Chapter 4 - the silent corridor
Clara stood frozen beside Leo’s crib, her heart hammering against her ribs as she stared at the handwritten note in her hand. The ink was dark blue, the handwriting neat and precise.
Who had put this in a three-year-old’s coat pocket?
She looked down at Leo, who murmured softly in his sleep, turning onto his side and hugging his teddy bear closer.
Clara quickly folded the note and hid it inside the lining of her apron. She smoothed down her pink dress, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the quiet second-floor corridor.
The estate was deadly silent, save for the faint hum of the central heating system and the wind howling against the tall stained-glass windows. Down the hallway, a dim light flickered from behind a cracked oak door—Rico’s private study.
Clara walked softly along the runner rug, her black flats making no sound. As she neared the study, she heard low, heated voices from within.
"We ran her background through the federal database, Rico," Dante’s deep voice rumbled from inside. "Clara Vance has no criminal record. Worked two jobs to pay off her mother's medical bills in Brooklyn. Mother died three months ago."
"And her father?" Rico demanded, his voice flat and dangerous.
"Listed as unknown on her birth certificate," Dante answered. "But her mother worked as a private seamstress for the Vance family back in 1998."
There was a long pause inside the room. The sound of liquid pouring into a crystal tumbler echoed softly.
"Keep two guards on her floor tonight," Rico commanded flatly. "If she tries to leave her room after midnight... bring her straight to the cellar."
Clara backed away slowly, her back pressing against the cold wood paneling of the hallway. Cellar? Was she a nanny or a prisoner?
She quickly turned around and hurried back toward Leo’s nursery, but as she passed the grand central landing, she stopped in front of the massive portrait covered in black velvet.
The wind outside rattled the window frames, causing the heavy velvet curtain to shift slightly at the bottom corner.
Clara reached out her hand, her fingers trembling as she pulled back the edge of the dark fabric.
Illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the glass was the painted face of a radiant, fair-skinned woman with soft brown hair and striking brown eyes—Elena Vance Moretti.
And resting around the painted woman's neck was the exact identical silver locket Clara was wearing.
"Beautiful, wasn't she?" a sharp, cold voice spoke from behind her.
Clara spun around, gasping.
May you like
Standing in the shadows of the hallway was a stunning thirty-five-year-old woman in an expensive silk evening gown, holding a glass of wine. Her eyes were sharp, arrogant, and filled with deep contempt.
It was Bianca Moretti—Rico’s ruthless sister-in-law.
