Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO HAD FORGOTTEN HOW TO SMILE
The next morning, I arrived at the Moretti estate before seven.
Emma was staying with Mrs. Alvarez, the estate's elderly cook, who had volunteered to watch her until I could arrange reliable childcare.
I had barely entered the kitchen when Mrs. Alvarez placed a cup of coffee in front of me.
"Drink."
I smiled.
"Good morning to you, too."
She glanced toward the hallway.
"Something happened yesterday."
My stomach tightened.
"Am I in trouble?"
"No."
She leaned closer.
"Mr. Moretti ate dinner."
I stared.
"Is that unusual?"
"He hasn't eaten a full meal at the dining table in almost eight months."
I didn't know what to say.
Mrs. Alvarez continued.
"He asked for the butter cookies again."
I looked at her.
"The ones Emma had?"
She nodded.
"And he asked whether they were always that good."
I laughed nervously.
"Emma licked half of hers before offering it."
Mrs. Alvarez smiled.
"Perhaps that was the secret ingredient."
Before I could answer, Luca appeared.
"Claire. Mr. Moretti wants to see you."
My heart sank.
I followed him through the west wing.
This time, the oak door was open.
Alessandro sat behind his desk, wearing a dark blue sweater instead of his usual suit.
He looked tired.
But less severe.
"Good morning, Claire."
"Good morning, sir."
He gestured toward the chair opposite him.
"Sit."
I obeyed.
He studied me for a moment.
"Mrs. Alvarez says you used to work in a rehabilitation clinic."
I blinked.
"Yes."
"As a nurse?"
"No, sir. I was a patient-care coordinator. I helped organize appointments, transport, and equipment for people recovering from serious injuries."
"Why did you leave?"
I hesitated.
"The clinic closed its satellite office. My position was eliminated."
He nodded.
"Do you understand spinal cord injuries?"
"Some aspects. But I'm not a doctor."
"Good."
I frowned.
"Good?"
"I prefer people who know the limits of their knowledge."
He leaned back.
"Two years ago, I was told I'd never walk again."
I said nothing.
He looked toward the window.
"Since then, people have treated me as though the only meaningful part of my life ended on that road."
My chest tightened.
"That must be difficult."
He gave a humorless smile.
"That's one word for it."
Then he looked at me.
"Your daughter didn't see a wheelchair."
I shook my head.
"Emma notices everything. She just doesn't always understand what adults think matters."
"She saw an unhappy man who hadn't eaten."
"Yes."
Alessandro looked down at his hands.
"And offered him half a cookie."
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he said:
"I'd like you to help coordinate my medical appointments."
I stared.
"Sir, I was hired as a housekeeper."
"I know."
"I don't want to take someone else's job."
"You won't. My medical team remains responsible for treatment. I need someone to organize appointments and communicate with the staff."
I considered it.
"Would I still be able to care for Emma?"
"That can be arranged."
I took a breath.
"Then I'd be willing to discuss it."
His eyebrow rose.
"Discuss?"
I nodded.
"Hours, responsibilities, pay, and boundaries."
For the second time in two days, Alessandro smiled.
"You're negotiating with me?"
"Yes, sir."
He leaned back.
"Interesting."
Then he said:
"Bring me your conditions tomorrow."
I stood.
"Thank you."
As I reached the door, he spoke again.
"Claire?"
I turned.
"Yes?"
"Does Emma like strawberry ice cream?"
I smiled.
"It's her favorite."
He nodded.
"Mine too."
I left the office feeling strangely lighter.
But when I returned to the staff room, Mrs. Alvarez was waiting.
Her face was pale.
"Claire."
I stopped.
"What's wrong?"
She held out an envelope.
"This was found beneath your door."
Inside was the photograph.
The wrecked car.
The red writing.
May you like
And a warning that made my hands turn cold.
HE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE THAT NIGHT.
