Chapter 7 - THE MAFIA BOSS WHO KNEW ME BEFORE I BECAME HIS MAID
Vincent had seen me before.
That was the truth.
He sat across from me in the library and didn’t try to deny it.
“I attended an Aurelia performance five years ago.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“My father had business with Charles Whitmore.”
“And me?”
He looked away.
“You performed.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So you knew who I was when I applied for the maid position?”
“Yes.”
The word hurt.
“Why did you hire me?”
Silence.
“Vincent.”
“Because I recognized you.”
My stomach turned.
Another powerful person making choices about my life without telling me.
“Did you pay Henry?”
“No.”
“Did your father?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you know about the sabotage?”
“No.”
I studied his face.
I had become good at noticing fear.
He was afraid.
Not that I would accuse him.
That I would leave.
That realization annoyed me.
“You should have told me.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
His voice dropped.
“Because you looked like someone trying to start over.”
“And you decided you knew what was best for me.”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
At least he didn’t dress it up as kindness.
Then he explained.
After my accident, Vincent had tried to find out what happened because he remembered my performance.
His father ordered him to stop asking questions.
Years later, when my employment application arrived at the Moretti mansion, Vincent recognized my photograph.
He hired me.
Then quietly increased my salary.
I stared.
“You did what?”
“Your pay was higher than other new staff.”
Anger rose.
“I thought Elaine gave me merit raises.”
“She did later.”
“But the first increase?”
“Me.”
I stood.
“I didn’t ask for charity.”
“I know.”
“Clearly not.”
He stood too.
Then stopped himself from approaching.
“Grace, I was trying to help.”
“No. You were trying to make yourself feel useful without asking me what I needed.”
He looked like I had struck him.
Good.
Then his security chief entered.
“Boss.”
Vincent turned.
“What?”
“We traced the V.M. authorization.”
My heart raced.
“And?”
“It wasn’t Vincent Moretti.”
I froze.
The account belonged to another V.M.
Victoria Moretti.
Vincent’s mother.
He went completely pale.
“My mother?”
The chief nodded.
Vincent sat down.
His mother had died two years earlier.
I stared at him.
“Why would she pay Henry to injure me?”
Vincent whispered:
“I don’t know.”
Then Rebecca spoke from the doorway.
“I do.”
We turned.
My mother’s expression was grim.
“Victoria Moretti was working with me.”
I stared.
“What?”
“She paid Henry.”
My stomach dropped.
Rebecca continued:
“But she never told him to cut Grace’s line.”
The room went silent.
“She paid him to replace the rigging with a safer backup system because Charles had already ordered someone else to sabotage it.”
I stared.
“So Henry…”
“Changed sides.”
My mother nodded.
“He weakened one line exactly enough to make the fall look convincing, while preserving the emergency wrap.”
My blood ran cold.
My injury had been planned.
But perhaps not to kill me.
Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears.
“Victoria believed if Charles thought your career was destroyed, he would stop watching you.”
I stepped backward.
“So everyone decided breaking my body was safer than telling me the truth?”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
I laughed.
A terrible sound.
Then the door opened again.
Detective Bennett entered.
Her face was grave.
“Grace, Henry Cole has changed his statement.”
My stomach tightened.
“What now?”
“He says someone threatened him before your accident.”
“Who?”
She looked toward Vincent.
Then at me.
“Celeste Vale.”
May you like
I stopped breathing.
The woman I believed had died trying to protect me had ordered the rigging technician to make sure I fell.
