Chapter 1 - THE BRUISES BENEATH MY UNIFORM
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“USE BOTH HANDS! THAT'S WHAT WE PAY YOU FOR!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED THE INJURED MAID IN FRONT OF 24 DINNER GUESTS. BUT WHEN HE NOTICED THE BRUISES ON HER ARM, ONE SIMPLE QUESTION EXPOSED A SECRET THAT COULD DESTROY HIS WEDDING.
My name is Anna Mitchell. I'm twenty-nine, and I'd worked at Luca Moretti's Chicago mansion for ten months.
That evening, I was serving dinner with my left arm pressed painfully against my waist.
My shoulder was swollen. Dark bruises hid beneath my uniform.
And I had only ninety-two dollars until payday.
I couldn't afford to lose my job.
Twenty-four guests sat beneath glittering chandeliers, celebrating Luca's engagement to Vanessa Bellini.
Vanessa looked breathtaking in her red silk gown and diamond earrings.
Nobody would have guessed what she'd done to me just hours earlier.
As I approached Luca with a platter of roasted chicken, my injured arm refused to cooperate.
The platter tilted.
Vanessa sighed loudly.
“For heaven's sake, Anna! Must you make everything so difficult?”
“I'm sorry, ma'am.”
“Then use both hands!”
I tried.
Agonizing pain shot through my shoulder.
Before the platter slipped, Luca caught it.
“Anna,” he said quietly. “What's wrong with your arm?”
My stomach tightened.
Before I could answer, Vanessa laughed.
“Oh, darling, she fell against my dressing table this afternoon. She's terribly clumsy.”
My blood turned cold.
I HAD NEVER TOLD ANYONE ABOUT MY INJURY.
And Vanessa knew exactly how it happened.
Luca studied his fiancée.
“Your dressing table?”
“Yes. She's been complaining all afternoon.”
But I hadn't complained once.
Luca turned back toward me.
“Anna, did someone grab your arm?”
I instinctively glanced at Vanessa.
That single glance changed everything.
“Sit down,” Luca ordered gently.
When I loosened my uniform, four distinct finger-shaped bruises appeared across my upper arm.
The dinner table fell silent.
Vanessa's smile faltered.
“Luca, darling, you're making a scene!”
He ignored her.
“Anna, are you afraid of losing your job?”
Tears filled my eyes.
“Yes, sir.”
“You won't.”
He arranged for Dr. Harris to examine me, then asked one final question.
“Was someone else in Vanessa's bridal suite when you got hurt?”
I hesitated.
“Yes, sir.”
“Who?”
I couldn't answer.
Forty minutes later, after Vanessa retired upstairs, Luca summoned his security chief.
He discovered that a makeup artist and a photographer had visited the bridal suite that afternoon.
The photographer, David Collins, was brought back to the mansion.
Inside Luca's study, he reluctantly opened his camera.
The first photograph showed Vanessa sitting before her mirror.
The next showed a horrifying purple bruise across her cheek.
Another showed bruising beneath her collarbone.
But Luca knew Vanessa had been completely unmarked at dinner.
“Those bruises were makeup,” David whispered.
“Why would she fake them?” Luca demanded.
David's hands trembled.
“Because she wanted the photographs sent to a journalist...”
Luca leaned forward.
“WHEN?”
“Sunday morning, sir. The day after your wedding.”
Then David revealed what Vanessa intended to do with those photographs if Luca ever discovered her secret...
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David Collins stared at the camera in his trembling hands.
Luca Moretti stood behind his desk, his face so expressionless that I found myself wishing he would shout.
Silence was worse.
David swallowed.
“She said if you ever tried to leave her, she'd tell the world you beat her. She wanted photographs taken before the wedding, then published afterward if she needed leverage.”
Luca didn't move.
“And if I never tried to leave?”
David looked toward me.
“She said you'd never have the courage once she controlled the evidence.”
The grandfather clock ticked.
Outside, rain tapped against the windows.
Luca's security chief, Gabriel Torres, folded his arms.
“There's more, isn't there?”
David's face crumpled.
“She wasn't planning to stop at the photographs.”
Luca's voice remained quiet.
“Explain.”
David opened another folder.
Inside was a photograph of Vanessa holding a small silver flash drive.
Beside her stood a man I recognized immediately.
My stomach dropped.
I had seen him that afternoon.
He was the reason Vanessa had grabbed my arm.
And he wasn't a photographer.
He wasn't a makeup artist.
He was Luca's attorney.
Charles Whitmore.
Luca stared at the screen.
Then he said something that made every person in the room go still.
“Charles has been dead for three weeks.”
I looked at him.
“No, sir.”
He turned toward me.
My voice trembled.
“He was in the bridal suite at two fifteen this afternoon.”
Luca slowly lowered his gaze to the photograph.
The man beside Vanessa was smiling.
May you like
And the watch on his wrist was the same one Luca had placed inside Charles Whitmore's coffin.
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