Chapter 1
The marble was cold through the knees of my uniform. I could feel it even through the fabric, a hard chill that had been there for the ten minutes Bianca had kept me on all fours. My yellow gloves were splayed on the glossy stone, and I stared at a hairline crack near the baseboard because looking up felt dangerous. She stood over me in that champagne dress, the light catching the satin every time she shifted, both hands wrapped around the cut-glass pitcher like she was posing for a photo. She hadn't raised her voice. That was the point.
Matteo's shoes hit the hallway before I heard his voice, early steps that didn't match the schedule taped to the fridge. Bianca's smile locked in place the second the front door opened.
My name is Elena Rossi. I was the maid on my knees in the hallway that morning.
It was just past eleven. Daylight was pouring through the tall windows at the end of the hall, the kind of bright, even light that showed every speck on the marble. Matteo had left at seven for the city, his black suit jacket folded over his arm, and Bianca had said he'd be gone until dinner. I had Mia's reading folder on the counter in the kitchen, and I'd told her to stay in the small bedroom off the laundry until I finished the main floor. Then water hit the floor near my bucket, not from me, and Bianca said, clean it properly, on your knees.
Matteo stopped at the archway. He took in the scene in one slow sweep, his suit jacket still on, his shirt open at the collar, white pocket square sharp against the black.
"What is happening here?" he said.
I didn't answer fast enough.
"Mr. Belhani, please, it's nothing," I said.
Bianca laughed a little, light and composed. "Matteo, you're back early. This clumsy girl just made a mess."
Matteo didn't look at her right away. He looked at my gloves, at the floor, at the pitcher in her hands. His brows pulled together, and he breathed once through his nose.
"Put the picture down, Bianca," he said.
The hallway went quiet except for the faint hum of the chandelier and my own breathing. I kept my head down. From the narrow gap between the wall and the pantry door, I felt more than saw Mia watching. She never made a sound when she was scared. She just gripped the edge and held her breath.
Matteo took two slow steps forward, not toward me, toward Bianca. His voice dropped.
May you like
"Explain to me why her daughter is terrified of you."
Bianca's hands tightened on the pitcher. She hadn't put it down yet. The door to the pantry was still cracked two inches, and I could see Mia's small fingers white against the trim, waiting to see if anyone would open it.
