THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE LEFT HIS MOTHER TO DROWN—BUT THE MAID WHO SAVED HER UNCOVERED TWO MURDERS, A SIX-YEAR LIE, AND THE TERRIBLE SECRET HIDDEN INSIDE HER DEAD HUSBAND'S PAST

"I gave it to him, Luca. But I didn't know what they had put inside."

Eleanor Moretti's confession hung over the swimming pool like a death sentence.

Her son stared at her.

For the first time since I'd known Luca Moretti, the most feared man in our city looked completely helpless.

"You gave Dad the medicine?"

Eleanor nodded, tears rolling down her pale cheeks.

"Every morning. Every evening. Just like they told me."

"Who told you?"

Before she could answer, Vanessa stepped forward.

"See?" she said, almost triumphantly. "Your mother has finally admitted it."

Luca turned toward her.

"One more word, Vanessa, and you will regret it."

The forty guests stood motionless beneath the golden terrace lights.

My uniform was still dripping onto the marble.

Eleanor shivered beneath the blanket a security guard had brought her.

I had been a nursing assistant long enough to recognize the danger in her breathing.

"Mr. Moretti, your mother needs a hospital. Now."

Luca looked at me.

Something in his expression changed.

"Dominic. Where's the ambulance?"

"Three minutes away, sir."

Dominic Rusk, Luca's longtime security chief, stood near the terrace doors with his hand pressed against his earpiece.

He was a broad-shouldered man in his fifties who had worked for the family since before Luca inherited the business.

I'd always considered him one of the few people in the mansion who treated employees with respect.

Now he wouldn't meet my eyes.

Eleanor caught my wrist.

"Delilah. The medicine came in white envelopes."

"What medicine?"

"Your husband's employer brought them."

My heart stumbled.

"Thomas worked for this family, Mrs. Moretti. He wasn't a pharmacist."

Eleanor shook her head.

"Not Thomas. Carlo Bellini."

Vanessa made a sharp sound.

"Mother Moretti, please."

But Eleanor continued.

"Carlo said Giorgio needed special treatment. He said the regular doctors didn't understand his condition."

Giorgio Moretti.

Luca's father.

The man who had died five years earlier from what everyone believed was a sudden heart attack.

Luca knelt beside his mother.

"Why didn't Dad's own doctor prescribe it?"

"Carlo said it came from a private clinic. He brought the envelopes himself."

"And you trusted him?"

Eleanor's face crumpled.

"He was your father's oldest business partner."

I looked toward Vanessa.

Her father had supplied the medicine.

Her father had transferred millions from the Moretti businesses.

And according to Eleanor, the same people who had killed Giorgio had murdered my husband.

Six years.

For six years, I'd believed Thomas had died because his car skidded off a rain-slick road.

I'd told our son that his daddy had been in an accident.

I'd taken Marcus to the cemetery every Father's Day.

Now I wondered whether the people responsible had watched us grieving.

The ambulance arrived through the estate's eastern gates.

Two paramedics hurried toward Eleanor.

As they placed an oxygen mask over her face, she reached toward Luca.

"I tried to tell you."

"About the medicine?"

"About Vanessa."

Vanessa suddenly stopped crying.

Luca noticed.

"So you've been asking questions about the greenhouse because you knew what was hidden there?"

"I was trying to protect you," Vanessa whispered.

"From what?"

She looked around at the guests.

"Not here."

"Then you've chosen a terrible night to keep secrets."

One paramedic examined Eleanor's pulse.

"We need to transport her. She's showing signs of aspiration and hypothermia."

Luca nodded.

"I'm coming."

Eleanor caught his sleeve.

"Delilah, too."

I hesitated.

Vanessa had already threatened my employment.

I had no idea whether I would have a job the next morning.

Luca rose.

"Delilah comes with us."

Then he turned toward Dominic.

"Preserve the security footage. Nobody touches that ledger, the photograph, or the letter until the police examine them."

Vanessa stared at him.

"You're calling the police on your own fiancée?"

"I called them when I learned my mother was left to drown."

"You don't understand what my father will do."

Luca stopped.

"What did you say?"

Vanessa looked away.

"Nothing."

But I heard her.

And so did he.

The ambulance smelled of antiseptic and wet wool.

Eleanor lay beneath warm blankets while the paramedic monitored her breathing.

Luca sat opposite us.

I stayed beside Eleanor, holding her hand.

For several minutes, nobody spoke.

Then Luca asked quietly, "Mom, why didn't you tell me before?"

"I did."

He frowned.

"When?"

"Last Christmas. Your birthday. That Sunday after church."

I remembered those days.

Eleanor had become increasingly forgetful.

She repeated herself.

Sometimes she seemed confused about dates.

Vanessa had insisted the family needed to accept that Eleanor was developing dementia.

But something about that explanation had always bothered me.

Eleanor could remember recipes from fifty years ago.

She remembered the names of every gardener who had worked on the estate.

Yet after taking her evening medication, she sometimes couldn't remember conversations from that morning.

"Mrs. Moretti," I asked, "who started giving you those new sleeping tablets?"

Her eyes filled.

"Vanessa said they would help."

Luca looked up sharply.

"What tablets?"

"The ones beside my bed. The little white ones."

I swallowed.

"How long have you been taking them?"

"Six months."

Exactly when Eleanor had started trying to warn Luca.

Exactly when Vanessa began describing her as unstable.

I looked at Luca.

"Sir, your mother needs a medication review. Everything she's been taking."

His jaw tightened.

"That's happening tonight."

Eleanor closed her eyes.

"I wasn't losing my mind."

Her voice was barely audible.

"I knew what I saw."

I squeezed her hand.

"I believe you."

At St. Catherine's Medical Center, physicians began treating Eleanor while Luca and I waited outside.

My clothes had dried enough to become stiff against my skin.

A nurse offered me a blanket.

I thanked her.

Luca stood near the window, staring into the parking lot.

Finally, he spoke.

"Your husband's name was Thomas."

"Yes."

"He drove for my father."

"For almost four years."

Luca nodded slowly.

"I remember him."

I looked up.

"He was a good man," Luca said.

My throat tightened.

"He was."

"Why didn't you tell me you were his widow?"

"I tried when I first applied here. The household manager said your family preferred not to discuss former employees."

Luca shut his eyes.

For a moment, I thought he might apologize.

Instead, he said something worse.

"I remember why Thomas stopped working for us."

My hands went cold.

"He didn't stop working. He died."

Luca turned.

"No. Before he died, my father asked me to remove him from our transport division."

"Why?"

"He said Thomas had been looking through confidential financial records."

I stared at him.

"Thomas came home terrified that week."

Luca's expression hardened with memory.

"He insisted he had discovered something about our company. I thought he was trying to protect himself after being caught with files he wasn't authorized to see."

"Did you listen?"

Luca said nothing.

"Did you even ask what he'd found?"

"I told him to leave the premises."

Something broke inside me.

"My husband spent four years driving your family. He worked nights, holidays, birthdays. He missed Marcus's first steps because your father needed a ride to the airport."

"Delilah—"

"He trusted you."

Luca lowered his gaze.

"I know."

"No. You don't."

I stood.

"Because if you'd listened, maybe my son would still have his father."

For once, Luca Moretti had no answer.

A hospital door opened.

Dominic entered carrying a sealed evidence sleeve.

"Sir, the police have the ledger. But there was another paper beneath the lining of the metal box."

He handed it to Luca.