Chapter 2
The ballroom fell into a dead silence.
Even the distant murmur of the guests died out.
All eyes turned toward Isabella Marconi.
Her face had lost all color.
The flawless makeup suddenly looked like a cheap mask.
“That is a complete lie,” Isabella whispered.
Her voice shook.
Gabriel didn’t move.
He stood frozen beside the grand piano.
His dark eyes were fixed on the silver key in Sophie’s palm.
It was small.
Old-fashioned.
Engraved with twin lilies.
The exact symbol of his late wife’s family estate.
“Where did you find that key?” Gabriel asked again.
His voice was barely above a breath.
It was the quiet before the storm.
Sophie pointed a trembling finger at Isabella.
“She dropped it,” Sophie signed slowly.
“In the study. On Tuesday.”
I watched Isabella take a sharp step back.
Her stiletto heel clicked against the polished marble floor.
“The child is making things up,” Isabella said quickly.
She forced a tight, nervous laugh.
“She has an overactive imagination, Gabriel. You know how children are.”
Gabriel ignored her.
He knelt down in front of his daughter.
“Did you see her take anything else, sweetheart?”
Sophie nodded.
She wiped a tear from her cheek.
“A green folder,” she signed.
“From Mommy’s desk.”
Gabriel stood up slowly.
He turned to face his fiancée.
The height difference between them suddenly felt immense.
He towered over her.
“My wife’s study,” Gabriel said.
Each word fell like a lead weight.
“Has been locked since the day she died.”
“I was only organizing the estate,” Isabella stammered.
“You don't have access to that room.”
“I’m going to be your wife!”
“You are not my wife yet,” Gabriel snapped.
The sharpness of his tone made Isabella flinch.
He reached into his tailored suit jacket.
He pulled out a heavy gold-trimmed smartphone.
“Daniel,” Gabriel said into the phone.
“Get upstairs to the private wing right now.”
“Boss?” a voice crackled through the speaker.
“Open the master study. Check the mahogany desk.”
Gabriel kept his eyes locked on Isabella.
“Tell me if the second drawer is locked.”
The line was silent for three seconds.
Then Daniel spoke again.
“It’s open, Boss. The lock has been forced.”
Isabella closed her eyes.
The game was over.
She had underestimated a nine-year-old girl.
And she had underestimated me.
Gabriel ended the call without another word.
He looked at Isabella with pure disgust.
“Get out,” he said.
“Gabriel, please—”
“Get out of my house before I forget there are guests watching.”
Isabella’s expression twisted.
The mask of the sweet, elegant bride vanished entirely.
“You’re making a massive mistake,” she hissed.
She glared at me with pure venom.
“You’ll regret this, Hannah. Both of you.”
She turned on her heel.
She marched through the silent crowd of stunned guests.
Nobody moved to stop her.
Nobody offered a comforting word.
Gabriel didn't watch her leave.
He dropped down onto one knee beside Sophie again.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
He pulled his daughter into a tight embrace.
Sophie buried her face in his shoulder.
She didn't cry anymore.
She just held on.
I stepped back quietly, trying to make myself invisible.
This wasn't my world.
I was just a waitress.
A girl whose mother needed insurance.
I turned toward the service doors.
“Hannah,” Gabriel’s voice stopped me.
I froze.
“Stay,” he said.
“Mr. DeLuca, I should get back to the kitchen.”
“Stay,” he repeated, standing up with Sophie in his arms.
“I need to talk to you.”
The private study on the third floor smelled of old leather and expensive scotch.
It was dark, grand, and suffocating.
Gabriel sat behind a massive mahogany desk.
Sophie was asleep on the leather sofa in the corner.
Her purple-butterfly hearing aids rested on the coffee table.
I stood near the door, my hands clasped in front of my apron.
“You knew,” Gabriel said.
It wasn't a question.
“I knew she was unhappy, Mr. DeLuca.”
“No,” he corrected, looking up at me.
“You knew about the woman. The Thursday visits.”
“Sophie mentioned her twice,” I admitted carefully.
“She said a lady came to take pictures.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
My chin rose.
I wasn't going to cower.
“Tell you what? That your fiancée was cold to your deaf daughter? I’m a waitress here, Mr. DeLuca. If I reported every unkind word I saw, I would have been fired on my first day.”
Gabriel studied me.
His gaze was sharp.
Intense.
It was the look of a man who controlled empires.
“Isabella had a plan,” he murmured, staring at the open drawer.
“She wanted my estate. She wanted my businesses.”
“And Sophie was in the way.”
“Yes.”
He stood up and walked toward the window.
Outside, the Chicago skyline glittered against the dark night sky.
“My daughter's mother died of a weak heart,” Gabriel said quietly.
“Or so I was told.”
My blood ran cold.
“What do you mean?”
“The medical report said natural causes,” he said, his back still to me.
“But the documents Isabella stole from that drawer weren't business files.”
He turned around.
“They were my late wife’s personal journal.”
He walked back to the desk.
He picked up a green leather folder.
It was the one Sophie had mentioned.
“My wife knew something was wrong with her medication,” Gabriel said.
“And Isabella was the one who managed the household pharmacy.”
The room felt suddenly devoid of oxygen.
I stared at the folder in his hands.
“You think—”
“I don't guess, Hannah,” Gabriel interrupted coldly.
“I find out.”
He placed the folder down.
Then he looked directly into my eyes.
“You protect my daughter.”
“Always.”
“From tomorrow, you are no longer a waitress.”
I blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“You are Sophie’s personal companion and tutor.”
“Mr. DeLuca, I don't have a degree in special education—”
“You know sign language,” he said firmly.
“More importantly, you have her trust. That is something money cannot buy.”
Before I could refuse, he named a salary.
It was five times what I made as a waitress.
Enough to pay off my mother’s medical bills in three months.
Enough to change our lives entirely.
“I have to think about it,” I whispered.
“Take tonight,” Gabriel said.
“Tomorrow morning, Daniel will pick you up.”
He walked toward the door.
He paused as he passed me.
“Be careful, Hannah,” he said softly.
“Isabella has powerful friends.”
“So do you,” I replied without thinking.
Gabriel gave a faint, rare smile.
“Go home, Hannah.”
The taxi ride back to my small apartment took forty minutes.
The streets of Chicago were wet from a cold autumn drizzle.
I couldn't stop thinking about the look in Sophie's eyes.
And the heavy weight of the secret we had uncovered.
I unlocked my apartment door and stepped inside.
It was dark.
Quiet.
Normal.
Too normal.
I reached for the light switch by the hallway.
My hand brushed against the wall.
Something was wrong.
The air smelled different.
It smelled like expensive perfume.
Jasmine and vanilla.
The exact scent Isabella Marconi wore.
I froze in the doorway.
“Who’s there?” I called out.
No answer.
I took two steps into the living room.
My foot crunched on something on the floor.
I looked down.
It was a framed photograph of my mother and me.
Smashed to pieces.
A note was pinned to the center of the shattered glass with a silver letter opener.
I reached out with trembling fingers and pulled the note free.
Written in bold black ink were four words:
Drop it or else.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I grabbed my phone from my pocket.
I dialed Gabriel’s number immediately.
It rang twice.
Then clicked.
“Gabriel,” I gasped.
“Someone is in my apartment.”
“Stay where you are,” his voice came back instantly.
Cold.
Hard.
Deadly.
“Lock the door. I’m sending Daniel.”
“Hurry,” I whispered.
Then I heard a sound from the kitchen.
A slow, heavy footstep on the floorboards.
I backed away toward the front door.
A shadow appeared in the hallway.
A tall figure holding something heavy.
I raised my phone as a flashlight.
The beam cut through the darkness.
It wasn't Isabella.
It was a man I had never seen before.
He wore a black leather jacket and a blank expression.
He raised a silver suppressor toward my chest.
I couldn't scream.
I couldn't run.
The phone slipped from my fingers and hit the floor.
The screen cracked.
Gabriel's voice still echoed faintly from the speaker on the floor.
“Hannah? Hannah!”
May you like
The man pulled the trigger.
[CLIFFHANGER: THE SHOT FIRED IN THE DARK, BUT DID IT HIT HANNAH OR DID SOMEONE ELSE BURST THROUGH THE DOOR JUST IN TIME?]
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