Chapter 3 - The Maid Who Lied
“Explain.”
Enzo remained standing across from my desk.
“Clara Bennett was married to Marco Ferretti for four years.”
I looked again at the photograph.
Marco had been smiling.
I remembered him differently.
A sharp young man with his father's arrogance but none of his patience. He had died eighteen months earlier when his car plunged through a guardrail outside Albany.
An accident.
At least, that was what everyone had been told.
“Why is Marco's widow cleaning bedrooms in my house?”
“That,” Enzo said, “is something I haven't discovered yet.”
“And Rosie?”
“Marco's daughter.”
The answer changed everything.
Don Ferretti's granddaughter had just promised to marry me.
Under different circumstances, I might have appreciated the irony.
Instead, I remembered Clara's bruised wrist.
“Bring her here.”
Ten minutes later, Clara entered alone.
She had changed out of her uniform and into a plain cream sweater and jeans. Her expression told me she already knew.
“You investigated me.”
“Yes.”
“Because my daughter wandered into your study?”
“Because you lied to me.”
“I never lied.”
“You called yourself Bennett.”
“That is my maiden name.”
“You neglected to mention Ferretti.”
Her jaw tightened.
“You never asked.”
I almost admired the answer.
Almost.
“Sit.”
“I'd rather stand.”
“Fine.”
I placed Marco's photograph on the desk.
“Why are you here?”
“To work.”
“Try again.”
Her eyes flashed.
“I needed a job where my father-in-law wouldn't look for me.”
“Then hiding in the home of his greatest rival was either brilliant or suicidal.”
“Both.”
“Why is Ferretti looking for you?”
Clara said nothing.
I rolled closer.
“Who bruised your wrist?”
She folded her arms.
“Mr. Vitali—”
“Lorenzo.”
“That seems inappropriate.”
“My five-year-old fiancée would disagree.”
Her mouth twitched.
The smile vanished quickly.
Then she looked toward the door.
“Rosie doesn't know who her grandfather is.”
“Why?”
“Because I want her to grow up.”
Three words.
They changed the air.
I waited.
Clara finally sat.
“Marco wasn't like his father when we met. Or maybe I was young enough to believe that.”
Her hands clasped tightly.
“After Rosie was born, Marco started trying to leave the family business. He began collecting evidence. Financial records. Names. Payments. Politicians. Police officers.”
“Against his father?”
She nodded.
“He wanted us gone.”
“And then he died.”
“He was murdered.”
I studied her.
“You can prove that?”
“Marco knew he was being watched. The night before he died, he gave me a key and told me that if anything happened to him, I should disappear with Rosie.”
“What does the key open?”
“I don't know.”
I stared.
“You've had it eighteen months and never discovered that?”
“I tried. Marco told me never to trust anyone connected to either family.”
“Either?”
Her gaze met mine.
“Ferretti or Vitali.”
That landed harder than I expected.
“Why Vitali?”
“I don't know.”
She stood.
“That's why I came here.”
“To investigate me?”
“To figure out whether Marco was right.”
Anger stirred in my chest.
“You brought your daughter into the house of a man you suspected of helping murder your husband?”
“I brought her into the most protected house in New York.”
That answer stopped me.
Clara's eyes filled, but she refused to cry.
“Don Ferretti already found us twice. The first time, I moved. The second time, someone broke into our apartment while Rosie was sleeping.”
“The bruise?”
“Yesterday.”
My voice became very quiet.
“He touched you?”
“His men did.”
“What did they want?”
“The key.”
“Do they have it?”
“No.”
“Where is it?”
Clara looked toward the hallway.
My stomach tightened.
“No.”
She nodded.
“Inside Rosie's silver bell.”
The wedding favor.
The one sitting on my desk.
I turned.
The bell was gone.
I pressed the intercom.
“Enzo.”
No answer.
Again.
“Enzo.”
Nothing.
Then the estate lights went out.
Clara jumped.
I reached beneath my desk and removed a pistol.
“Stay behind me.”
“You're in a wheelchair.”
I looked at her.
“And?”
Despite the fear in her face, Clara almost smiled.
A gunshot exploded downstairs.
Then another.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Vitali.”
Don Ferretti's voice came through.
“You've taken something that belongs to me.”
My eyes went to Clara.
“She isn't property.”
“I wasn't talking about Clara.”
A pause.
“The key.”
“What does it open?”
Ferretti laughed softly.
“Ask the woman who left you at the altar.”
The line disconnected.
Clara stared at me.
“What did he say?”
Before I could answer, footsteps rushed down the corridor.
The door opened.
Enzo appeared with blood on his collar.
“Sir.”
“Where's Rosie?”
His face told me before his mouth did.
“She isn't with you?”
Clara went white.
“No.”
May you like
Then we heard a child scream from somewhere below us.
“Mommy!”
