By noon, the Moretti estate had become an investigation.
Lorenzo canceled every meeting.
Nobody left the property.
The blizzard made sure of that.
Staff were interviewed one at a time in the library.
Medical records were brought downstairs.
Security footage was pulled.
Kitchen logs were checked.
Heating records were reviewed.
For the first time since I'd arrived, Mrs. Gable wasn't giving orders.
She was waiting for them.
Lorenzo moved Giovanni into the east suite himself.
It was enormous.
Warm.
Bright.
A wall of windows overlooked the frozen gardens.
There was an accessible bathroom, adjustable bed, fireplace, and a medical call system.
Everything Giovanni should have had all along.
I stood in the doorway.
“This was his room?”
Lorenzo nodded.
“Before I left.”
“Why did you leave?”
He looked at me.
I immediately regretted asking.
But he answered.
“Business overseas.”
“For five years?”
“No.”
His voice hardened.
“I visited.”
Giovanni stared out the window.
Lorenzo saw the expression.
His shoulders tightened.
“Apparently not enough.”
I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Then I remembered Room 4B.
“You thought people were taking care of him.”
“Yes.”
“They weren't.”
“I know.”
His jaw clenched.
“I know that now.”
Giovanni looked toward me.
His hand twitched.
I walked closer.
“Are you hungry?”
One blink.
Yes.
Lorenzo watched.
“You understand him?”
“I understand some things.”
“How?”
“I pay attention.”
The words came out sharper than I intended.
Lorenzo looked at me.
I expected anger.
Instead, he nodded once.
“You're right.”
That surprised me.
I made Giovanni soup.
Not because anybody asked.
Because routine seemed to calm him.
When I returned, Lorenzo was sitting beside the wheelchair.
Neither man spoke.
One couldn't.
The other didn't know how.
I fed Giovanni slowly.
Halfway through, he glanced toward Lorenzo.
I held out the spoon.
“Do you want him to?”
One blink.
I gave Lorenzo the bowl.
He hesitated.
Then took it.
His hand was steady when he lifted the spoon.
Giovanni opened his mouth.
It was such a small thing.
But Lorenzo looked like he'd been handed forgiveness he didn't deserve.
Mrs. Gable appeared at the door.
“We need to speak.”
Lorenzo didn't turn.
“You'll wait.”
Her face tightened.
“I've served this family fourteen years.”
“And my father?”
“I cared for him.”
Giovanni's eyes snapped toward her.
His breathing changed.
I saw fear.
Real fear.
Lorenzo saw it too.
He set down the spoon.
“Dad?”
Giovanni's fingers gripped the blanket.
Mrs. Gable took one step back.
Lorenzo stood.
“Leave.”
“Mr. Moretti—”
“Now.”
She left.
But she didn't go far.
That evening, I found my suitcase on my bed.
Packed.
Mrs. Gable stood beside it.
“What is this?”
“You're leaving.”
“Lorenzo said nobody leaves.”
“He said nobody leaves until questioned.”
“I haven't been questioned.”
“You already told him enough.”
I stared at her.
“You can't fire me.”
“I hired you.”
“And he owns the house.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You think he cares about you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She stepped closer.
“Because men like Lorenzo Moretti don't care about girls like you.”
My hand moved protectively toward my stomach.
She noticed.
“You think being pregnant makes you special?”
I said nothing.
She smiled.
“Your boyfriend didn't.”
That cut deeper than I expected.
“How do you know about Brody?”
“We run background checks.”
I felt sick.
She continued.
“Gambling debts. Eviction notice. No family money.”
Her smile widened.
“You're desperate.”
“Maybe.”
I looked at her.
“But desperate isn't the same as stupid.”
Her expression darkened.
I reached for my suitcase.
She grabbed my arm.
“Listen to me carefully. Whatever you think you've seen, you didn't.”
“Let go.”
“You fed an old man. That's all.”
“Let go of me.”
“Don't turn charity into importance.”
The door opened.
Marco stood there.
Mrs. Gable released me instantly.
“Mr. Moretti wants Miss Harper downstairs.”
I stared at her.
She moved aside.
In the library, Lorenzo sat behind a large desk.
Giovanni was beside him.
There were folders everywhere.
I sat.
Lorenzo asked, “How long have you been caring for my father?”
“About three weeks.”
“Why?”
I almost laughed.
“Because he needed care.”
“Did anyone ask you?”
“No.”
“Did anyone stop you?”
“Mrs. Gable tried.”
“How?”
“She told me not to waste good food.”
His expression hardened.
I continued.
“She said he didn't know the difference.”
Giovanni's eyes closed.
Lorenzo looked at him.
Then back at me.
“Did anyone hurt him?”
“I never saw anyone hit him.”
Giovanni suddenly made a sound.
I turned.
His eyes were wide.
He lifted two fingers with enormous effort.
Then struck his own arm.
Once.
Twice.
Lorenzo stood.
“Someone hit you?”
Giovanni blinked.
Yes.
The room changed.
Marco moved closer.
Lorenzo asked, “Who?”
Giovanni struggled.
His hand trembled.
He pointed toward the door.
Then toward the floor.
I didn't understand.
Marco did.
“The staff?”
Giovanni blinked.
Then he tried to form a word.
“G…”
We leaned closer.
His jaw shook.
“Ga…”
My stomach dropped.
“Gable?”
Giovanni's eyes flooded.
One blink.
Yes.
Lorenzo became absolutely still.
I had seen angry men before.
Brody used to shout.
Punch walls.
Throw things.
Lorenzo did none of that.
He simply said, “Marco.”
“Yes.”
“Bring her.”
Mrs. Gable entered several minutes later.
She looked composed.
Until she saw Giovanni.
Lorenzo spoke.
“My father says you hit him.”
She laughed.
“He can't speak.”
Giovanni flinched.
Lorenzo's face hardened.
“He doesn't need to.”
“Sir, he's confused.”
Giovanni's hand clenched.
“He has cognitive decline.”
Lorenzo looked at the medical file.
“No.”
Mrs. Gable froze.
“The neurologist says his cognition is intact.”
Silence.
Lorenzo leaned forward.
“So for five years, my father understood everything.”
Mrs. Gable said nothing.
“Every cold meal.”
Nothing.
“Every insult.”
Her face paled.
“Every time someone touched him.”
She whispered, “I was under tremendous pressure.”
I stared at her.
“Pressure?”
She looked at me.
“You don't understand.”
Giovanni suddenly made another sound.
Not fear this time.
Rage.
Lorenzo walked around the desk.
“Tell me.”
Mrs. Gable's shoulders collapsed slightly.
“He was difficult.”
“He couldn't move.”
“He stared.”
The words sounded absurd as soon as she said them.
“You hurt my father because he looked at you?”
“He used to terrify everyone.”
Lorenzo's voice became low.
“And after the stroke?”
She said nothing.
“You decided it was your turn.”
Mrs. Gable's eyes filled.
Not with guilt.
With self-pity.
“I gave this family everything.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“My father remembers.”
She went pale.
“So do I.”
He nodded toward Marco.
“Remove her from the household.”
Mrs. Gable jerked away.
“You can't.”
“Watch me.”
She pointed at me.
“This is because of her!”
Lorenzo followed her finger.
“No.”
His eyes returned to Mrs. Gable.
“This is because of you.”
She screamed as Marco escorted her out.
“You think she's innocent? Ask about her boyfriend! Ask what kind of woman arrives pregnant and alone!”
I flinched.
Lorenzo's expression changed.
He looked at me.
Then at Giovanni.
His father stared back.
Mrs. Gable's voice faded down the hallway.
And for one terrible moment, I wondered whether she had planted enough doubt to destroy the only safe place I had left.