Chapter 6 - Dawn in the East Wing
The first pale rays of sunlight filtered through the narrow windows of the servants’ quarters in the east wing.
Marta sat on the edge of the narrow cot, her eyes red-rimmed from a sleepless night. She had spent hours listening to the faint echoes of shouting from the main house, terrified that every footstep in the corridor meant security guards coming to drag her and her daughter away.
Beside her, Clara was fast asleep, clutching a small wooden toy horse one of the kitchen staff had carved for her.
A sharp knock at the door made Marta jump.
She stood up quickly, smoothing her apron, and pulled the door open. To her surprise, it wasn’t an enforcer with a gun. It was Elena, the head housekeeper, holding a heavy wooden tray laden with fresh bread, fruit, and a warm cup of milk.
“Signorina Marta,” Elena said, her voice softened by a mixture of sympathy and awe. “You’re to stay in this wing for today. No laundry duties.”
Marta stared at the tray, confused. “Is it—are we being fired?”
“Fired?” Elena scoffed quietly, glancing down the hall before stepping inside. “Child, you have no idea what happened last night. Vincenzo, the senior guard captain, was arrested at midnight. Dragged down to the bunker. Word is, he was a traitor selling secrets to the Sabatinis.”
Marta’s breath caught in her throat. “What does that have to do with us?”
“Everything,” Elena whispered. “Vincenzo was the one who managed the security grid for the west lawn. That’s how Clara got out. But more than that... the Don himself gave instructions that you and your daughter are under his direct protection.”
Marta shook her head in disbelief. “The Don? Alessandro Moretti protects no one.”
“He does now,” Elena said gravely. “He spent an hour in the study this morning reviewing the logs. And then he left this for the little one.”
May you like
Elena reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a small, intricately carved silver whistle shaped like a little bird. She laid it gently on the wooden table beside Clara’s bed.
Marta stared at the silver object, her heart pounding. In the Moretti household, gifts from the Don were exceedingly rare—and carrying his personal favor was both a shield and a target.
