Chapter 3 - The Cold Light of Day
By noon, the Moretti estate was operating with its usual icy efficiency.
Clara pushed her cleaning cart down the grand hallway of the west wing, the scent of lavender oil and lemon polish trailing behind her. To the rest of the staff, it was just another Tuesday. But to Clara, the house felt like a bomb waiting for a spark.
As she turned the corner toward Arthur’s private study, she saw two men standing outside the heavy mahogany doors.
One was Julian Rossi, Arthur’s underboss—a sharp-featured man with eyes like a viper, who always looked as though he were calculating the price of everyone in the room. The other was Leo, Arthur’s primary bodyguard, who stood six-foot-four and rarely spoke.
"He's been in there since seven," Julian was saying to Leo in a hushed, sharp tone. "He canceled the meeting with the Castiglione family. He hasn't done that in five years. Something happened last night."
"He was at the docks," Leo grunted. "Took care of the shipment dispute himself."
"And he came back looking like hell," Julian spat, crossing his arms. "He's losing his edge, Leo. Ever since his brother died, he's been sloppy. The board is getting restless."
Clara kept her head down, pushing the cart forward, her brass polish bottles clinking softly.
"Quiet," Leo muttered, spotting her.
Julian turned his cold gaze onto Clara as she approached. He stepped directly into the path of her cart, forcing her to stop.
"Morning, Clara," Julian said, his voice dripping with false pleasantry. "You look tired. Didn't sleep well?"
"The storm kept the window frames rattling, Mr. Rossi," Clara replied smoothly, keeping her eyes fixed respectfully on his silk tie. "May I pass? I need to dust the conservatory."
Julian didn't move. He leaned closer, searching her face. "You clean the ground floor corridor near the back stairs, right? Did you hear anything unusual last night? Around two?"
Clara’s pulse spiked, but her expression remained blank. "I sleep very soundly after my shifts, sir. I didn't hear anything over the rain."
Julian stared at her for three long seconds. He reached out and lightly tapped the handle of her cart. "Good girl. Keep it that way. Invisibility is good for your health."
"Yes, sir."
Julian stepped aside. As Clara pushed her cart past, the study door swung open.
Arthur stood in the threshold. He had showered and changed into a crisp dark blue three-piece suit. His hair was slicked back, and his face was impassive. Only the fresh bandage neatly wrapped around his right hand—courtesy of Clara’s handiwork—hinted at the night before.
His eyes locked onto Clara immediately. For a fraction of a second, the mask slipped, revealing a flicker of intense, quiet awareness.
"Julian," Arthur’s voice boomed, hard as iron. "In here. Now."
"Arthur," Julian said, turning around with a smooth smile. "We were just talking about the Castiglione situation."
"I don't care what you were talking about. Get inside." Arthur’s gaze drifted back to Clara as she moved down the hall. "Clara."
She stopped, turning around slowly. "Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
Arthur looked at her hand, which was gripping the brass rail of her cart. "The library floors need waxing. Do it personally tonight. After ten."
It was a summons. Julian noticed it instantly, his eyes darting between Arthur and the maid with sudden, dangerous curiosity.
"Yes, Mr. Moretti," Clara said softly, bowing her head before hurrying away with her cart.
May you like
Behind her, she heard Julian’s voice as the study door closed: "Since when do you care about the library floors, Arthur?"
Clara felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach. Arthur was trying to protect her, or perhaps keep her close to verify her loyalty. But in doing so, he was drawing Julian's predatory eyes toward her. In the Moretti household, attention was a death sentence.
