Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm
The sky above the Hudson Valley turned the color of a fresh bruise as dark purple snow clouds rolled over the mountain peaks. The temperature plummeted, freezing the glass of the estate’s giant windows.
In the lower servants' quarters, panic reigned.
"He's almost here!" Mrs. Gable screamed, pacing before the lined-up staff. "Lorenzo Moretti does not tolerate mistakes! If there is a single spot on the silverware, if a carpet has a speck of dirt, I will throw you all out into the storm myself!"
Nora stood at the end of the line, her hands folded tightly over her six-month bump. Her body throbbed with agony. For forty-eight straight hours, Mrs. Gable had worked her mercilessly. While other maids dusted light fixtures, Nora was assigned to clean the subterranean stone wine cellar and scrub the grand staircase on her hands and knees.
"You," Mrs. Gable barked, stopping directly in front of Nora. She looked down at Nora’s swollen ankles and pale face with utter disgust. "Why aren't you carrying the heavy velvet drapes down to the laundry?"
"Mrs. Gable... please," Nora begged quietly, her voice trembling. "The drapes are over fifty pounds. The clinic doctor said if I lift heavy things, I could risk going into early labor..."
Mrs. Gable stepped closer, digging her sharp acrylic nails into the soft flesh of Nora’s shoulder. "I don't care about your cheap clinic doctor. You are a maid. You do as you are told, or you can pack your bags and walk down the mountain in the blizzard. Do you think anyone will save you out there?"
Nora swallowed the lump in her throat, tears stinging her eyes. "No, ma'am. I'll do it."
Through the frosted floor-to-ceiling glass of the grand foyer, headlights cut through the whiteout. Four massive, bulletproof black SUVs roared up the winding driveway, their snow chains crunching brutally over the ice.
The front doors were pulled open by two shaking guards. The freezing wind howled into the mansion, bringing with it a figure that made every servant in the line instantly freeze.
Lorenzo Moretti stepped into the estate.
At thirty-two, Lorenzo was the undisputed king of the East Coast underworld. Sharp, imposing, and breathtakingly handsome in an icy, dangerous way, he exuded an aura of absolute violence wrapped in tailored Italian cashmere. His piercing gray eyes scanned the foyer, dark hair dusted with snow. Behind him stood six heavy-set men in sharp suits, their coats bulging with concealed firearms.
Mrs. Gable stepped forward, curtsying deeply, her voice dripping with fake sweet reverence.
"Welcome home, Mr. Moretti! The estate has been prepared to your exact specifications. Everything is immaculate."
Lorenzo didn't even look at her as he unbuttoned his overcoat, tossing it to a waiting butler without turning his head.
"My father," Lorenzo said. His voice was low, deep, and carried a chilling gravel that made the floorboards seem to vibrate. "How is he?"
"Oh, the dear master Giovanni!" Mrs. Gable clasped her hands together smoothly. "We treat him like absolute royalty, sir. The very best care, warm meals, constant attention. He is comfortable, happy, and peaceful."
Standing in the back, Nora felt a surge of white-hot anger replace her fear. Liar, she thought, staring at Mrs. Gable’s back. You let him freeze. You gave him cold slop.
Lorenzo paused, his gray eyes sweeping across the line of bowing servants. For a fraction of a second, his glance brushed past Nora’s pale, exhausted face, noticing her ragged uniform and the way she gripped her belly in pain.
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"I will see my father shortly," Lorenzo stated coldly, turning toward his private study. "No one disturbs me until I am done reviewing the regional ledgers."
As soon as Lorenzo disappeared down the wing, Mrs. Gable turned back to the servants, her face twisting back into a cruel mask. "Back to work! Nora, get those drapes down to the cellar NOW, or you're fired!"
