Chapter 1 - THE WOMAN ON THE MARBLE FLOOR
The Plus-Size Maid Treated the Ignored Old Man Like Royalty—Unaware He Was the Mafia Boss’s Father! The soup was still steaming when Beatrice knocked the tray from Meline’s hands and sent her to her knees. “Stop wasting food on that useless old man,” the chief housekeeper snapped, loud enough for everyone to hear. Then the front doors opened, and the old man said, “Son, before anyone explains—look at what they did to her.” Meline Pierce had been warned about the dining room. Not the antique silver, although Beatrice counted every piece. Not the pale silk chairs, which required special cleaning. The real rule was simpler: nobody ate there unless somebody important had decided they belonged. The old man near the window apparently did not. He sat in a brown jacket with a frayed cuff, one hand resting on a walking stick. Rain blurred the garden beyond the glass. Meline had found him outside twenty minutes earlier, trying to open a packet of crackers with fingers stiff from the cold. She had brought him in. Now she carried a bowl of soup toward him while the kitchen staff prepared lunch for guests who had not yet arrived. Beatrice stepped into her path. “What do you think you’re doing?” “Mr. Giovanni hasn’t eaten.” “He was offered something earlier.” “He was given crackers.” “Then he should have eaten them.” Meline glanced toward the window. Giovanni had lowered his eyes, pretending to study the newspaper beside his hand. She recognized the courtesy of it: an older person making himself less visible so a younger person would not suffer for noticing him. “There’s more than enough soup,” she said. Beatrice’s face hardened. Meline knew she should stop. She had worked at the Moretti estate for twenty-three days, and losing the position would mean losing the room above the garage and most of her chance to repay what remained of her grandfather’s funeral expenses. Still, she said, “He’s cold.” Beatrice struck the tray. The bowl tipped, hit the floor, and broke. Meline reached instinctively to save it, but Beatrice caught her upper arm and shoved her aside. Her knee struck the marble. For a second, all she could hear was the silver spoon spinning. Hot liquid soaked her apron. Somebody gasped near the pantry, but nobody moved forward. Meline planted one hand on the floor and stared at the pale fragments scattered around her. “Now look what you’ve done,” Beatrice said. Giovanni stood. It took him longer than he wanted. Meline saw the effort in his jaw and nearly apologized for making him get up. Then she remembered whose hand had been on her arm. “Sit down,” she told him softly. “There’s glass.” “Porcelain,” Beatrice corrected. The front doors opened. A draft moved through the dining room, bringing rain and the faint scent of cedar from the entrance hall. Alessandro Moretti stepped inside with two security men behind him, his dark coat open over a charcoal suit. Every employee straightened. Meline had seen him only twice, both times from a distance. His name belonged to shipping companies, hotels, and conversations that became quieter when she entered. He stopped at the threshold and took in the broken bowl, the soup, and her position on the floor. Giovanni spoke first. “Son, protect the only person in this house who remembered I was a person before she knew my name.” Beatrice went white. Meline looked up. Son. The word seemed to change the room’s proportions. “Mr. Moretti,” Beatrice began, “this is a misunderstanding.” Alessandro crossed the floor without answering. He stopped beside Meline and crouched, careful of the broken pieces. His gaze moved to the red mark on her arm, then to her face. “Can you stand?” “I think so.” He offered his hand. She hesitated before taking it. His grip was steady, and he waited until she had found her balance before letting go. Then he looked at Giovanni. “Dad?” The old man nodded once. Meline closed her eyes. When she opened them, Alessandro was looking at Beatrice. “Who put a hand on her?” No one answered. Then Giovanni lifted his walking stick and pointed. “She did.” Beatrice’s mouth opened. Before she could speak, Alessandro turned to the silent employees lining the doorway. “And which of you watched?” ......PART 2 in the comments below 👇
