Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO LIED ABOUT EVERYTHINGNobody moved after Marco spoke.
The string quartet continued playing for several awkward seconds before one of the musicians noticed that the entire room had fallen silent.
The violin stopped.
Then the cello.
Then nothing remained except the soft crackling of candles and the distant sound of rain striking the mansion's enormous windows.
Luca stood perfectly still.
"What did you say?"
Marco's eyes flickered toward the guests.
"Boss, we should discuss this privately."
"No."
One word.
Cold enough to make the nearest waiter step backward.
"Repeat it."
Marco hesitated.
"The man in the garage appears to be Victor Salazar."
Vanessa made a small, involuntary sound.
I turned toward her.
Her expression had changed completely.
Gone was the beautiful, polished socialite who had spent the evening smiling for photographs.
She looked like someone watching the walls of a prison close around her.
Luca stared at Marco.
"Victor Salazar is dead."
"That's what we believed."
"Eleven years."
"Yes, boss."
Luca slowly turned toward his fiancée.
"Vanessa?"
She shook her head.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Do you know him?"
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
Luca noticed.
So did I.
"You're lying," he said.
Vanessa pushed back her chair.
"How dare you humiliate me in front of these people?"
Luca didn't raise his voice.
"Sit down."
"I'm your future wife!"
"Not if you take another step."
A shocked murmur traveled around the table.
Vanessa looked at the guests as though searching for someone willing to defend her.
Nobody spoke.
Not even her father, Anthony Bellini, who sat three chairs away with his face turning a dangerous shade of red.
"Enough," Anthony finally declared.
He was a powerful businessman with a portfolio of commercial properties across the Midwest and political connections throughout Illinois.
He was also the man who had arranged Luca and Vanessa's engagement.
The marriage was supposed to unite two influential families.
Anthony rose.
"Whatever misunderstanding has occurred, it can be resolved without insulting my daughter."
Luca looked at him.
"Did you know Victor Salazar was alive?"
Anthony froze.
A second passed.
Then another.
"I haven't heard that name in years."
"That wasn't my question."
Anthony straightened his jacket.
"You forget yourself, Luca."
"No."
Luca stepped away from the table.
"I think I've spent the last six months forgetting too much."
He turned toward the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is over."
Several guests stared in disbelief.
A white-haired senator cleared his throat.
"Mr. Moretti, perhaps we could—"
"Marco will arrange transportation for everyone."
Nobody argued.
Within minutes, the elegant dining room dissolved into anxious whispers and hurried footsteps.
Women collected their designer handbags.
Men pretended not to watch.
Phones disappeared into pockets when Luca's security team politely requested that guests refrain from photographing the situation.
I stood beside the sideboard, unsure whether I should leave or remain.
Every instinct told me to run.
But my legs wouldn't cooperate.
When the last guest exited, Luca turned toward the household staff.
"Everyone may leave except Olivia."
My stomach dropped.
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
"Of course. Keep your precious little maid."
Luca ignored her.
He looked at Marco.
"Escort Mr. Bellini to the library. Don't let him contact anyone until we understand what happened."
Anthony's face darkened.
"You have no authority to hold me here."
"You're free to leave," Luca replied. "But if you do, our lawyers will begin reviewing every partnership between our companies tonight."
Anthony stopped arguing.
Marco gestured toward the library.
Reluctantly, Vanessa's father followed him.
That left the three of us beneath the chandeliers.
Luca.
Vanessa.
And me.
My injured cheek throbbed.
Luca noticed me pressing my fingers against it.
"Sit down, Olivia."
"I should finish clearing the table."
"The table can wait."
Vanessa folded her arms.
"Oh, this is unbelievable."
Luca turned.
"Do you want to tell me why you attacked her?"
"I didn't attack anyone!"
He held up the tablet.
"The cameras show you entering the guest room. They show Olivia leaving injured. They show you disposing of a towel with blood on it."
"That proves nothing."
"Then explain it."
Vanessa's face twisted.
"She went through my private belongings!"
Luca looked at me.
"Is that true?"
I swallowed.
"Yes."
The admission seemed to surprise him.
"Why?"
"Because Mrs. Bellini told me to clean the room before the florist arrived. There was water leaking beneath the window, and I needed towels."
Vanessa scoffed.
"A convenient story."
I forced myself to continue.
"The drawer beside the bed was open. A photograph had fallen onto the floor."
"What photograph?"
I looked toward Vanessa.
She stared back at me with such open hatred that I nearly stopped speaking.
But something inside me had changed.
Maybe it was the fact that Luca had noticed my bruise.
Maybe it was the shock of hearing a supposedly dead man's name.
Or maybe I was simply tired of being frightened.
"A photograph of your father," I said.
Luca's expression hardened.
"My father?"
I nodded.
"He's standing beside a man in a gray suit. They're outside a warehouse near the Chicago River."
"How do you know where it was taken?"
"My father used to work there."
Luca stared at me.
"What?"
"My dad worked at a shipping warehouse on South Canal Street. The old Mercer Terminal building."
He took a step closer.
"Your father's name?"
"Thomas Hayes."
The change in Luca was immediate.
His face lost all color.
"Thomas Hayes?"
"Yes."
He looked toward Marco, who had returned to the doorway.
"Get me everything we have on Thomas Hayes."
Marco nodded.
Vanessa suddenly spoke.
"That man was a nobody."
I turned.
"My father?"
She shrugged.
"A dockworker. A drunk. Whatever he was."
"My father wasn't a drunk."
"Then perhaps he should have learned to mind his own business."
A terrible silence followed.
Luca's eyes narrowed.
"What did you just say?"
Vanessa realized her mistake.
"I only meant—"
"How do you know Thomas Hayes?"
"I don't."
"Then how do you know anything about him?"
She didn't answer.
Luca approached her slowly.
"Vanessa, your next sentence needs to be the truth."
She lifted her chin.
"Fine. My father told me about him. Years ago. He was involved in some unfortunate business at the docks."
My breath caught.
Unfortunate business.
That was how rich people described the night my father disappeared.
I had been seventeen.
My brother, Noah, was nine.
Dad kissed us goodbye before leaving for his overnight shift.
He never came home.
Police found his truck abandoned near the river.
Three weeks later, they recovered what they believed were his remains.
The identification had been made through dental records.
My mother never recovered from the grief.
We buried him beneath an oak tree in a small cemetery outside Chicago.
And for eleven years, I'd believed he had died in an industrial accident.
Luca stared at Vanessa.
"Thomas Hayes was involved in my father's last shipment."
She looked away.
"Apparently."
"Before my father was murdered."
The word settled over the room.
Murdered.
Nobody had ever used that word when discussing my father's disappearance.
Not in front of me.
"Wait," I whispered.
Luca turned.
"What did you say?"
"My father's death was ruled accidental."
He watched me carefully.
"Olivia, there's something you need to understand."
Before he could continue, Marco returned with another tablet.
"Boss. I found the garage footage."
Luca took it.
"Put it on the main screen."
Marco hesitated.
"Are you sure?"
"Now."
The huge television above the fireplace illuminated.
A grainy black-and-white recording appeared.
The timestamp read 1:43 PM.
Vanessa entered the underground garage wearing the same red gown she had on now, although her hair was still pinned back for the afternoon.
She approached a dark SUV.
A man emerged from the rear passenger door.
Tall.
Gray-haired.
With a visible scar running from his temple to his jaw.
I heard Luca inhale sharply.
"Victor."
The man opened an envelope and handed Vanessa several photographs.
She glanced through them.
Then she said something.
The recording had audio.
And her words were perfectly clear.
"The maid found the documents."
Victor tilted his head.
"Which maid?"
"Olivia Hayes."
For a moment, the man seemed surprised.
Then he smiled.
"Thomas's daughter?"
Vanessa nodded.
"She doesn't know anything yet."
Victor studied the photographs.
"Then make sure she never does."
I pressed a hand over my mouth.
On-screen, Vanessa crossed her arms.
"What about Luca?"
Victor chuckled.
"Once you're married, his signature gives us access to the accounts. After that, we won't need him."
The screen went black as the recording ended.
Nobody spoke.
Vanessa stood rigid, her eyes fixed on Luca.
I expected him to shout.
To overturn furniture.
To threaten everyone in the room.
Instead, he walked toward her and stopped three feet away.
"How long?"
She swallowed.
"Luca—"
"How long have you been working with Victor Salazar?"
Her face crumpled.
"You don't understand what my father made me do."
"How long?"
"Eight months."
Luca closed his eyes.
Our engagement had begun six months earlier.
She had been betraying him before he ever proposed.
He opened his eyes.
"Did you know he killed my father?"
Tears spilled down Vanessa's cheeks.
"Please."
"Did you know?"
"Yes."
The answer broke something in the room.
Luca staggered back half a step.
For one terrible second, he looked less like a feared crime boss and more like a little boy hearing that his father was never coming home.
Then he straightened.
"Marco."
"Yes, boss."
"Call Detective Eleanor Price."
Vanessa stared.
"The police?"
Luca looked at her.
"You wanted to destroy my family with secrets."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Now we're going to see what happens when yours are exposed."
Vanessa's face hardened.
"You think calling the police will save you?"
Luca didn't answer.
She smiled through her tears.
"You have absolutely no idea what Victor has planned."
Then she looked at me.
"And neither does your little maid."
My skin prickled.
"What does that mean?"
Vanessa leaned closer.
"Ask Luca why he really hired you, Olivia."
I turned toward him.
His expression confirmed my worst fear.
There was something he hadn't told me.
Something about my father.
Something about the reason I'd been given a job at the Moretti mansion when I had barely enough experience to work in a hotel.
"Luca?"
He stared at me.
"Olivia, I can explain."
My heart hammered.
"Did you know who my father was when you hired me?"
Silence.
Then he said the one word I never wanted to hear.
May you like
"Yes."
And suddenly, the last nine months of my life felt like another carefully constructed lie.
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