Chapter 2 - THE OLD MAN MOVED
Nora had almost reached the servants’ staircase when Mrs. Gable caught her by the wrist.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Nora flinched.
The older woman’s fingers landed directly over yesterday’s bruises.
“Room 4B.”
Mrs. Gable’s expression changed.
For half a second, something close to fear crossed her face.
Then it disappeared.
“Mr. Moretti is home. You are not to go anywhere near the east wing unless I tell you.”
“But John needs breakfast.”
“John?”
Mrs. Gable’s voice sharpened.
“You’ve gotten awfully familiar with a man who can’t even remember his own name.”
Nora stared at her.
“He remembers more than you think.”
The moment the words left her mouth, Mrs. Gable went still.
Nora hadn’t meant them as a threat.
But Mrs. Gable heard one.
“What exactly does that mean?”
“Nothing. I only meant that he responds sometimes.”
“Responds how?”
“His eyes. His fingers. Sometimes when I talk to him—”
Mrs. Gable tightened her grip.
“You listen to me carefully. That old man is severely impaired. Doctors established that years ago. Do not invent stories because you’re desperate for attention.”
Nora pulled her wrist free.
“I’m not inventing anything.”
“No. You’re forgetting your place.”
A voice came from behind them.
“What place would that be?”
Both women turned.
Lorenzo Moretti stood at the end of the corridor.
No bodyguards.
No overcoat.
Just black trousers, a charcoal shirt with the sleeves rolled once at the wrists, and those unsettling gray eyes.
Mrs. Gable recovered instantly.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“I asked you a question.”
Mrs. Gable smiled.
“Miss Hale and I were discussing staff responsibilities.”
Lorenzo’s gaze moved to Nora.
Then to her wrist.
Four purple marks were visible against her pale skin.
“Did staff responsibilities do that?”
Nora instinctively covered the bruises.
Mrs. Gable laughed nervously.
“She bruises very easily because of her pregnancy.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“I wasn’t asking you.”
Silence.
Nora’s heartbeat accelerated.
She could expose Mrs. Gable right there.
But exposing the head housekeeper meant losing her job.
Losing her job meant losing the room she rented in town.
And losing that room meant bringing Lily into the world with nowhere to go.
“I bumped into something,” Nora whispered.
Lorenzo watched her long enough to make it clear he didn’t believe her.
Then he stepped aside.
“Go.”
Nora hurried toward the stairs.
She could feel his eyes following her.
Twenty minutes later, she entered room 4B carrying eggs, toast, fruit, and hot tea.
“Morning, John.”
Giovanni sat where she had left him.
She smiled despite her exhaustion.
“Your son is terrifying.”
His eyes shifted toward her.
Nora laughed quietly.
“Oh, don't look offended. You know he is.”
She placed the tray down.
“Everyone practically stops breathing when he enters a room.”
Giovanni’s fingers twitched.
“Although,” Nora added, “he asked about you before anything else.”
The old man’s eyes moved toward the door.
“He loves you.”
Something flickered across Giovanni’s face.
Nora warmed his hands between hers.
“You’re lucky.”
Then her smile weakened.
“Lily won’t have that.”
A sudden knock interrupted her.
Nora turned.
Lorenzo stood in the doorway.
She immediately rose.
“I’m sorry. Mrs. Gable told me—”
He wasn’t looking at her.
He was looking at the room.
At the burning fireplace.
At the fresh flowers Nora had placed on the windowsill.
At the thick blanket over his father’s legs.
At the bowl of sliced oranges.
Then at Giovanni.
Something in Lorenzo’s face softened.
Only slightly.
“Who did this?”
Nora swallowed.
“I did.”
“The flowers?”
“Yes.”
“The blanket?”
“Yes.”
He touched it.
“This isn’t from the estate.”
“No.”
“Why?”
The question seemed to confuse her.
“Because he was cold.”
Lorenzo looked at her as though she had spoken a language he hadn’t heard in years.
“You bought my father a blanket?”
“It wasn’t expensive.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Nora hesitated.
“He needed one.”
Lorenzo stared at her.
Then his attention shifted to the food.
“What does the kitchen usually send him?”
Nora said nothing.
“Nora.”
Her eyes widened.
She hadn’t told him her name.
He noticed.
“I know everyone employed in my house.”
She looked down.
“Usually oatmeal.”
“What kind?”
“Whatever is left.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
“And Mrs. Gable said he receives the best care.”
Nora remained silent.
He stepped closer.
“What else?”
“I need this job.”
“I didn’t ask about your job.”
“I know.”
“Then answer me.”
Nora finally looked at him.
“Will you fire me if I do?”
“No.”
“Will you fire the people who did it?”
His expression became unreadable.
“That depends on what they did.”
So Nora told him.
Not everything.
But enough.
The freezing room.
The dirty clothes.
The meals.
The ridicule.
The days Giovanni had been left facing a blank wall.
Lorenzo listened without interrupting.
By the end, his face had become terrifyingly calm.
“When?”
“For years, I think.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Three months.”
“And in three months you noticed what nobody else reported in five years?”
Nora’s answer was simple.
“They noticed.”
Lorenzo’s eyes hardened.
“They just didn’t care.”
Silence filled the room.
Then Giovanni made a sound.
A tiny rasp.
Lorenzo froze.
“Dad?”
Giovanni’s hand moved.
Not randomly.
His trembling fingers slowly reached toward Nora.
Nora immediately took them.
Giovanni squeezed.
Lorenzo stopped breathing.
“Do that again.”
Giovanni’s eyes shifted toward his son.
His fingers squeezed Nora’s hand a second time.
Lorenzo stepped closer.
“Dad, can you understand me?”
Giovanni blinked once.
Lorenzo’s face lost color.
“Once for yes.”
Giovanni blinked once.
Nora covered her mouth.
For five years, doctors had told Lorenzo his father possessed minimal awareness.
Five years.
Lorenzo knelt before the wheelchair.
“Have you understood us this entire time?”
Giovanni blinked.
Once.
Something broke behind Lorenzo’s eyes.
Then Giovanni slowly lifted one trembling finger.
He pointed toward the door.
Toward the corridor where Mrs. Gable had disappeared.
Lorenzo understood.
“Did she hurt you?”
One blink.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Lorenzo stood.
Nora had never seen rage become so quiet.
“Stay with him.”
“Where are you going?”
“To ask Mrs. Gable some questions.”
Giovanni suddenly made another sound.
“L-L…”
Lorenzo spun around.
“Dad?”
Giovanni fought against his own body.
His lips trembled violently.
Then, for the first time in five years, Giovanni Moretti forced out two broken words.
“Not… Gable.”
Lorenzo stared.
“What?”
Giovanni’s eyes filled with urgency.
“Not… alone.”
And downstairs, completely unaware that the supposedly helpless old man had just spoken, Mrs. Gable was deleting a message from her phone.
May you like
It contained only six words.
He is starting to remember. Hurry.
