Chapter 3 - The Son Who Came Home
Dante Moretti arrived without warning on December 21.
Three black SUVs passed through the gates shortly before midnight.
Nora saw them from the third-floor window.
Men in dark coats stepped onto the snow.
Then Dante emerged from the middle vehicle.
Even from three stories above, there was something unmistakable about him.
Control.
He was thirty-five, tall and broad-shouldered, with black hair swept away from a severe face and several days of dark stubble.
He had spent the previous four months in Europe overseeing the acquisition of a shipping company.
According to the staff, his return was not expected until January.
The mansion changed instantly.
People moved faster.
Mrs. Gable inspected rooms herself.
Security doubled.
Chef Reed began preparing food at midnight.
Nora was carrying fresh towels downstairs when she nearly collided with Dante.
She stopped.
He stopped.
His gaze dropped immediately to her pregnant stomach.
Then returned to her face.
“You're new.”
“Nora Bennett.”
“I didn't ask your name.”
Nora blinked.
“Then technically I suppose I volunteered it.”
Behind Dante, one of his men coughed suspiciously.
Dante stared at her.
Nora decided unemployment might be imminent.
Then his mouth almost moved.
Almost.
“Who hired you?”
“Mrs. Gable.”
His expression cooled again.
“Of course she did.”
He walked away.
The next morning, Dante noticed something else.
His grandfather's curtains were open.
He stood outside Room 4B for nearly ten seconds before entering.
Nora was inside, combing John's silver hair.
She froze.
Dante looked from her to the fire.
Then to the breakfast tray.
Eggs.
Toast.
Fresh berries.
Coffee.
“What is this?”
“Breakfast.”
“My grandfather doesn't eat solid food.”
Nora looked at John.
John looked at Nora.
“He does now.”
Dante's face changed.
“You know who he is?”
“I figured it out.”
Dante approached.
John watched him.
For the first time since Nora had met the old man, she saw fear mixed with emotion in his eyes.
Not fear of Dante.
Fear of being misunderstood.
Dante crouched beside him.
“Nonno.”
John's fingers trembled.
Dante looked shaken.
“I came as soon as I could.”
John stared at him.
Then deliberately looked at Nora.
Dante followed his gaze.
“She has been caring for you?”
One blink.
Dante went still.
“How long?”
Nora answered.
“About three weeks.”
“And before that?”
Silence.
Dante saw the untouched oatmeal tray still sitting near the service cart.
His expression became unreadable.
That afternoon, he requested every medical record concerning John.
Mrs. Gable brought him a folder.
It was suspiciously thin.
Dante called the family physician.
The doctor claimed John's condition had deteriorated steadily.
“He rarely responds to stimuli.”
Dante looked through the glass doors into the library.
John was playing chess with Nora.
He couldn't move the pieces himself, so Nora pointed to squares until he blinked.
He had beaten her twice.
Dante watched his supposedly unresponsive grandfather execute checkmate.
“Interesting,” Dante said into the phone.
That night, Nora found Dante waiting outside her room.
“You worked medical billing.”
She stiffened.
“How do you know that?”
“I know who lives under my roof.”
“Apparently not everyone.”
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Dante's jaw tightened.
But he didn't argue.
“What did you find?”
Nora hesitated.
“The medication dosage doesn't match the label.”
His face changed.
“Explain.”
She did.
Dante listened without interruption.
When she finished, he asked, “Who administers it?”
“Usually Mrs. Gable.”
“You're certain?”
“I've seen her twice.”
Dante stepped away.
“Tell no one about this conversation.”
“Mr. Moretti—”
“No one.”
Something about his tone frightened her.
Then he noticed Nora gripping the wall.
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Her face had gone pale.
“Nora.”
“Baby kicked.”
Another pain came.
She inhaled sharply.
Dante caught her elbow.
“When did you last eat?”
She couldn't remember.
His expression darkened.
“You've been working twelve-hour shifts pregnant?”
“I'm fine.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“Mrs. Gable schedules—”
“I own this house.”
His voice remained quiet.
“That changes tonight.”
For reasons Nora didn't understand, that frightened her almost as much as Mrs. Gable.
Dante escorted her downstairs and personally told Chef Reed to prepare her dinner.
From across the kitchen, Mrs. Gable watched.
Her face was expressionless.
But her hands were clenched.
Later that night, she entered the office beneath the servants' staircase.
She locked the door.
Then she made a phone call.
“She found the medication.”
A man's voice answered.
“What about Moretti?”
“He's asking questions.”
Silence.
Then:
“And the girl?”
Mrs. Gable looked toward the ceiling.
“She's becoming a problem.”
The man on the phone laughed softly.
“No.”
May you like
“What?”
“She's becoming leverage.”
