“The pretty lady hurt Mama,” Lena whispered, pointing toward the east wing — Valentina’s private rooms.
The girl told him her mother had sent her to wait in the laundry room, that she’d heard yelling, that she’d seen Valentina pour water over her mother — and that Valentina had said her mother heard something she wasn’t supposed to hear. “She said she can make Mama disappear.”
His fingers tightened around the roses. A white petal fell. Then another. He released the bouquet and it hit the marble, scattering. Lena flinched.
“Look at me. I’m going to find your mother.” “Promise?” “I promise.” “Don’t let the pretty lady hurt her again.” “I won’t.”
Against every instinct, he walked alone down the east corridor toward Valentina’s suite. The double doors stood slightly open.
Through the gap came Sophia’s voice: “I won’t say anything. Please. Just leave Lena alone.” Then Valentina — smooth, controlled: “Then stop pretending you have a choice.”
“I only brought tea.” “And you listened.” “I didn’t mean to. I heard a phone call.” The click of heels. “You are staff. You clean rooms. You do not carry secrets out of them.”
“But if what I heard means Mr. Moretti is in danger—”
A sharp sound. Then liquid pouring.