Chapter 5 - The Note in Her Apron Pocket
I didn't get up right away. I sat a minute longer with my hand near Rosa's chair, letting the room see it, while the servers stood frozen along the wall with empty dessert trays. The candles had burned low enough that the wax was pooling. Nobody wanted to be the first to move.
Vanessa leaned in close enough that her earring brushed the tablecloth. "If you want this night to survive," she whispered, "you'll deal with her. With the girl."
I nodded once, not because I agreed, but because I needed Emma away from that table before Vanessa said it louder. I caught Emma's eye and tilted my head toward the service door. She understood. She set down the water pitcher with both hands so it wouldn't shake and followed me.
The corridor behind the ballroom was narrow and too bright after all that candlelight. It smelled like hot plates and lemon polish. A bus cart rattled past us and then left us alone. Emma stood with her back almost against the wall, cap still straight, hands clasped tight at her waist. She wouldn't look at me at first.
"You did what I told you not to do," I said. I kept my voice low. "You brought her straight in."
Her throat moved. "I know. I'm sorry, Mr. Moretti."
"Tell me how she got here."
Emma glanced toward the door, then back at me. "She came to the kitchen entrance. Not the front. The delivery door. About an hour ago. She had the pie wrapped in a dish towel. She said—" Emma stopped and breathed. "She said she wasn't on the list but you knew her. Those were her words. You know me, she said. Tell Luca."
That hit me harder in that hallway than it had at the table. I leaned one shoulder against the wall to steady myself.
"And you believed her?" I asked.
"I didn't— I wasn't sure. She wasn't demanding anything. She asked if she could just leave it. The pie. She said it was for your engagement. She kept holding it with both hands like she was afraid to set it down." Emma's eyes filled but she didn't cry. "I asked who told her about tonight. She pulled out a note."
Emma reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper, soft from being opened and refolded too many times. She handed it to me.
It was my ballroom's name and address, written in shaky ballpoint in an old woman's hand. No name. No invitation. Just the place and tonight's date underneath. The ink was smudged at the edge like a thumb had held it a long time.
"Did she say who wrote it?" I asked.
"No, sir. I asked. She said a lady at church helped her write it down after she saw it in the paper. That's all she said. I didn't push her. She looked tired standing out there in the cold."
I folded the note again and held it. So there was no plan, no setup. Just a newspaper announcement, a church friend, and a bus ride across town with a hot pie.
"You know I have to ask," Emma said quietly. "Is she— was she telling the truth? Do you know her?"
I looked at the paper, not at her. "Yes. I know her."
Emma let out a breath she had been holding since the dining room. Her shoulders dropped an inch.
"Mr. Moretti, I'll accept whatever you decide. If you need to let me go. Vanessa — Mrs. Bellini said—"
"She wants you fired," I said plainly. There was no point hiding it. "She told me."
Emma nodded, her mouth tight. "The other girls warned me not to bring her in. I did it anyway."
I handed the note back to her. "Put that back where she can find it. And listen to me. You're not fired. Not tonight. Not for this."
Her head came up. "Sir?"
"You acted on compassion. I won't punish you for that. But I need you to stay straight with me from here on. If she tells you anything else about how she lives, where she stays, who helps her — you bring it to me. Not to Vanessa. To me. Can you do that?"
"Yes," she said. "Yes, sir. I can."
From the other side of the service door I could hear the low murmur of the ballroom starting again, forks moving, someone laughing too loud to cover the tension. Dessert was still waiting. Vanessa was still waiting.
I put my hand on the door but didn't push it yet. "When we go back in, keep close to her. If anyone tries to move her or take the pie, you come get me."
May you like
Emma wiped her palms on her apron and nodded. She looked younger up close, and scared, but she stood straighter than before.
I knew then her entry hadn't been planned. That made it harder, not easier. I couldn't blame a gatecrasher or a setup. I had to face what Rosa herself wanted from me, and I hadn't asked her yet.
