Chapter 3 - The Estate
The Moretti estate was not a home; it was a fortress.
Situated on twenty private acres tucked away in the lush, rolling hills of Old Westbury, Long Island, the mansion rose out of the night like a dark, gothic monument of limestone and wrought iron. A twelve-foot stone wall topped with razor wire surrounded the perimeter, punctuated by high-definition security cameras that swivelled silently as our car approached the massive iron gates.
Four heavily armed guards in tactical gear checked the underside of the Escalade with mirrors before waving us through.
As the car pulled up beneath the grand stone porte-cochère, the front doors of the mansion swung open. An older woman wearing a severe black dress and her grey hair pulled into a tight, immaculate bun stood waiting on the marble steps, flanked by two young maids in crisp uniforms.
"Welcome back, Don Ricardo," the older woman said, bowing her head slightly as Ricardo stepped out of the vehicle and extended a hand to help me out.
"Elena," Ricardo acknowledged, his hand warm and firm around mine as he pulled me to his side. His touch was electric, a sudden contrast to the freezing rain misting around us. "This is Maya Lin. She is my fiancée. She will be living in the master suite of the east wing."
Elena’s sharp grey eyes flicked down to my wet coat, my messy hair, and then settled onto the massive black diamond gleaming on my left hand. A subtle flicker of shock passed over her stern face before her expression hardened back into an unreadable mask.
"Understood, sir," Elena replied smoothly. "Master Matteo is upstairs in his nursery. He has been restless since you left."
"I'll go to him," I said immediately, stepping forward.
Ricardo caught my forearm, his grip firm. "Elena will show you to your room first. Change your clothes. Wash the rain off yourself. You are no longer a waitress, Maya. Act like the mistress of this house."
I looked down at my stained uniform beneath my coat, feeling a sudden surge of self-consciousness. "Fine."
Elena led me through the grand foyer—a soaring, marble-lined hall dominated by a sweeping double staircase and a massive crystal chandelier that looked like a frozen waterfall. But despite its staggering luxury, the house felt cold, quiet, and sterile. There were no family portraits on the walls, no personal trinkets on the marble tables, no signs of warmth. It felt less like a sanctuary and more like a high-security vault.
We walked up the grand staircase and down a long, carpeted corridor. As we passed a set of heavy, double oak doors reinforced with brass fittings and a digital keypad lock, I stopped.
"What's in there?" I asked.
Elena stopped dead in her tracks, turning to face me with a look so sharp it could cut glass. "That is the west wing, Miss Lin. Don Ricardo’s private quarters and office. You were briefed on the rules, were you not?"
"I was," I replied calmly, keeping my voice even. "I was just asking."
"Don't ask," Elena warned softly. "Curiosity in this house is a short path to an early grave."
She turned and continued down the hallway, stopping at a pair of white double doors at the far end of the east wing. She pushed them open to reveal a sprawling master suite bathed in soft, warm light.
The room was larger than my entire apartment in Queens. A massive king-sized bed wrapped in ivory silk sheets dominated the far wall, opposite a roaring gas fireplace built into white marble. A walk-in closet open to the side revealed racks of brand-new designer dresses, coats, and rows of pristine shoes—all tailored to my exact size.
"Your wardrobe was delivered two hours ago," Elena said, her tone devoid of emotion. "Don Ricardo had your measurements provided by your employer."
I swallowed hard, realization chilling my blood. He hadn't decided to hire me three blocks away in the rain. He had planned this the second I knelt in front of his son at the restaurant.
"Where is Matteo's room?" I asked, ignoring the luxurious surroundings.
Elena gestured to an adjoining door inside my bedroom. "Through there. It connects directly to your suite."
I didn't wait for her to say anything else. I walked past her, pushed open the connecting door, and stepped into the nursery.
The room was dim, illuminated only by a small nightlight shaped like a crescent moon. Sitting in the center of a massive plush rug was little Matteo. He was still wearing his formal dark suit trousers, his little white shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned at the collar. He was staring silently at a wooden toy train in his hands, his small shoulders trembling slightly.
When the door creaked open, he jumped, his tiny body tensing in sheer panic. He looked up, his wide, dark eyes filled with tears that hadn't yet fallen.
"Hey, little guy," I whispered softly, dropping down onto my knees right there on the rug, just like I had done at the restaurant.
Matteo froze. He stared at me through the dim light, his lower lip quivering. Slowly, agonizingly, he set the wooden train down on the carpet.
"It's just me," I murmured, pulling off my wet coat and throwing it aside so I was just in my simple sweater. "It's okay. You're safe."
Matteo didn't cry. He didn't scream. He simply crawled across the plush rug as fast as his small legs could carry him, throwing his tiny arms around my neck and burying his face deep into the crook of my shoulder. His small frame shook with quiet, breathless sobs.
May you like
I wrapped my arms around him, holding his small, frail body close against my heart, rocking him gently in the quiet darkness of the nursery.
Standing in the shadows of the doorway, silent and invisible, Ricardo stood watching us. His amber eyes were fixed on the sight of his son clinging to me, his jaw set in a tight, unyielding line as the darkness of his world tightened around us all.
