Chapter 4 - The Summons
Anna felt the cold terror seize her lungs the moment Marco appeared in the kitchen doorway. The staff fell instantly silent, the clatter of spoons and knives dying away until only the hum of the industrial refrigerator remained. Marco stood tall, his hands clasped behind his back, his sharp eyes cutting directly through the steam to where Anna stood holding a stack of ceramic plates.
""Anna Rossi,"" Marco said, his voice level and devoid of emotion. ""Put down the china. Mr. Moretti requires your presence in the second-floor study.""
A plate slipped from Anna's numb fingers, shattering into jagged shards on the terracotta tile floor. Several kitchen maids gasped, stepping backward as though the bad luck might spread to them. Mrs. Higgins hurried forward, her face pale. ""Marco, surely there's some mistake. Anna has done nothing wrong, she's an honest girl—""
""Mr. Moretti does not make mistakes, Mrs. Higgins,"" Marco said without looking at the housekeeper. ""Come along, Anna. Do not keep him waiting.""
Anna looked frantically toward the pantry where Sophie was coloring in a picture book. Sophie poked her head out, her brown eyes round and wide, her lips parted in sudden fright. Anna swallowed the bile rising in her throat, knelt quickly, and whispered to her daughter: ""Stay here with Mrs. Higgins, baby. Mama will be right back. Do not move from this room.""
Sophie clutched her mother's apron, whispering urgently, ""Mama, did the tall gentleman come for the music box?""
Anna had no time to decipher the child's bizarre question. She gently pried Sophie's small fingers loose, stood up with knees shaking like dry reeds, and followed Marco out of the kitchen. Every corridor felt like a death row march. The rich oak paneling, the antique portraits of grim-faced men, the heavy wool carpets that swallowed her trembling footsteps—she was walking into the private quarters of a man rumored to execute his enemies on speedboats and bury them in concrete foundations.
Marco opened the towering double doors of the library and stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter alone. The heavy doors clicked shut behind her with the finality of a prison vault.
Anna stood near the threshold, her hands wringing her stained apron until her knuckles turned white. Dante Moretti sat behind his massive desk, his suit jacket removed, his white dress shirt rolled up to his forearms, revealing strong, corded muscles and a faint silver scar tracing from his wrist to his elbow. On the edge of the polished mahogany desk sat a familiar object: a small wooden music box carved with a swallow in flight.
Anna choked on her breath, her hand flying to her mouth. ""Sophie... oh God, Sophie... what did she do? Did she steal from you? Mr. Moretti, please! She's only six! If she took something, punish me! Please, do whatever you want to me, but don't hurt my baby!""
Dante did not stand. He simply raised one hand, palm outward, and the authority in that single gesture froze the words in Anna's throat. ""Calm yourself, woman. No one has stolen anything from this house.""
Anna trembled, tears spilling over her lashes and running down her pale cheeks. ""Then why... why do you have her music box? That belonged to her grandmother. It's the only thing she kept when our home was repossessed.""
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""Your daughter came to my garden at dawn,"" Dante said, his voice low, steady, and mesmerizingly calm. ""She offered it as a down payment. She asked if I could hire her to work off the debt you owe to Mickey Vane.""
The color drained from Anna's face until she turned the shade of fresh parchment. The floor seemed to drop out from beneath her boots. ""She... she heard the phone calls. Oh God. She heard everything.""
