Chapter 3 - The Threat in the Pantry
While Luca and Sal carried the conversation out toward the grand foyer, I slipped away through the swinging service doors. The kitchen was quiet, smelling of cold grease and expensive wine left in half-empty bottles. I untied my white apron, folding it neatly over the stainless-steel prep counter, my hands shaking so hard I could barely knot the strings.
I had only been working at the Moretti estate for six months. I took the maid's job to pay for my brother's community college tuition in Harrisburg, keeping my head down, scrubbing baseboards, polishing silver until I could see my own tired face in the metal. I wasn't supposed to have opinions. I wasn't supposed to speak unless spoken to, and certainly never to interrupt a guest of honor like Vanessa Bellini.
The swinging door squeaked open behind me.
I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. The sharp, expensive scent of French perfume—tubereuse and cold amber—filled the small scullery before Vanessa even spoke.
"You have a very loose tongue for someone who scrubs floors, Emma," Vanessa said. Her voice was poison wrapped in silk. She walked over to the sink, her red gown sweeping across the tiled floor with a soft, susurrating hiss. She didn't look at her reflection; she watched me in the dark glass of the microwave door.
"I answered a direct question, Ms. Bellini," I said quietly, keeping my eyes fixed on the edge of the counter.
Vanessa spun around, leaning back against the stainless steel. She crossed her arms, the diamond necklace dipping as she moved. "You stepped out of your place. Sal is a disgruntled employee who couldn't keep up with the demands of this household. The fact that he ambushed us during an engagement dinner proves his mind is going."
"He didn't seem confused to me," I murmured, instantly regretting the words the moment they left my lips.
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Vanessa's eyes narrowed into hard little slits. She stepped closer, invading my space until I could smell the stale wine on her breath. "Listen to me very carefully, Emma. Luca is under a lot of stress. This merger, the wedding planning, the estate expenses—he doesn't need old men dragging up sentimental garbage from his childhood. If you want to keep your weekly paycheck, and if you want your brother to keep going to classes in Harrisburg, you will forget you ever saw Sal tonight. You will tell Luca nothing if he asks."
Before I could answer, the kitchen door pushed open again, throwing a long strip of light across the linoleum.
