Chapter 3 - The Doctor and the Discovery
Dr. Mercer arrived twenty minutes later, carrying a worn leather medical bag. He was an elderly man with kind eyes and gray hair who had clearly served the Moretti family for decades.
Alessandro remained in the small cottage the entire time, standing near the window with his arms crossed over his chest, watching in total silence as the doctor set up an IV bag and checked my vitals.
“Severe exhaustion and bronchitis, Don Alessandro,” Dr. Mercer announced, pulling off his stethoscope. “She needs at least three days of absolute bed rest, antibiotics, and proper nutrition. If she had stayed in this cold cottage another night without treatment, it would have turned into severe pneumonia.”
“She will be moved to the guest suite in the east wing of the main house immediately,” Alessandro stated flatly.
I gasped, sitting up despite the dizziness in my head. “No! Mr. Moretti, please! The staff… the rumors… housemaids are not allowed in the east wing!”
Alessandro looked down at me, his gaze unyielding. “You are no longer working as a housemaid, Clara. Not while you are ill, and not while your child is running around barefoot trying to save you from cruelty.”
“I can't accept this,” I pleaded, my voice trembling. “I am just a employee.”
“In my house, no one dies of neglect while I breathe,” Alessandro replied coldly. “Matteo!”
The head of his personal security detail, a scarred man in his late forties named Matteo, stepped through the doorway.
“Carry her to the east wing suite,” Alessandro ordered. “And have someone bring the child’s clothes.”
Matteo carefully wrapped me in a thick wool blanket and lifted me gently. Emma trotted beside us, holding tight to the hem of Alessandro’s pants as we were brought across the rainy courtyard and through the massive back doors of the main mansion.
The east wing suite was luxurious beyond anything I had ever imagined. High ceilings with crystal chandeliers, a king-sized bed covered in white silk sheets, a marble fireplace already crackling with a warm fire, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the misty harbor.
A young maid named Sofia was waiting inside, her hands clasped nervously.
“Sofia,” Alessandro spoke clearly. “You will take care of Clara and her daughter. Whatever they need—food, clothing, medicine—you get it immediately. If anyone in this house questions your orders, send them to me.”
“Yes, Don Alessandro,” Sofia bowed her head respectfully.
As the doctor administered my medicine through the IV, I drifted into a heavy, dreamless sleep, the sound of the crackling fire and the warm safety of the room washing over me.
When I woke up hours later, the fever had broken.
The room was bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp. Sitting in a plush velvet armchair beside my bed was Alessandro. He had taken off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and was holding a sleeping Emma in his lap. She had her head pressed against his chest, snoring softly.
In his other hand, Alessandro held a crumpled piece of paper that had fallen out of the pocket of his stained dress shirt—the very shirt Emma had been trying to wash in the laundry basin.
May you like
It was a commercial laundry receipt from an high-end dry-cleaning shop in downtown Manhattan.
Alessandro was staring at it with an expression of pure, unadulterated fury.
