Chapter 3 - The Housekeeper's Secret
By sunrise, Lorenzo had transformed the east wing into a crime scene without allowing the rest of the household to understand why.
Two trusted men guarded Giovanni's door. A private nurse had been brought in from Manhattan, and every medication bottle in the room had been sealed.
Mrs. Gable was summoned to the study.
She arrived wearing a navy dress, a pearl necklace, and the expression of a woman who had rehearsed innocence in front of a mirror.
Lorenzo placed the medication records on his desk.
"Explain these."
She glanced down.
"I don't understand."
"Your father's prescribed dosage changed fourteen months ago. The physician's signature is missing from three separate authorizations."
"The doctors adjusted his treatment."
"Which doctor?"
Mrs. Gable hesitated.
"Dr. Halpern."
"He's been dead for two years."
The color drained from her face.
Lorenzo stood.
"Try again."
She pressed her hands together.
"Mr. Moretti, I have worked for this family for seventeen years. I've sacrificed holidays, relationships, and my own health to keep this estate running."
"That wasn't my question."
"I followed instructions."
"Whose?"
Her eyes darted toward the door.
Lorenzo noticed.
"Get my security chief."
Before the guard could leave, Mrs. Gable began crying.
"It was Vincent's people. They told me your father was already gone mentally. They said the medication was intended to keep him calm."
"And you believed them?"
"They had photographs of my son."
Silence filled the study.
Mrs. Gable had a son named Peter, a fact Lorenzo vaguely remembered from years earlier.
"Where is he?"
"I don't know. Vincent's men took him overseas. They said if I stopped cooperating, I'd never see him again."
Lorenzo didn't lower his voice.
"So you tortured my father to protect your child."
"I kept him alive!"
The words escaped her before she could stop them.
Lorenzo went completely still.
Mrs. Gable covered her mouth.
"What did you say?"
"I meant—"
"Who was trying to kill him?"
She began shaking.
"Vincent said your father would never recover. He said the family needed someone capable of making decisions. He promised that if I cooperated, Peter would be safe."
"And the meals? The cold room? The bruises?"
She stared at the carpet.
"Those weren't part of the arrangement."
"No. Those were your choices."
For the first time, Mrs. Gable had no excuse ready.
Lorenzo ordered her confined to the estate's security office while his men investigated her claims.
He didn't believe everything she had said.
But he believed enough to know that his father's stroke might not have been the natural tragedy he'd accepted for five years.
Meanwhile, Nora was in the kitchen when she overheard two guards discussing the medication.
One mentioned that Giovanni's latest blood tests showed signs of an unusual sedative.
The other replied that the compound had been designed to keep him unresponsive.
Nora nearly dropped the tray in her hands.
She remembered the days Giovanni's eyes had followed her, the moments when his fingers moved, and the tear that had rolled down his cheek when she promised Lily would never know the cold.
He had been listening.
All along, he had been listening.
That evening, she brought him soup.
"I know you can hear me," she whispered.
His gaze shifted toward her.
Nora's eyes filled.
"I wish I'd known sooner."
She sat beside him and held his hand.
"You don't have to prove anything to me, John. I believe you."
His fingers tightened around hers.
It was unmistakable.
Nora stopped breathing.
Then his lips moved.
A faint, broken sound emerged from his throat.
She leaned closer.
"John?"
His jaw trembled. His voice was almost inaudible, but the word was clear.
"Vincent."
Nora stared at him.
"What about Vincent?"
Giovanni tried again.
"Alive."
She stumbled backward, knocking the stool against the wall.
At that moment, Lorenzo entered.
He saw Nora's expression, his father's trembling mouth, and the hand gripping hers.
"What happened?"
Nora looked between them.
"Your father just spoke."
Lorenzo crossed the room in two strides.
"Father? Can you hear me?"
Giovanni's mouth opened.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then the old man forced out another word.
"Son."
Lorenzo dropped to his knees.
He caught his father's hand and bowed his head over it.
Five years of guilt, anger, and grief broke through the ruthless composure that had protected him from the world.
"Father, I'm here."
Giovanni's eyes filled with tears.
But he could not manage another word.
Lorenzo looked up at Nora.
"What did you do?"
She shook her head.
"Nothing. I just talked to him."
He looked at the heated blanket, the fresh flowers, and the bowl of soup.
Then he noticed the small photograph resting beside the window.
The one of Vincent.
Lorenzo picked it up.
"Where did this come from?"
Nora pointed to the old man's hand.
"He was holding it when I came in."
Lorenzo turned the photograph over.
The message on the back had changed.
May you like
Someone had written a new sentence beneath the first.
THE NEXT TARGET IS YOUR CHILD.
