Chapter 1 - THE GIRL LEFT IN THE SNOW
Christmas lights glowed along the banister of the Grimaldi mansion, warm and steady against the storm building outside. I stood on the third stair, winding silver garland through polished mahogany while snow rattled at the tall windows. My fingers were stiff from the cold that slipped through the entrance whenever guests arrived.
“Higher,” Richard Caldwell said from below.
I lifted the garland. “Here?”
“Mr. Grimaldi expects the hall to look finished.”
Richard had managed the household for fifteen years. I had worked there for three months, long enough to know that asking him for an opinion usually meant doing the work twice. Tonight, I kept my eyes on the banister and tried to finish before the Christmas Eve guests arrived.
“The vase,” he said. “Center it on the console.”
I climbed down and crossed the marble floor. The blue and white porcelain stood near a poinsettia arrangement, where another member of staff had left it. I lifted it with both hands. Its painted surface was smooth beneath my thumbs, its weight greater than I expected.
My shoe caught the loose end of the garland.
The vase struck the floor before I could reach it. Porcelain broke across the marble in sharp, bright pieces. Somewhere beyond the hall, a door closed; then there was only wind against the windows.
“I’m sorry.” I dropped to my knees. “I’ll clean it up.”
Richard stepped around the fragments. “That belonged to Mr. Grimaldi’s grandfather.”
“I know it was valuable. I’ll pay what I can.”
“With what?” He looked down at my uniform. “You’ve spent three months proving you don’t belong in this house.”
I gathered two large pieces, careful of their edges. Since my parents died, I had learned to keep a job through bad days and worse managers. I had never learned how to replace a family heirloom.
“I can work extra hours,” I said.
“You can leave.”
I thought he meant the room. Then he opened the front door. Wind drove snow across the threshold and over the polished floor.
“The roads are closed,” I said. “Please let me wait until morning.”
“You’re fired. Collect your pay after the holiday.”
“My coat is downstairs.”
He took the thin jacket hanging by the door and pushed it into my hands. When I tried to pass him to reach the staff corridor, he gripped my arm and steered me onto the steps.
“Richard, I can’t walk to the gate dressed like this.”
“You should have considered that before touching the vase.”
The door shut. The lock turned.
For several seconds I stood beneath the portico, holding the jacket against my chest. Then I put it on and started down the driveway. My work shoes filled with snow almost immediately.
The gate was somewhere beyond the trees. I could not see the security booth, but I knew the driveway was straight. I followed its dark strip as long as I could make it out beneath the white.
Wind pushed me sideways. I bent my head and kept walking. When I fell, my knees disappeared into snow, and getting upright took longer than it should have.
A tree appeared beside me. I leaned against its trunk to catch my breath. The bark scraped my palm, though I could barely feel it. If I rested for a minute, I thought, I would be able to find the road again.
I slid down against the tree. Snow settled on my sleeves. I tried to count the Christmas lights I could still see through the branches, but the distant glow kept breaking apart.
Nicholas Grimaldi reached home at seven fifteen. Melted snow darkened the shoulders of his black coat. He looked across the entrance hall, past the shining floor and the newly arranged flowers.
“Where’s Emily?” he asked.
Richard came from the dining room. “She left early. A personal matter.”
“In this weather?”
“She insisted.”
Nicholas’s gaze moved to the empty coffee tray outside his study. Every evening at seven, I brought him a cup. He looked back at Richard.
“Luca,” he called. “Show me the entrance camera.”
The next thing I remembered was a man's voice cutting through the wind.
“Emily!”
It sounded far away.
I wanted to answer, but my mouth would not cooperate.
Footsteps crunched through the snow.
“Over here!” someone shouted.
Then a pair of gloved hands touched my face.
“Jesus Christ.”
I recognized the voice.
Nicholas Grimaldi.
The man everyone in the mansion feared.
“Emily, can you hear me?”
I tried to nod.
He removed his coat and wrapped it around me.
“Get the medical team here. Now!”
Someone answered through a radio.
Nicholas crouched beside me.
His dark hair was covered with snow. His expensive shoes had disappeared into the drift.
“Stay awake,” he ordered.
I wanted to tell him I was sorry about the vase.
Instead, I whispered, “I didn't mean to break it.”
His expression changed.
“What?”
“The vase.”
He stared at me.
Then his jaw tightened.
“Forget the damn vase.”
He lifted me carefully.
I tried to protest.
“I can walk.”
“No,” he said.
“You can't.”
He carried me toward the mansion.
Through the snow.
Past the Christmas lights.
And through the same doors that had been locked against me less than an hour earlier.
Inside, the music stopped.
Guests turned.
Richard stood near the staircase.
Nicholas looked directly at him.
“Get out of my way.”
Richard stepped aside.
Nicholas carried me upstairs.
As we passed the shattered porcelain arranged on a silver tray, he stopped.
“Luca.”
“Yes, boss?”
“Preserve every second of the entrance footage.”
Richard's face went pale.
Nicholas looked at him.
“And make sure Mr. Caldwell doesn't leave the property.”
I closed my eyes.
For the first time that night, I was warm.
But I could still hear Nicholas's voice.
Quiet.
Cold.
May you like
Furious.
“Someone is going to explain why my employee was left outside to die.”
