Chapter 1 - FALLING STARSElena Rossi hated table twelve.
Not because the guests were rude.
They were.
Not because one of them had snapped his fingers at her twice.
He had.
She hated table twelve because its position forced her to pass directly beneath the giant crystal chandelier every time she carried drinks from the service corridor.
The chandelier was ridiculous.
Four tiers.
Italian crystal.
Heavy brass frame.
Aurelios loved expensive things that made ordinary workers nervous.
“Six Cabernet,” Marco called from the bar.
Elena balanced the glasses.
“Table twelve?”
“Unfortunately.”
She lifted the tray.
Then noticed the boy.
Matteo Moretti.
Six years old.
Dark curls.
Black miniature suit.
A red toy car rolling between polished shoes.
His father, Dante Moretti, sat at the center of the private party.
Elena knew the name.
Everyone in Boston knew it.
Real estate.
Shipping.
Private equity.
Rumors.
She had learned not to ask which businesses were legitimate.
Rich men rarely appreciated waitresses asking structural questions.
Matteo rolled the car again.
It slipped from his hand.
Travelled beneath the chandelier.
He chased it.
Elena stepped forward.
Then heard it.
A metallic snap.
Tiny.
Almost invisible beneath music.
Her eyes lifted.
One support cable had separated.
Then another.
The entire fixture tilted.
“MOVE!”
Nobody moved.
Elena threw the tray.
Wine exploded across the floor.
She ran.
Matteo looked up.
Crystal reflected in his eyes.
Elena grabbed him.
Turned her body.
Covered his head.
Then the world fell.
Pain.
Glass.
Screaming.
Something struck Elena’s shoulder.
Then lower back.
She heard Matteo crying.
Alive.
Good.
That was the last coherent thought she had.
Then a man roared:
“GET IT OFF THEM!”
Hands lifted metal.
Someone pulled Matteo out.
“Elena!”
She didn't remember telling anyone her name.
Then darkness.
When consciousness returned, antiseptic replaced wine.
Elena opened her eyes.
High ceiling.
Cream walls.
Dark wooden furniture.
Not hospital.
She tried to sit.
Pain ripped across her back.
“Don't.”
A man stood from a leather chair.
Dante Moretti.
No jacket.
White shirt.
Dark trousers.
Exhausted eyes.
“Where am I?”
“My house.”
“What?”
“You required surgery.”
“Hospital?”
“Private medical team.”
Of course.
Rich people apparently had hospitals at home.
Elena swallowed.
“The boy.”
“Matteo is alive.”
Her body relaxed.
Then pain surged again.
“How bad?”
“Forty-two pieces of glass.”
She stared.
“You counted?”
“The surgeon did.”
He moved closer.
“Some were superficial.”
“Some weren't.”
She looked at the bandages wrapping her shoulder and side.
“My job.”
“Closed.”
“What?”
“Aurelios.”
“Why?”
Dante's face changed.
“Because the chandelier did not fall.”
Elena frowned.
“It definitely fell.”
“It was made to fall.”
Silence.
“What?”
“One support cable was cut.”
Her mouth went dry.
Dante continued.
“The secondary brace was loosened.”
“That takes preparation.”
“Yes.”
“Who does that?”
“That is what I intend to find out.”
Elena looked away.
“This has nothing to do with me.”
“It does now.”
“No.”
“You were there.”
“I was a waitress.”
“You saved my son.”
“I reacted.”
“You saw something no one else saw.”
“The cable.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn't make me important.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“Do not call yourself unimportant in front of me.”
The intensity startled her.
Then the bedroom door opened.
Matteo appeared.
Toy car in both hands.
He saw Elena.
His face lit.
“You’re awake.”
Elena smiled despite the pain.
“Hey.”
He climbed carefully onto the bed.
“Papa said you saved me from falling stars.”
“Your father is dramatic.”
Matteo whispered:
“He is.”
Dante looked offended.
Elena laughed and immediately regretted it.
Matteo hugged her gently.
“Thank you.”
Something inside Elena broke.
Not from pain.
From being needed without being used.
Then Matteo said:
“Papa said nobody is allowed to hurt you because you’re family now.”
Elena slowly looked at Dante.
“What?”
Dante did not appear embarrassed.
“We need to discuss security.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“No.”
“I haven't said anything yet.”
“You bought that sentence before speaking.”
Dante almost smiled.
Then he became serious.
“Your apartment has been secured.”
“My apartment?”
“Your belongings are being moved.”
Elena stared.
“You did what?”
“To the guest wing.”
“You moved my things?”
“Yes.”
“Without asking?”
“Yes.”
She tried to sit.
Pain stopped her.
“You cannot kidnap someone politely and call it protection.”
Dante leaned closer.
“You became a witness to an attack on my son.”
“I want police.”
“They are involved.”
“Then I want to go home.”
“Not yet.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The prison.”
His eyes darkened.
“This is not a prison.”
“If I cannot leave, vocabulary doesn't matter.”
Dante stopped.
For the first time, someone had apparently made him hear himself.
Then a man entered.
Older.
Gray suit.
“Dante.”
“What?”
“We recovered restaurant surveillance.”
Dante turned.
The man looked toward Elena.
Then hesitated.
“Show me.”
He handed Dante a tablet.
Elena watched his face harden.
“What is it?”
Dante said nothing.
“Dante.”
He finally turned the screen.
Ten minutes before the chandelier fell, a woman entered Aurelios through the private kitchen corridor.
Blonde hair.
Crimson coat.
She looked directly at the chandelier controls.
Then toward table twelve.
Elena had seen her before.
Everyone in Boston society pages had.
Isabella Vance.
Daughter of shipping magnate Harrison Vance.
And according to every newspaper Elena had read during her boring diner shifts—
the woman everyone expected Dante Moretti to marry.
Elena looked at him.
“Why would your future wife try to kill your son?”
Dante’s face became stone.
“She is not my future wife.”
“Then what is she?”
His answer came quietly.
“A problem I should have ended years ago.”
May you like
And somewhere downstairs, Matteo laughed.
A child completely unaware that someone had just tried to arrange a world in which he no longer existed.
Related Stories
