Chapter 1 - The Needle on the Marble Floor
“LET THE OLD WOMAN DIE! SHE DOESN'T NEED THAT DAMN NEEDLE!”
The scream came from the second-floor bedroom of the Moretti mansion.
Clara Bennett barely had time to turn before a woman in a crimson satin evening gown seized her wrist.
“MISS HALE, PLEASE! SHE CAN'T BREATHE!”
Victoria Hale didn't listen.
She ripped the emergency injector from Clara's hand so violently that the exposed needle scratched across the young maid's palm.
Blood splattered onto the white bedsheet.
Clara cried out.
The injector struck the marble floor and rolled beneath an antique dresser.
On the bed, sixty-eight-year-old Eleanor Moretti struggled desperately for air.
Her lips had begun turning blue.
One hand clawed weakly at the silk blanket.
Her eyes were wide with terror.
“PLEASE!” Clara screamed. “SHE'S HAVING A SEVERE ALLERGIC REACTION! THE DOCTOR LEFT THAT MEDICATION FOR EMERGENCIES!”
Victoria slapped her across the face.
The sound cracked through the room.
“SHUT YOUR MOUTH!”
Clara stumbled backward.
Her hip struck the corner of a bedside table.
A crystal water glass fell and shattered.
Victoria stood over her, breathing hard.
At thirty-four, she was breathtakingly beautiful.
Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves over one shoulder. Diamonds glittered at her throat. Her red gown hugged a figure that had appeared on the covers of expensive magazines.
She was also engaged to Damian Moretti.
The most feared mafia boss on the New York waterfront.
And tonight, she looked nothing like the charming woman he believed he was marrying.
“Listen carefully, you stupid little maid,” Victoria hissed.
She reached into her designer handbag and removed a small amber-colored medicine bottle.
“These are the pills Dr. Voss prescribed. Give her these and get out.”
Clara stared at the bottle.
“Those aren't her emergency medication.”
“YOU THINK YOU KNOW MORE THAN HER DOCTOR?”
“She's choking! She can't safely swallow anything!”
Victoria's beautiful face twisted.
“Then let her die!”
Clara froze.
For one terrible second, even Eleanor seemed to stop struggling.
Victoria leaned closer.
“She's been a burden for months. Do you have any idea what this woman costs us?”
Clara looked at the woman on the bed.
Eleanor had once been sharp, elegant, and fiercely independent.
She loved crossword puzzles.
She remembered every employee's birthday.
She kept peppermint candies in the drawer beside her bed because she knew Clara liked them.
Now she was fighting for every breath.
And the woman who was supposed to become her daughter-in-law was standing beside her, telling Clara to let her die.
Clara moved toward the bedside telephone.
Victoria grabbed her hair.
“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?”
Clara cried out.
“I ALREADY CALLED 911!”
Victoria's grip tightened.
“You did WHAT?”
“THE AMBULANCE IS COMING!”
Victoria's expression changed.
For the first time, genuine panic crossed her face.
She released Clara and looked toward the hallway.
Then a deep male voice spoke from the doorway.
“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY ABOUT MY MOTHER?”
Victoria went perfectly still.
Clara turned.
Damian Moretti stood beneath the carved wooden doorframe.
Forty years old.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Black hair swept back from a face that was handsome in a way people found intimidating rather than comforting.
He wore a charcoal suit beneath a dark overcoat.
A silver watch rested against his wrist.
He had returned from Chicago three hours earlier than expected.
Nobody in the house knew.
He had intended to surprise his mother before joining the guests downstairs.
Instead, he had heard a woman screaming that Eleanor should be left to die.
And now he was staring at his fiancée.
“Victoria.”
His voice was frighteningly quiet.
“What did you just say?”
Victoria's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Then her entire expression changed.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Damian!”
She rushed toward him.
“Oh, thank God you're here!”
He didn't move.
She grabbed his arm.
“Your mother collapsed! I came upstairs and found Clara standing over her with a needle!”
Clara stared in disbelief.
Victoria's voice broke into perfectly timed sobs.
“I thought she was trying to hurt Eleanor! I stopped her!”
Damian looked past his fiancée.
His mother was struggling for air.
Clara stood beside the bed, one hand bleeding, her left cheek bright red from the slap.
And the emergency injector lay on the floor.
“Move,” Damian said.
Victoria blinked.
“What?”
“Get out of my way.”
He crossed the room.
“Mother?”
Eleanor's eyes moved toward him.
“Mom, can you hear me?”
She tried to speak.
Only a strained, terrible sound emerged.
Damian turned toward Clara.
“What happened?”
Victoria stepped forward.
“Damian, I just told you—”
“I WASN'T ASKING YOU.”
The room fell silent.
Clara's hands shook.
“Mrs. Moretti has a severe allergy. She started having trouble breathing after dinner. I followed her emergency care plan and reached for the prescribed injector.”
Damian looked at the device.
“Why isn't she getting it?”
Clara looked toward Victoria.
The blonde woman immediately shook her head.
“She's lying!”
Clara flinched.
Damian noticed.
He looked at his fiancée.
“Stop talking.”
“Damian—”
“Now.”
He turned back to Clara.
“Was there another injector?”
Clara nodded.
“In the medical cabinet. I was going to get the backup when she grabbed me.”
Damian picked up the bedside telephone and confirmed that emergency services had been called.
Then he instructed the household manager to meet the ambulance crew and bring the emergency medical kit.
Victoria tried to step between Clara and Eleanor again.
Damian caught her arm.
Not violently.
Just firmly enough to stop her.
“Don't touch either of them.”
Victoria stared at him.
“You can't possibly believe this servant over me.”
Damian looked at the bloody scratches on Clara's palm.
Then at his mother's face.
“Right now, I'm believing what I can see.”
Less than two minutes later, the ambulance crew arrived.
The paramedics immediately took control of Eleanor's treatment, administered emergency medication, and prepared to transport her to the hospital.
Clara stood against the wall, trembling.
Damian watched every movement.
Victoria remained near the doorway.
She kept glancing at the amber-colored bottle in her hand.
As the paramedics moved Eleanor onto the stretcher, the older woman suddenly reached toward her son.
Damian leaned close.
“Mom?”
Her fingers curled weakly around his sleeve.
Her eyes moved toward Victoria.
Then toward the bottle.
Her voice was barely audible.
“Damian…”
“I'm here.”
She swallowed painfully.
“Please…”
He bent closer.
“Tell me.”
Eleanor's lips trembled.
“Check… the pills.”
Damian looked up.
Victoria's face had gone white.
One of the paramedics guided him aside as Eleanor was wheeled toward the elevator.
Damian turned slowly.
“Victoria.”
She took a step backward.
“What?”
“Give me that bottle.”
Her fingers tightened around it.
“Damian, Dr. Voss prescribed these. I was only trying to—”
“Give. Me. The. Bottle.”
Victoria stared at him.
Then she forced a nervous laugh.
“You're frightening me.”
Damian held out his hand.
“That's interesting.”
His eyes moved toward Clara.
“Because you're the only person in this room who doesn't look frightened of what happened to my mother.”
Victoria hesitated.
Then reluctantly surrendered the bottle.
Damian placed it in a clean evidence bag obtained from the household medical supplies, without opening it.
He handed it to the ambulance crew to document with Eleanor's other medications.
Then he turned toward Clara.
“Are you hurt?”
She instinctively hid her bleeding hand.
“No, sir.”
Damian looked at the red mark spreading across her cheek.
“Clara.”
She lowered her eyes.
“It's nothing.”
He crouched slightly so he could see her face.
“How did your hand get cut?”
She didn't answer.
Behind him, Victoria spoke quickly.
“She was being reckless with the needle. I tried to help her.”
Clara's breath caught.
Damian turned.
He studied Victoria for a long moment.
Then he looked toward the open bedroom door.
“Victoria, go downstairs.”
She blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“Wait in the library.”
“But the guests—”
“The guests can leave.”
“Damian, our engagement announcement—”
“Is not happening tonight.”
Victoria went completely still.
He looked back at Clara.
“I'm taking you to the hospital.”
Her eyes widened.
“Me?”
“Your hand needs treatment. And I want you with my mother until the doctors understand what happened.”
Clara glanced at Victoria.
The blonde woman's expression was almost impossible to read.
But Clara knew that look.
She had seen it before.
Whenever Victoria was about to punish someone.
Clara lowered her voice.
“Mr. Moretti, please…”
Damian leaned closer.
“What is it?”
Her lips trembled.
“If I tell you the truth…”
She stopped.
Damian waited.
Clara looked at the door.
Then whispered:
“She'll make sure your mother never comes home.”
Damian went still.
For three months, he had believed his mother was becoming confused because of age and illness.
For three months, he had trusted Victoria to help manage her care.
For three months, he had been told that Clara Bennett was an inexperienced maid who exaggerated every little problem.
Now his mother was being rushed to the hospital.
His fiancée had tried to prevent emergency treatment.
And a frightened young woman with blood on her hand was warning him that someone inside his own house wanted Eleanor dead.
Damian slowly straightened.
He looked toward the hallway.
Then back at Clara.
“From this moment on,” he said quietly, “you don't have to be afraid of telling me the truth.”
Clara's eyes filled.
She wanted to believe him.
More than anything.
But she had lived in the Moretti mansion for eleven months.
May you like
And she knew something Damian didn't.
His fiancée wasn't the only person who wanted Eleanor Moretti to stay silent.
