
And beside him—
a much younger Sophia Delgado.
Alessandro's breathing stopped.
“Sophia.”
Marco stared.
“How old would Emma be?”
Alessandro looked at the date.
November 4.
Six years ago.
His blood went cold.
Emma had been born six years ago.
He looked at the crib.
Then the photographs.
Then the door.
Someone had been hiding something in this room for six years.
His phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
You should have left Sophia alone.
Another appeared.
Now the little girl is in danger too.
Alessandro's face became expressionless.
Then a third.
Ask Sophia who Emma's father really is.
He slowly lowered the phone.
Marco watched him.
“What does it say?”
Alessandro didn't answer.
He walked toward the old cabinet.
Opened it.
Inside was a file.
A single name was written across the front.
EMMA DELGADO.
Alessandro opened it.
The first page contained a photograph of Emma as a newborn.
The second contained Sophia's name.
The third contained a name he had never expected to see.
ELENA MORETTI.
Alessandro stared at the page.
His sister.
The sister his father had told him had died before he was born.
Except—
she hadn't.
At the bottom of the file was one final sentence.
IF EMMA ENTERS THE MORETTI HOUSE, THE TRUTH WILL COME WITH HER.
Alessandro closed the file.
For the first time in eighteen years, he understood why his father had locked the east wing.
It wasn't to keep people out.
It was to keep something inside.
And now—
that secret had walked through his front door wearing a gray cleaning uniform.
The secret had a name.
May you like
Emma.
And Alessandro Moretti was about to discover why someone was willing to destroy anyone who got too close to her.
