Chapter 2 - The Letter in the Cottage
(Word count: ~1500 words)
My entire body went completely still in the high-backed dining chair. Beside me, Luca sat like a statue carved from granite, his gray eyes locking onto Vanessa with lethal precision.
I swallowed down the dry lump in my throat. "Nobody, sir."
Luca studied my bruised face for a long, agonizing moment. He didn't push me. He didn't raise his voice. He simply gave me a slow, single nod.
"Go see the doctor," Luca said softly. He signaled his head housekeeper. "Mrs. Carter, take Julia upstairs. Have Dr. Harris examine her vision immediately."
I stood up nervously, keeping my eyes down as Mrs. Carter gently took my arm and led me out of the grand dining room. As the heavy oak doors closed behind us, I caught one last glimpse of Vanessa. Her face was pale, her knuckles white around her wineglass.
For the next thirty-five minutes, Luca Moretti played the perfect host.
He finished his steak, discussed Saturday's upcoming engagement party with his lieutenants, and listened quietly while Vanessa talked about flower arrangements. By the time dessert was served, Vanessa had visibly relaxed. She believed the storm had passed. She believed he had let it go.
At 9:51 p.m., Luca quietly slipped out the side entrance of the dining room.
He walked down the long, dimly lit east corridor, his heavy leather shoes echoing against the marble floors, until he pushed open the iron doors of the conservatory.
Warm, humid air met him. Moonlight filtered down through the grand glass dome, illuminating rows of imported lemon trees, blooming roses, and fragrant winter herbs. To a casual observer, the room was pristine.
But Luca was not a casual observer.
Near the far wooden bench, he spotted a broken clay pot. Dark soil was scattered across the damp tiles. A wrought-iron chair had been knocked sideways. And resting near its base was a pair of reading glasses with thick black frames.
Luca knelt down and picked them up. They weren't Julia’s, and they certainly weren't Vanessa’s.
He looked toward the glass door leading out to the rear gardens. It was unlatched, swaying slightly in the cool night breeze. Outside, rain had softened the gravel walkway. Fresh footprints led down the dark path toward the old gardener's cottage.
Luca stepped out into the rain, his black suit coat absorbing the moisture as he walked down the winding stone path.
The gardener’s cottage had been locked and empty for three years—ever since his mother, Elena Moretti, had passed away from heart failure. During her final years, Elena had spent hours in that small cottage, drinking tea and reading books with Rosa Alvarez, the woman who had tended the estate’s gardens for nearly thirty years.
Luca reached the wooden door. The lock was disengaged.
He pushed it open.
Inside, a single oil lamp glowed softly on a wooden table. A beaten leather suitcase sat against the wall. And standing at the small copper sink was an elderly woman pressing a wet linen towel against her red, swollen wrist.
Luca froze in the doorway. "Mrs. Alvarez?"
The woman turned around sharply, gasping. Her face turned pale as she recognized him. "Luca?"
He hadn't seen Rosa in five years. After his mother fell ill, Rosa had retired and moved to Arizona. But there she stood—seventy-two years old, her gray hair pulled into a loose bun, rain darkening the shoulders of her worn wool coat.
"What are you doing here, Rosa?" Luca asked, stepping inside and closing the door against the wind.
Rosa looked toward the dark window. "I was waiting until the engagement party ended."
"Why?"
She didn't answer. Luca stepped closer, his sharp eyes catching the angry red grip-marks around her thin wrist.
"What happened to your arm?"
Rosa’s eyes filled with tears. "That poor girl... the maid. She tried to protect me."
Luca went completely still. "Julia?"
Rosa nodded slowly. "I came into the conservatory looking for a way into the main house. Vanessa found me. She told me I was trash, that I had no business being on Moretti property, and threatened to call the police."
Luca’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched near his temple. "Go on."
"Julia heard us arguing from the hallway," Rosa continued, her voice trembling. "She opened the door and told Vanessa she had no right to throw an old woman out into the rain. Vanessa got furious. She grabbed my suitcase to throw it outside, and Julia tried to pull it back from her."
Rosa wiped a tear from her withered cheek. "The brass latch on the suitcase snapped open... and struck Julia right across the face."
The air in the cottage grew suffocatingly cold. Luca stared at the floor, realizing the truth. Julia hadn't lied to cover for herself. She had taken a blow to the face defending an elderly servant, and then endured hours of excruciating pain to protect Rosa from Vanessa’s wrath.
"Why did you come back from Arizona, Rosa?" Luca asked, his voice rough.
Rosa walked over to her leather suitcase, unzipped the front compartment, and pulled out a small, tarnished wooden box carved with olive branches.
"Because your mother asked me to," Rosa whispered.
Luca stopped breathing. "My mother died three years ago."
"I know," Rosa said gently. "She gave me this box six weeks before she passed away. She made me swear on my life that I would keep it hidden in Arizona until the day you announced your intention to marry."
Luca stared at the wooden box. "Why?"
"She told me you needed to make your choice first," Rosa explained. "I saw your engagement announcement to Vanessa in the Chicago newspaper last week. So I bought a bus ticket."
Luca stepped forward, his hands trembling slightly as he picked up the small wooden box. He flipped open the brass latch.
Inside lay his mother’s pearl rosary beads, an antique brass key, and a sealed yellow envelope with his name written across the front in his mother's elegant handwriting.
Luca sat down heavily in a wooden chair. He hadn't seen his mother's handwriting since her funeral.
Across the back of the sealed envelope, his mother had written one final, urgent directive:
GIVE THIS TO LUCA ONLY IF HE CHOOSES VANESSA BELLINI.
Luca stared at the sentence, his pulse pounding in his ears. "She knew Vanessa?"
Rosa’s face grew solemn. "Yes."
"How?" Luca asked, looking up. "I didn't meet Vanessa until five years ago at a charity gala in Miami."
Rosa reached deep into the bottom of her suitcase and pulled out an old black-and-white photograph. She placed it gently on the table in front of him.
The photograph showed Luca’s mother sitting in the estate conservatory twelve years ago. Rosa stood beside her. And standing behind them, wearing a simple sundress, was a nineteen-year-old Vanessa Bellini.
Luca stared at the photograph, his mind reeling. The date stamped on the back was from twelve years ago.
"Why was Vanessa in my mother’s house seven years before I met her?" Luca demanded, his gray eyes burning with sudden, lethal intensity.
May you like
Rosa looked toward the rain-streaked window of the cottage, tears spilling over her lashes.
"Your mother didn't meet Vanessa through you, Luca," Rosa whispered, her voice shaking with a secret that had been buried for over a decade. "Vanessa came to this house twelve years ago... looking for your father."
