Chapter 1 - Something Hidden in the Hem
“Burn it.”
I stared at Vanessa Bellini.
Behind her, hanging from a padded hanger, was Elena Moretti’s wedding dress.
Ivory satin.
Long sleeves.
Hand-sewn pearls around the collar.
Yellowed slightly with age.
Beautiful anyway.
“I’m sorry?”
Vanessa pointed toward the fireplace.
“Burn the dress.”
I thought she was joking.
She wasn’t.
We were standing in the upstairs dressing room three hours before Vanessa and Luca Moretti’s engagement dinner.
Boxes of designer gowns covered the sofas.
Florists moved through the hallway.
Downstairs, chefs were preparing dinner for forty guests.
And Vanessa wanted me to put Luca’s dead mother’s wedding dress into a fire.
“Why?”
She turned slowly.
“What did you ask?”
“Why does it need to be burned?”
Vanessa sighed.
“Because it has mildew.”
I looked at the dress.
“No, it doesn’t.”
Her eyes narrowed.
My name is Emma Reed.
I was twenty-seven and had worked in Luca Moretti’s mansion for eleven months.
My mother had been a seamstress for thirty-four years.
Not the glamorous kind.
She hemmed pants.
Replaced zippers.
Altered prom dresses.
And repaired wedding gowns for women who cried when they saw what alterations cost.
I grew up surrounded by fabric.
I knew mildew.
I knew water damage.
I knew moth damage.
And Elena Moretti’s wedding dress had none of them.
“It smells old,” Vanessa said.
“That isn’t mildew.”
“I don’t care what you call it.”
She pointed toward the fireplace again.
“Get rid of it.”
“Does Mr. Moretti know?”
Vanessa laughed.
“Why does every maid in this house suddenly think Luca needs to approve closet cleaning?”
“It was his mother’s.”
“So?”
I looked at her.
She smiled.
“Dead people don’t need clothes.”
Something inside me tightened.
Vanessa walked toward the dress.
“I need this wardrobe for my wedding gowns.”
“There are twelve empty wardrobes in this house.”
She turned.
“Emma.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Do you enjoy your job?”
I said nothing.
“Because your mother’s medical bills suggest you should.”
My stomach dropped.
She knew about my mother too.
“Please don’t discuss her.”
“Then don’t make me repeat myself.”
Vanessa left.
I stood beside the dress.
The fireplace was already lit.
All I had to do was carry the gown six feet.
Instead, I touched the sleeve.
My mother had taught me never to grab old silk carelessly.
I lifted it gently.
That was when I noticed something.
Six pearls were missing from the cuff.
Not loose.
Removed.
Fresh thread ends remained.
I checked the other sleeve.
Four more missing.
Then the collar.
Three.
Someone had been cutting pearls from the dress.
I looked toward the door.
Vanessa’s engagement outfit was laid across the chaise.
Beside it sat a pair of ivory opera gloves.
Pearls had been sewn around the wrists.
Old pearls.
Slightly uneven.
One had a tiny pink discoloration.
I looked back at Elena’s dress.
An empty thread loop near the collar had the same pink stain beneath it.
My chest tightened.
Vanessa had taken them.
I picked up one glove.
“Put that down.”
I turned.
Vanessa stood in the doorway.
“Are these from the dress?”
“No.”
“The pearls match.”
“Pearls look alike.”
“These don’t.”
She walked toward me.
“Put down my glove.”
I did.
Then I pointed toward the gown.
“You cut them off.”
Vanessa smiled.
“I borrowed them.”
“From a dress you’re about to burn.”
“Exactly.”
“Does Luca know?”
Her expression hardened.
“Stop asking me that.”
“Why?”
“Because I am tired of employees behaving as though I require permission to exist in my own life.”
“This isn’t your dress.”
“It belongs to the Moretti family.”
“And?”
“I’m joining the Moretti family.”
I stared at her.
Vanessa leaned closer.
“Do you know what Luca’s mother would want?”
“No.”
“Neither do you.”
She picked up the gloves.
“But she’s dead, so fortunately neither of us has to ask.”
Then she smiled.
“Burn it.”
I waited until she left.
Then I took the dress downstairs.
But not to the fireplace.
I brought it into the laundry room.
I wanted to remove anything that might be damaged by fire.
Hooks.
Metal fasteners.
Old boning.
That was what I told myself.
Really, I was buying time.
I laid the dress across the table.
Then I noticed the hem.
One section had been resewn.
Recently.
The thread was bright white.
The rest was yellow with age.
I touched it.
Something hard was inside.
I found a seam ripper.
Opened three inches.
A small black notebook slid out.
I stared at it.
No name.
No label.
Just a black leather cover.
I opened the first page.
Numbers.
Dates.
Initials.
Then a photograph fell out.
A younger Elena Moretti stood beside another woman.
Behind them was a sign.
ST. AGNES MATERNITY HOME.
I heard footsteps.
Vanessa entered.
She saw the notebook.
Her face went white.
“You opened the hem.”
I stood.
“What is this?”
“Give it to me.”
“What is it?”
“Emma.”
She crossed the room.
I backed away.
“You knew it was there.”
“No.”
“You wanted the dress burned.”
“Because it’s ruined.”
“You removed the pearls first.”
Her eyes flashed.
“That has nothing to do with this.”
I froze.
“You knew there was something else.”
Vanessa realized what she had said.
Too late.
I held the notebook tighter.
“What are you looking for?”
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
She grabbed my arm.
I pulled away.
The notebook fell.
It opened on the floor.
A folded document slipped out.
Vanessa lunged.
I reached it first.
Across the top:
CERTIFICATE OF LIVE BIRTH.
Before I could read the name, Vanessa ripped it from my hand.
“You’re fired.”
She shoved the paper into her purse.
Then picked up the notebook.
“Go downstairs.”
I stared at her.
“What was on that certificate?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“It concerns Luca.”
She slapped me.
The sound cracked through the laundry room.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
My cheek burned.
Vanessa looked almost surprised at herself.
Then her expression hardened.
“Go home.”
I didn’t.
At seven thirty, the engagement dinner began.
Vanessa descended the staircase wearing the pearl gloves.
I stood beside the dining room doors.
My cheek was covered with makeup.
The wedding dress was hidden in the linen closet.
Vanessa thought she had the notebook.
She didn’t know one page had torn free when it fell.
It was in my pocket.
Dinner continued for forty minutes.
Then Luca noticed the gloves.
He reached across the table.
“Those pearls.”
Vanessa smiled.
“Do you like them?”
He touched one.
His face changed.
“Where did you get these?”
“My designer.”
Luca looked closer.
One pearl had a tiny pink mark.
He stopped.
“My mother’s dress.”
Vanessa laughed.
“What?”
“That stain.”
He pointed.
“My sister spilled strawberry medicine on her wedding dress when she was three.”
Nobody moved.
Vanessa pulled her hand back.
“Luca—”
“Where is the dress?”
“It was damaged.”
“Where?”
She looked at me.
Luca followed her eyes.
“Emma?”
I swallowed.
“Upstairs.”
Vanessa snapped:
“No, it isn’t.”
Luca slowly looked at her.
Then at me.
“Bring it.”
I did.
When I carried Elena Moretti’s wedding dress into the dining room, Luca stood.
He saw the missing pearls.
His expression changed.
“You cut them off.”
Vanessa sighed.
“I wanted something meaningful for our engagement.”
“So you cut apart my mother’s dress.”
“It’s fabric.”
Luca looked at her.
“No.”
He touched the sleeve.
“My father kept this for thirty years because it still smelled like her perfume.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes.
That was a mistake.
Luca saw.
Then he noticed the opened hem.
“What happened here?”
I answered.
“There was something hidden inside.”
Vanessa went still.
Luca looked at me.
“What?”
“A notebook.”
His eyes moved to Vanessa.
She folded her arms.
“This is becoming ridiculous.”
I reached into my pocket.
“And this page.”
Vanessa’s face changed.
I handed it to Luca.
It contained names.
Women’s names.
Dates.
Dollar amounts.
One name had been circled.
ANNA MARINO.
Beside it:
BABY M — MOVED BEFORE MICHAEL ARRIVED.
Luca read it twice.
“Who’s Michael?” I asked.
“My father.”
Vanessa immediately said:
“It means nothing.”
Luca looked up.
“How do you know?”
She froze.
He stared at her.
“You haven’t read it.”
“I can see it from here.”
“No, you can’t.”
Vanessa’s lips tightened.
Luca held out his hand.
“The notebook.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Emma says you do.”
“She’s lying.”
I spoke.
“She put it in her purse.”
Every eye went to the small red bag beside Vanessa’s chair.
Luca picked it up.
Vanessa grabbed it.
“No.”
His expression changed.
“Why?”
“Because it’s mine.”
“Then you won’t mind opening it.”
“Luca.”
“Open it.”
She didn’t.
Luca took the purse.
Inside was the notebook.
And the birth certificate.
He removed both.
Vanessa went pale.
He unfolded the certificate.
Read it.
His entire body became still.
“What?” one of the older men at the table asked.
Luca didn’t answer.
I saw the name from where I stood.
Mother:
ANNA MARINO.
Father:
MICHAEL MORETTI.
Child:
MALE.
Luca stared at Vanessa.
“You knew my father had another son.”
“No.”
“You had the certificate.”
“I found it tonight.”
“In a dress you ordered burned before dinner.”
Silence.
Luca opened the notebook.
He flipped through the pages.
Then stopped.
One page had been marked with a red ribbon.
Vanessa whispered:
“Don’t.”
Luca looked up.
“Don’t what?”
She said nothing.
He read.
His expression changed again.
Then he looked toward one of his security men.
“Find Anna Marino.”
Vanessa stood.
“She’s dead.”
Nobody moved.
Luca slowly turned.
“How do you know?”
Vanessa’s face drained of color.
She tried to recover.
“I assume she is. Look at the date.”
Luca stared at her.
Then he looked down at the notebook.
“No.”
His voice was quiet.
“This entry is from four months ago.”
Vanessa stopped breathing.
He read it aloud.
ANNA CONTACTED. SON STILL ALIVE. VANESSA KNOWS WHERE.
Every guest in the room went silent.
Luca raised his eyes.
“Where is my brother?”
Vanessa shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“Then why did my mother write that you do?”
“She didn’t.”
“What?”
Vanessa pointed at the notebook.
“That isn’t Elena’s handwriting.”
Luca stared at her.
And something far worse than anger entered his expression.
Because she was right.
He looked at the final page.
Then at the wedding dress.
Then back at Vanessa.
“If this isn’t my mother’s handwriting…”
He closed the notebook.
“…who put it in her dress?”
Vanessa said nothing.
Luca looked at the fireplace burning across the room.
Then at the gown Vanessa had ordered destroyed.
And finally at the woman he was supposed to marry.
“Who were you trying to stop me from finding?”
For several seconds, nobody answered him.
I could hear the fire.
That was the strange part.
Forty people were sitting around a table covered in crystal and silver, yet the loudest sound in the room was the soft crack of burning wood.
Vanessa looked toward the doors.
Luca noticed.
So did I.
“Don’t,” he said.
She stopped.
“I wasn’t going anywhere.”
“You were looking at the exit.”
Her chin lifted.
“This is humiliating.”
Luca gave a short, humorless laugh.
“My mother’s dress is cut apart. A birth certificate naming my father is in your purse. A notebook says you know where his son is. And you’re worried about humiliation?”
Vanessa’s face hardened.
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
“No,” Luca said. “But you do.”
That silenced her.
I felt the torn page in my memory as clearly as if it were still in my pocket.
ANNA CONTACTED.
SON STILL ALIVE.
VANESSA KNOWS WHERE.
There was no innocent explanation for those words.
Not one I could imagine.
Luca turned toward his security chief.
“Close the gates.”
Vanessa stared at him.
“You can’t hold me here.”
“I’m not holding you.”
He looked at the red purse on the table.
“I’m preserving evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
One of the guests quietly stood.
Luca looked at him.
The man sat back down.
Nobody else moved.
I should have felt satisfied.
Vanessa had slapped me.
Threatened my job.
Used my mother’s medical bills against me.
Ordered me to destroy something precious because she believed nobody in the house would challenge her.
But I didn’t feel satisfied.
I felt afraid.
Because Vanessa was not behaving like a woman caught stealing pearls.
She was behaving like a woman who had just realized a much larger secret was no longer under her control.
Luca looked at me.
“Emma.”
“Yes?”
“Who else touched the dress?”
“Mrs. Caruso may have moved the garment bag last month. The cleaners never handled it. Your mother’s things were kept separate.”
“Who knew it was in that wardrobe?”
I thought about it.
“House staff.”
Vanessa laughed.
Too quickly.
“That narrows it down to twenty people.”
Luca did not look at her.
“Who knew about the hem?”
My stomach tightened.
“Nobody.”
His eyes returned to the bright white stitches.
Somebody had opened Elena Moretti’s wedding dress recently.
Somebody had hidden the notebook.
Or retrieved it.
Or checked that it was still there.
I suddenly understood the question Luca had asked.
Not who knew about the dress.
Who knew where to look inside it.
I glanced toward Vanessa.
She was no longer watching Luca.
She was watching me.
And the hatred in her face was colder than anything I had seen from her before.
That was when I realized my mistake.
I had thought saving the dress had protected a dead woman’s memory.
May you like
Instead, I had opened a door someone had spent decades keeping shut.
And now they knew exactly who had opened it.
