Chapter 2 - The Name from the Window
Grace had cooked for difficult people before.
Movie producers.
Politicians.
A retired quarterback who sent back mashed potatoes because they were “too potato-forward.”
Nothing in her professional life had prepared her to sauté onions while six enormous guard dogs lay outside the kitchen doors like they had been assigned to protect her.
Titan occupied the center.
Every few minutes Grace looked through the glass.
Every few minutes he was still there.
Watching.
Waiting.
The Moretti kitchen was beautiful enough to make a chef angry.
Two commercial ovens.
A six-burner French range.
Copper cookware polished until it reflected light.
A marble island larger than the entire kitchen in Grace’s apartment.
Someone had spent a fortune designing a room that looked like nobody was supposed to spill anything in it.
Grace intended to fix that immediately.
She chopped garlic.
Her hands knew what to do even when her mind did not.
Samuel Walker had worked here.
Three years.
Her father—the man who came home with oil beneath his fingernails, dog hair on his shirts and overdue bills stuffed inside the glove compartment—had secretly spent years working for one of the most powerful families in the city.
Grace tried to remember those years.
He had frequently disappeared at night.
Emergency repair jobs, he said.
Weekend work.
Extra cash.
She had believed all of it because children believed the explanations their parents gave them when love made questions feel unnecessary.
Now she wondered how many evenings he had actually driven through the Moretti gates.
“Your onions are burning.”
Grace jumped.
A woman stood near the pantry.
She appeared to be in her late sixties, silver hair pinned into a neat twist, black dress, pearl earrings.
Grace quickly moved the skillet.
“They’re caramelizing.”
“They’re considering cremation.”
Grace reduced the heat.
“Who are you?”
“Teresa Bellini.”
Grace recognized the name from the staff chart.
House manager.
Thirty-seven years with the Moretti family.
Which meant Teresa knew everything.
Or at least everything people had failed to hide.
Teresa looked through the doors at the dogs.
“I have never seen that.”
“Apparently I’m popular.”
“Titan once made a United States senator climb onto the hood of his own car.”
Grace looked at her.
“You’re joking.”
“Unfortunately for the senator’s dignity, I am not.”
Teresa approached.
“You are Samuel’s girl.”
Grace stopped chopping.
There it was again.
Not Samuel Walker’s daughter.
Samuel’s girl.
Personal.
Familiar.
“You knew my father.”
Teresa’s face softened.
“Yes.”
Grace placed the knife down.
“How?”
“He worked here.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
“Not everyone knew.”
“What exactly did he do?”
Teresa glanced toward the kitchen entrance.
“Officially?”
“I’m beginning to hate that word.”
“Officially, he supervised the kennel program and managed several properties outside the city.”
“And unofficially?”
Teresa gave her a long look.
“Your father was one of the very few people Luca’s father trusted.”
Grace laughed once, without humor.
“My father couldn’t get a bank to trust him with a three-thousand-dollar loan.”
“Banks and men like Antonio Moretti measure trust differently.”
“Antonio was Luca’s father?”
“Yes.”
Grace knew the name vaguely.
Antonio Moretti had died more than a decade earlier.
Natural causes, according to the newspapers.
Rumors had claimed otherwise.
Teresa pulled out a chair.
“Sit.”
“I’m working.”
“The soup will survive five minutes.”
Grace remained standing.
“Why did my father hide all of this?”
Teresa looked at her with something close to pity.
Grace disliked it immediately.
“Don’t.”
Teresa raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t look at me as though you know something terrible.”
“I know many terrible things.”
“About my father?”
“Yes.”
Grace’s palms went cold.
“Then tell me.”
Teresa was quiet.
“He loved you.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is the foundation of every answer that follows.”
Grace waited.
“Samuel was not ashamed of you. He was not running from you. He did not choose this family over you.”
“I never said he did.”
“You have thought it.”
Grace looked away.
For twelve years she had carried questions she was embarrassed to admit existed.
Why had Samuel been driving so far from home the night he died?
Why had he withdrawn nearly every dollar from his account two days earlier?
Why had there been no body she could identify?
Why had his toolbox vanished?
Why had a man who rescued animals and repaired farm equipment possessed a passport containing stamps from three countries Grace had never known he visited?
The questions had faded beneath rent payments and jobs and ordinary survival.
But they had never disappeared.
Teresa touched the edge of the table.
“Your father came here because Antonio trusted his judgment about animals.”
“That explains the dogs. Not secret evidence.”
“No.”
“What happened twelve years ago?”
Before Teresa could answer, the kitchen doors opened.
Victor entered.
His eyes went directly to Grace.
“Mr. Moretti would like to see you.”
Grace folded her arms.
“I’m preparing dinner.”
“Dinner can wait.”
“Tell that to thirty people at seven thirty.”
Teresa stood.
“I’ll watch the sauce.”
Grace looked at her.
“You’re not escaping this conversation.”
“I have been avoiding it successfully for twelve years. I suspect another hour will not defeat me.”
Grace almost smiled.
Almost.
She followed Victor.
Titan immediately stood outside.
Victor noticed.
“No.”
Titan followed anyway.
“Does he understand English?” Grace asked.
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps he disagrees.”
Victor stopped.
“Titan.”
The dog continued beside Grace.
Victor stared at him.
Grace shrugged.
“I’m not getting involved in your workplace disagreement.”
They crossed the main hall.
People watched.
Grace was becoming accustomed to that.
She was not accustomed to the paintings.
Moretti ancestors stared down from enormous gilded frames as though each had been painted while considering whether the viewer owed them money.
They climbed the central staircase.
Titan’s nails clicked against marble.
At the second floor, Victor opened a dark wooden door.
Luca stood behind his desk.
He had removed his jacket.
His sleeves were rolled once at the wrists.
Documents covered the desk.
A laptop displayed security footage of the courtyard.
Grace saw herself frozen on the screen, kneeling before the dogs.
“You recorded everything.”
“Every public section of this property.”
“Comforting.”
Victor remained near the door.
Luca looked at him.
“Outside.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
“Sir—”
“Victor.”
The security chief left.
Titan walked inside.
Luca watched him.
“He has never entered this office without permission.”
“Maybe he likes me better.”
“You’ve known him for fifteen minutes.”
“Twelve years and fifteen minutes.”
That landed.
Luca closed the laptop.
“You are certain?”
“About Titan?”
“Yes.”
Grace approached the desk.
“My father found him in a transport crate. He had an infected cut above his left eye. I helped clean it every night for nearly a week.”
“What happened after?”
“Dad said he had found him a home.”
“He brought Titan here.”
“Why?”
“Because Titan wasn’t the only animal he was rehabilitating for us.”
Grace stared.
“How many?”
“Eventually, fourteen.”
“Why would your family need fourteen dogs?”
Luca paused.
“Protection.”
Grace looked toward Titan.
“From what?”
“My family has enemies.”
“You say that casually.”
“It stopped being dramatic a long time ago.”
She studied him.
“Are the stories true?”
“Which stories?”
“That the Morettis are mafia.”
Luca did not smile.
“My grandfather built businesses with men whose accounting methods would not survive modern legal review.”
“That is the most expensive sentence I’ve ever heard for ‘yes.’”
A brief amusement crossed his face.
Then vanished.
“I inherited legitimate companies and illegitimate history. I have spent most of my adult life separating the two.”
“And my father?”
“He helped mine.”
Grace’s expression changed.
“How?”
Luca opened a drawer.
He removed an old photograph.
The edges were worn.
He placed it on the desk.
Grace did not touch it.
She stared.
Samuel Walker stood beside a much younger Luca Moretti.
Her father looked exactly as she remembered him.
Broad shoulders.
Uneven beard.
Faded work shirt.
That crooked half-smile that always appeared when someone tried to take a picture.
Beside him stood Antonio Moretti.
And at Samuel’s feet sat Titan as a young dog.
Grace reached for the photograph with trembling fingers.
“Where was this taken?”
“The north kennel.”
“When?”
“Thirteen years ago.”
Samuel’s arm rested casually across Luca’s shoulder.
They looked comfortable.
Not employer and contractor.
Family.
Grace’s throat tightened.
“He never mentioned you.”
“I know.”
“You knew me?”
Luca looked at her.
“I knew your name.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Yes.”
Grace’s fingers stopped.
“You knew who I was when I applied for this job?”
“No.”
“But you recognized the surname.”
“When Victor sent the final hiring list, I noticed it.”
“And you didn’t investigate?”
“I did.”
Her anger rose instantly.
“You investigated me?”
“I investigate everyone who works inside this house.”
“What did you find?”
“That Grace Elaine Walker was thirty-two, trained at a culinary institute in Chicago, had worked at three hotels and two private clubs, had no criminal record, paid her taxes late twice, and once received a citation for parking beside a fire hydrant.”
Grace stared.
“You forgot that I hate raisins in chicken salad.”
“I’ll update the file.”
She nearly told him where he could put the file.
Instead, she held up the photograph.
“If you recognized my name, why didn’t you tell me about my father?”
“Because I wasn’t sure.”
“About what?”
“That you were his daughter.”
“There cannot be that many Samuel Walkers connected to one Grace Walker.”
“Samuel made people promise not to approach you.”
The anger inside Grace shifted.
“What?”
“He was specific.”
Luca walked toward the window.
“Whatever happened here, he wanted you separated from it.”
“And you respected that for twelve years?”
“Yes.”
“Until today.”
“Today Titan broke a twelve-year rule before I did.”
Grace looked at the dog.
“What rule?”
“Nobody outside his handlers touches him.”
Titan leaned against Grace’s leg.
Luca continued.
“Your father trained these animals using scent association, voice cues and trust patterns I never completely understood. He believed dogs remembered emotional safety longer than people did.”
Grace looked at Titan.
“So you think he recognized me.”
“I know he did.”
“That still doesn’t explain your reaction.”
Luca was quiet.
Grace stepped closer.
“What have you been trying to prove for twelve years?”
His gaze shifted toward the photograph.
“That Samuel did not steal from my father.”
Grace froze.
“What?”
“Two million dollars disappeared from one of Antonio’s private accounts the week your father vanished.”
Grace laughed from shock.
“My father didn’t have two hundred dollars.”
“I know.”
“Then why would anyone accuse him?”
“Because the records carried his authorization.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I believed that too.”
“Who didn’t?”
“My uncle.”
“Your uncle?”
“Vincent Moretti.”
Grace had heard the name.
An older branch of the family.
A businessman who had disappeared from public life years ago.
Luca returned to the desk.
“Vincent claimed Samuel had betrayed us. He claimed your father stole confidential records, took the money and fled.”
“My father’s car burned.”
“Three days later.”
“And everyone decided that meant what?”
“That Samuel lost control while escaping.”
Grace felt sick.
“You said there was no identifiable body.”
“No.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“So how was he declared dead?”
“A watch was found. Dental fragments. Blood evidence.”
“His?”
“At the time, we were told yes.”
“At the time?”
Luca opened another folder.
He removed a laboratory report.
“Eight years later, I had the preserved samples retested privately.”
Grace did not want to ask.
She asked anyway.
“And?”
“The blood did not belong to Samuel Walker.”
Silence.
Grace stared at him.
The sentence had no place to land.
For twelve years she had thought her father was dead.
For twelve years she had visited an empty grave.
For twelve Christmases she had placed cheap grocery-store flowers beneath a stone carrying his name.
“What are you telling me?”
Luca’s voice softened.
“I am telling you I do not know what happened to your father.”
Grace shook her head.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
She backed away from the desk.
“You knew this eight years ago?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“I had no proof he survived.”
“You had proof the blood wasn’t his!”
“I also had Samuel’s written instruction that you were never to be brought into this.”
“I was already in it!”
Her voice cracked.
Titan stood.
Grace pressed one hand against her mouth.
Luca did not approach.
That was perhaps the only reason she did not leave immediately.
When she spoke again, her voice was quieter.
“Why did Titan matter?”
Luca looked at the dog.
“Because Samuel trained Titan to respond differently to three people.”
“My father.”
“My father.”
“And?”
Luca met her eyes.
“You.”
Grace’s anger disappeared beneath confusion.
“Me?”
“He told me once that if Titan ever treated a stranger as family, I was to pay attention.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It didn’t then.”
“And now?”
Luca’s gaze hardened.
“Now Samuel Walker’s daughter has walked through my gates on her own after twelve years.”
Grace looked toward the photograph again.
Something on the back caught her attention.
A faint pencil mark.
She flipped it over.
Three words had been written in Samuel’s handwriting.
Grace recognized it instantly.
When Titan chooses, listen.
Her hands began trembling.
Below that was another line.
Much fainter.
Almost erased.
Grace brought the photograph closer.
Luca moved beside her.
Together they read it.
The kitchen remembers everything.
Grace looked slowly toward the door.
Toward the corridor leading back downstairs.
Toward the room where she had been hired to work.
The job suddenly no longer felt accidental.
And for the first time, Grace wondered whether she had chosen Moretti House—
May you like
or whether something Samuel Walker had arranged twelve years earlier had finally brought her there.
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