Chapter 1
The black marble table was set for twelve and it shone under the chandeliers like still water. Gold chargers caught the candlelight, champagne flutes threw thin lines across the linen, and the whole room smelled like white roses and seared butter. Vanessa Bellini sat two seats down from the head of the table in her red sequined gown, her diamond and ruby teardrop necklace catching every light, smiling at the guests in tuxedos as they laughed and lifted their glasses. It was her engagement dinner and she looked exactly like she owned it.
I came through the side door from the kitchen hall carrying a white saucer and a gold charger that didn't match anything else I was supposed to be carrying. The chipped white double-handled soup bowl sat centered on it, the dark gold-vein crack running clean from one handle to the rim, the light broth inside barely steaming. My hands were shaking around my white cloth and I knew I wasn't supposed to set that bowl down at the head of the table.
My name is Emma Carter and I was the housekeeper who'd worked in that penthouse for two years.
That night the dinner had started at eight and by eight forty the first courses had already been cleared. Luca Moretti sat at the head of the table in his black suit jacket over his black open-collar shirt, his slicked-back dark hair gray at the temples, his salt-and-pepper beard trimmed close, the tattoos on his neck and left hand visible when he moved. He had been quiet most of the meal, restrained the way he always was, eating slowly, nodding at conversation without adding much.
I stopped at his left side and set the bowl down. The gold charger clinked softly against the black marble. The white saucer underneath was a half-inch too small for it. The broth settled. Two champagne flutes were right beside his hand and he was holding a spoon in his tattooed left hand, looking down at the crack in the bowl as if he recognized it. The candles from the candelabra behind him flickered and threw warm light across his face while the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the table let in the cool blue of the city skyline.
Vanessa saw it before he could speak.
"Take that disgusting thing off my table."
Luca didn't move the spoon. He kept looking down at the bowl, then slowly lifted his eyes toward me. His voice was low.
"Where did you get this?"
"Your mother made it, sir."
Vanessa's smile didn't drop but it tightened at the corners. She leaned slightly forward, her elbows near her steak plate, her champagne flute untouched, and she spoke to Luca like she was smoothing over a small mistake for the guests.
"Your mother's sick, darling, she couldn't come."
I was still holding the white cloth with both hands and my eyes were already red. I could feel the heat from the candles and the eyes of the table on me. I didn't mean to contradict her in front of everyone but I couldn't leave it alone.
"She's downstairs, sir."
Luca's gaze snapped back to me. His brow furrowed just slightly.
"Downstairs?"
The room went quiet enough that I could hear the chandeliers humming. Vanessa's smile held but her shoulders had gone still.
May you like
"She's eating alone in the kitchen."
Luca's hands pressed flat against the edge of the black marble table. The spoon clinked against the gold charger. He started to push his chair back and rise, his eyes locked on Vanessa across the table with the chipped bowl still centered between them, and the whole dining room froze with no one breathing.
