Chapter 1: The Man They Wanted Forgotten
“Take him out through the service entrance.””
Vanessa Bellini said it like she was asking someone to remove a broken vase from the dining room.
She didn’t look at the old man standing beside me in the mansion garage. She didn’t look at the cardboard box in his hands. She didn’t look at the folded chauffeur’s uniform resting on top of it.
She only looked at me.
And somehow, that was worse.
I had worked inside Luca Moretti’s Chicago mansion for ten months. I had learned quickly that powerful people rarely shouted when they wanted something done.
They didn’t need to.
They simply expected the world to move around them.
The garage smelled like polished leather and rain-soaked pavement that evening. Outside, expensive cars rolled through the gates one after another, bringing guests for Luca Moretti and Vanessa Bellini’s engagement dinner.
Inside, Salvatore Russo stood quietly beside the black sedan he had driven for thirty-four years.
His shoulders were slightly bent now.
His hair had turned silver.
But he still wore the same dark driving coat I had seen every morning at six-thirty when I arrived for work.
Except tonight, the coat wasn’t on his body.
It was folded over his arm.
His chauffeur’s cap sat inside the cardboard box.
Along with a metal thermos.
A pair of worn work gloves.
And one framed photograph.
“Mrs. Bellini,” I said carefully, trying to keep my voice calm, “Mr. Russo said he wanted to say goodbye to Mr. Moretti before he left.””
Vanessa finally turned.
Her red evening gown caught the garage lights, making her look like she belonged upstairs among crystal glasses and expensive flowers.
Not down here.
Not beside someone who had spent his entire life serving the Moretti family.
“No.””
One word.
Cold.
Final.
Sal lowered his eyes.
“That’s all right, Miss Emma.””
His voice was gentle.
“I’ve said goodbye to enough people in this family.””
I looked at him.
There was something about the way he said it that bothered me.
Not anger.
Not sadness.
Something older.
Like he had already buried something years ago.
Vanessa stepped closer to me.
“Call him a cab.””
She reached into her purse and pulled out folded cash.
She pressed it into my hand.
“And Emma?””
I looked up.
Her smile vanished.
“Luca believes Sal retired voluntarily.””
The garage suddenly felt much colder.
I stared at her.
“Excuse me?””
“You heard me.””
She adjusted one of her earrings, completely calm.
“He doesn’t need unnecessary emotions tonight. This is our engagement dinner. His family will be here. Important people will be here.””
She glanced toward Sal.
“Tonight is about the future.””
The way she said it made the old man seem like he belonged to the past.
Like he was a photograph someone had forgotten to remove from a wall.
I looked at the money in my hand.
Then at Sal.
He noticed.
A small smile appeared on his face.
“Don’t worry, Miss Emma.””
He picked up the cardboard box.
“I can call my own cab.””
“No,” I said immediately.
Both of them looked at me.
I didn’t know why I said it.
Maybe because Sal had always been kind to me.
Maybe because he was the only person in this mansion who remembered my birthday after seeing my employee file.
Maybe because every morning he left a cup of coffee beside the staff entrance when he knew I had worked late the night before.
Or maybe because something about this felt wrong.
“I’ll walk you out,” I said.
Vanessa’s expression tightened.
“Emma.””
Her voice carried a warning.
But I ignored it.
Because twenty minutes earlier, I had found Sal cleaning out his locker.
And I still didn’t understand why.
The staff area was hidden behind the kitchen hallway, far away from the marble floors and expensive paintings guests admired.
Sal’s locker was small.
Almost too small for someone who had spent three decades working for the Moretti family.
I had found him holding an old photograph.
“What are you doing?”” I asked.
He quickly wiped his eyes before turning around.
“Cleaning.””
I frowned.
“Cleaning your locker?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
He looked down at the photograph.
For a moment, he looked much older than he did in the garage.
“Apparently, it’s time.””
I stepped closer.
“Are you retiring?””
He smiled without looking at me.
“Apparently.””
I didn’t like that answer.
“What does that mean?””
He placed the photograph carefully into the box.
The picture showed a young Luca Moretti sitting on the hood of an old station wagon.
He looked about eight years old.
Beside him stood his father, Antonio Moretti.
And behind them was Sal.
All three of them were laughing.
Not posing.
Actually laughing.
“Miss Bellini says Mr. Moretti thinks I’m getting too old to drive him.””
I stared at him.
“That doesn’t sound like Luca.””
Sal closed the locker.
“No.””
His voice was quiet.
“It doesn’t.””
Three days earlier, I had heard Luca say something completely different.
I had been carrying fresh towels through the east hallway when I saw him and Sal standing near the library.
Luca had just returned from a meeting.
His suit jacket was still on.
His expression was exhausted.
“Sal,” Luca had said, “you’re the only person I trust to drive me.””
The older man had smiled.
“You’ve been saying that since you were twelve.””
Luca laughed.
“Because it’s true.””
Then he had placed a hand on Sal’s shoulder.
“You’re family.””
Those words had stayed with me.
Because Luca Moretti was not a man who used that word lightly.
Everyone in Chicago knew the Moretti name.
They knew the rumors.
The influence.
The power.
People lowered their voices when they talked about the family.
But inside this mansion, I had seen something different.
I had seen Luca bring soup to his sick aunt.
I had seen him stop meetings because Sal needed help carrying boxes.
I had seen him leave a business dinner early because Sal’s wife had been taken to the hospital.
So why would Luca suddenly force him out?
He wouldn’t.
Unless he didn’t know.
I carried one side of Sal’s box as we walked toward the service hallway.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said.
“I know.””
He looked at me.
“Then why?””
I shrugged.
“Because I want to.””
He smiled.
“You remind me of someone.””
“Who?””
“Luca’s mother.””
I stopped walking.
I had heard stories about Elena Moretti.
Everyone had.
She was remembered as the only person who could make Antonio Moretti laugh.
“She was kind,” I said.
Sal nodded.
“She was brave.””
The hallway lights flickered slightly above us.
“Did Luca’s father treat you well?”” I asked.
Sal was silent for a moment.
Then he answered.
“He treated me like a man.””
That was all.
But somehow, it said everything.
When we reached the service door, Sal stopped.
He looked back toward the mansion.
Music drifted from the dining room.
Guests were arriving.
Champagne glasses were being carried upstairs.
Somewhere inside, Luca Moretti was preparing to announce his engagement.
And he had no idea that the man who had protected him for thirty-four years was being quietly pushed out the back door.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to tell him?”” I asked.
Sal’s hand tightened around the box.
“No.””
“Why?””
He looked at the photograph inside.
“Because if Luca wanted me gone, he would tell me himself.””
A strange feeling moved through me.
“Then you think he doesn’t know?””
Sal didn’t answer.
He just looked toward the closed service door.
Then he said something that made my stomach drop.
“Miss Emma, before you send me away…”
He reached into the box and pulled out an old envelope.
“Please make sure Luca sees this.””
I looked at the envelope.
There was no address.
No stamp.
Only one name written across the front.
*Luca.*
“What is it?”” I asked.
Sal’s face changed.
For the first time since I had known him, he looked afraid.
“It’s something his father asked me to keep safe.””
The sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway behind us.
We both turned.
Vanessa stood there.
Her expression was no longer polite.
She looked at the envelope in my hand.
May you like
And then she said quietly:
“Emma… where did you get that?””
