Chapter 1 - The Cold Wine on the Linen
“Emily, I suggest you remember who you are.” Vanessa Bellini stood beside the banquet table in a fitted red gown, smiling at the distinguished Italian gentleman seated across from her. Fifty guests watched as she turned toward me. “Pour the wine. And try not to embarrass me again.” I held the silver wine pitcher against my apron. My hands were trembling. Not because she'd insulted me. Because I'd understood every word she'd spoken in Italian. And what she'd just promised that man could destroy Luca Moretti's family. My name is Emily Carter. I'm twenty-five, and I've worked at the Moretti mansion in Chicago for eleven months. My grandmother came from Naples. She taught me Italian before I could spell my own name. But Vanessa didn't know that. To her, I was just another housemaid. Someone who cleaned tables, changed bedsheets, and disappeared whenever important people arrived. Tonight, however, I'd heard something I couldn't ignore. Twenty minutes earlier, Vanessa had leaned toward Carlo Vitale, a wealthy businessman visiting from Rome. Speaking fluent Italian, she'd told him Luca was prepared to sell the family restaurant. The little Italian restaurant his late father had opened forty years earlier. The restaurant where Luca and his younger brother Michael had washed dishes as boys. The one place Luca had sworn he'd never sell. And Carlo had replied with something even worse. “What about Michael? He still owns half.” Vanessa smiled. “Michael won't be a problem after tonight.” Now I stood beside the table, wondering what those words meant. “Emily!” Vanessa snapped her fingers. “Are you listening?” “Yes, ma'am.” “Then refill Mr. Vitale's glass.” I stepped forward. Carlo looked at me. Then he asked something in Italian. “Does Mr. Moretti know what his fiancée has agreed to?” I froze. Vanessa laughed. “Don't bother. She barely understands English.” Several guests chuckled. My face burned. But Carlo wasn't laughing. He was studying me carefully. Then he repeated the question. Slowly. I understood him perfectly. Vanessa's smile tightened. “Emily, pour the wine.” I looked toward Luca. Thirty-six years old. Black tailored suit, dark swept-back hair, tattooed hands resting beside his plate. He was speaking quietly with his younger brother. Michael Moretti. The very man Vanessa had just promised wouldn't be a problem. I made a decision. “Mr. Moretti,” I said softly. Luca looked up. “Yes, Emily?” Vanessa immediately interrupted. “Darling, she's been unusually difficult tonight.” But I couldn't stop. “There's something I think you should know.” Vanessa grabbed my wrist. “Absolutely not.” The wine pitcher tilted. Red wine spilled across the tablecloth. Vanessa stood abruptly. “Look what you've done!” I pulled my hand away. “I'm sorry.” She snatched the pitcher and poured the remaining wine down the front of my uniform. Several guests gasped. “There,” she said coldly. “Now you can stop pretending you're qualified to join the conversation.” Wine dripped from my sleeves. My throat tightened. Then Vanessa pointed toward the floor. “Clean that up. And afterward, pack your bags.” I thought about my mother. The apartment I helped pay for. The bills stacked beside her bed. I needed this job. But I looked at Michael. He was laughing quietly at something his brother had said. Completely unaware of the conversation happening three chairs away. And I knew I couldn't stay silent. “Mrs. Bellini,” I whispered, “you didn't translate what Mr. Vitale said correctly.” Vanessa stopped smiling. “What?” “He didn't say he was pleased about your wedding.” The room fell silent. Vanessa stared at me. Then she laughed. “Oh, sweetheart. Don't embarrass yourself further. You don't speak Italian.” I looked directly at her. “Yes, ma'am. I do.” A chair moved. Luca slowly stood. “Emily?” I swallowed. “My grandmother was Italian. I grew up speaking it.” His expression sharpened. “Then tell me what Mr. Vitale said.” Vanessa stepped between us. “Luca, she's lying!” He didn't raise his voice. “Move, Vanessa.” She stepped aside. I turned toward Carlo. And answered him in fluent Italian. His eyes widened. Then he slowly stood. “My apologies, Mr. Moretti,” he said in English. “I believed you were aware of the arrangement.” Luca frowned. “What arrangement?” Carlo looked at Vanessa. She had gone completely pale. “The sale of your father's restaurant.” Michael stopped smiling. Luca stared at Carlo. “My father's restaurant isn't for sale.” Carlo looked confused. “Your fiancée assured me both brothers had agreed.” Luca slowly turned toward Vanessa. “Both brothers?” Vanessa swallowed. “Darling, it's just a preliminary business discussion.” Michael pushed back his chair. “I haven't discussed selling anything.” Luca looked at his fiancée. “Then why did you tell Carlo Michael wouldn't be a problem?” Vanessa froze. I hadn't translated that part yet. And she knew it. Luca noticed her expression. “Emily,” he said quietly, “what exactly did she say about my brother?” I looked at Michael. Then at Vanessa. My voice shook. “She said Michael wouldn't be a problem after tonight.” Silence. Michael slowly stood. “Vanessa... what does that mean?” She shook her head. “It's being taken completely out of context.” But Carlo was staring at her. Then he spoke again. This time in Italian. And what he said made my stomach turn. “You told me the younger brother had already agreed to leave Chicago.” Luca looked at me. “Translate.” I could barely breathe. “Mr. Vitale says Vanessa told him Michael was leaving Chicago.” Michael's expression changed. “Leaving?” He looked at his brother. “Luca, I was going to tell you something tonight.” Vanessa suddenly grabbed Michael's arm. “Don't.” Luca went still. “Michael?” His younger brother looked terrified. Then Carlo quietly added one final sentence in Italian. I understood it. And for a moment, I wished I hadn't. Luca noticed my expression. “Emily. What did he say?” My eyes filled with tears. “Sir... Mr. Vitale says he was told your brother wouldn't be attending tomorrow's family meeting.” Luca frowned. “Why not?” I looked toward Vanessa. She was shaking her head. Begging me without speaking. Then I translated the rest. “Because someone had already arranged for Michael to be taken away tonight.” Luca turned toward his fiancée. “Taken where?” Nobody answered. Then Michael whispered something that made his brother's face drain of color. “Luca... Vanessa told me you wanted me gone.” Luca stared at him. “I never said that.” Michael looked toward the dining room doors. “Then why are the two men she hired waiting outside to take me?” And that was when Vanessa's father rose from the table. For the first time all evening, the powerful businessman looked frightened. Because whatever Vanessa had planned wasn't supposed to happen in front of fifty witnesses. And when Luca ordered the doors locked, his future father-in-law said something that changed everything. “Luca, if Michael tells you why he's really leaving, you'll wish you'd let those men take him.”
