Chapter 3 - The Secret Chapel
Lorenzo looked at the key in my hand. He didn't pick it up immediately; he stared at it with an expression of profound, dark recognition.
“Where did you find this?” Lorenzo asked softly.
“It fell out of her clutch bag when she grabbed my wrist,” I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through my blood. “The bag fell off the sideboard when she threw the water pitcher.”
“It’s nothing!” Valentina shrieked, taking a desperate step forward. “It’s an old heirloom from my mother’s jewelry box! It opens a music box in my townhome!”
“Your mother’s music box didn't use thread from the sanctuary linens of St. Jude’s Chapel, Valentina,” Lorenzo said, his voice dropping an octave into absolute ice.
He reached down, taking the bronze key from my palm. His calloused fingers brushed against mine, sending a sudden, electric warmth through my cold, shivering skin.
He held the key up to the light of the brass wall sconce.
The white thread tied through the bow was not sewing thread; it was heavy, waxed silk—the exact cord used to bind the private ledger vaults beneath the altar of St. Jude’s, the historic sanctuary where the Moretti family had stored their most sensitive territorial deeds for three generations.
“Geno!” Lorenzo called out.
The heavy double doors of the sitting room swung open immediately. Geno—Lorenzo’s chief of security, a broad-shouldered man with a scarred neck—stepped into the room, his hand resting on the holster beneath his dark coat.
“Boss?”
“Escort Miss Ricci to the third-floor guest suite,” Lorenzo commanded, not even looking at his fiancée. “Lock the doors. Terminate her phone lines, disable the Wi-Fi routers in that wing, and take her personal belongings.”
Valentina’s eyes went wide with pure terror. “Lorenzo! You can’t do this! My father is Don Ricci! If you lock me up, it will start a war between our families!”
“Your father gave you to me as a pledge of peace, Valentina,” Lorenzo said, turning his back on her. “If you betrayed that pledge inside my own house, a war is the least of your father’s worries.”
Geno grabbed Valentina firmly by the upper arm.
“Get your hands off me, you ape!” Valentina screamed, kicking her heels against the floor as two additional guards stepped into the hallway to assist. “Sophia! You worthless little maid! I will make sure you and your bastard rot in the street!”
The doors slammed shut, cutting off her voice, leaving the room in a heavy, suffocating silence.
Lorenzo turned back to me. He looked at my soaked uniform, my bruised wrist, and Lena sleeping from pure exhaustion against my shoulder.
“Rosa,” Lorenzo called toward the hallway.
The head housekeeper, an older woman with kind, worried eyes, stepped into the room holding two thick woolen blankets.
“Take Lena to the master guest quarters,” Lorenzo ordered gently. “Prepare a warm bath for Sophia, get her clean clothes, and bring a hot tea tray to my private study.”
“Yes, Mr. Moretti,” Rosa nodded, taking Lena gently from my arms.
May you like
I stood up, my knees trembling slightly. I looked at Lorenzo. “Mr. Moretti... I need to tell you what I heard on that phone call.”
Lorenzo looked into my eyes, his expression softening just a fraction. “You will tell me, Sophia. But first, you’re going to get dry.”
