My Don Let the Housekeeper Killed My Mother, but It Was His

"Lucio, Mama fell down the stairs. The surgeons won't touch her until someone clears the deposit, and Gianna's frozen every account. Do something. Now!"

I nearly screamed it into the phone, one hand locked around the armrest, my eyes on the back of the driver's neck.

Faster. Faster!

Behind Lucio, music thundered. Crystal clinked against each other.

His mother's birthday party had already started.

"Save it. I know exactly what you're about to say."

He sighed, long and put-upon.

"Elena. You married into the Morettis. That's supposed to buy your side some manners by now."

"But who brought your people a free pass to crawl through my house at night and take what isn't theirs?"

My hand tightened around the phone until it ached.

"My people? Lucio, you don't understand who she really is..."

"I don't care. Even if she's your mother. In this city, you touch what belongs to the Morettis, you pay for it. No exceptions."

His voice climbed.

"She snuck into my study last night. What about next time? My armory? My shipment lists end up in Torrino hands?"

"Relax. Gia's only holding the money to teach her a lesson. Pain sharpens character, sharpens manners. Don't worry, she'll sign off on it in the end. She always does."

I should be grateful?

My jaw locked. So this was how he saw us. Me. My mother.

Just a week before, my mother had been calling in every favor she had at the East Port, trying to reopen a weapons route that had sat stalled for half a year.

This alliance was supposed to run on good faith. Our ports for their protection. We had already paid our half. However, he was the one still deciding whether gratitude was worth the trouble.

Besides, my mother had never taken so much as a pin that wasn't hers. Was this what the Morettis called honoring an alliance?

I forced the heat down in my chest. Right now, all I wanted was to save my mother-in-law's life.

"You have to send the rest money right now, or she won't make it. Do you hear me? She's the woman who raised you, Lucio."

Silence.

Then he laughed.

"Elena, have you lost your mind?" A sneer came down the line. "Your mother never raised me a day in her life. Don't dress this up like your family means something to me."

"My mother's tour is almost over. She's already on her way home for her birthday party. So drop this, Elena. Leave Gia alone."

"Lucio, listen, the woman who fell, you think she's my mother. She's not. She's..."

"No wonder Gia can't stand any of you." He hung up.

I'd barely lowered the phone before a notification popped up. He'd posted.

A photo of the party, glittering behind him, captioned:

To my mother. Every door that's ever opened for me, every privilege I've ever held: it all traces back to the woman who gave me life.

Not even my wife will ever outrank her.

I stared at the photo, something twisting in my chest.

Rosaria. My mother-in-law. The woman who fell.

She was the one who'd built the Moretti family out of gunfire and back-room deals, brick by brick, with her own two hands, until she sat at the top of this whole city.

Dozens of capos answered to her, and goons beyond counting. And somehow none of it had hardened her. She still had room in her for kindness, for anyone.

Just two nights ago she'd called from Iceland, laughing like a kid. "I'm cutting this stupid trip short, sweetheart. I miss my children. I've got a whole suitcase of gifts for you all. I'm coming home early to surprise my kids."

When she said "my kids," she always counted me among them.

And right now, she was lying on some cold table, her life hanging by a thread, because every cent she'd earned over a lifetime sat in the hands of her son's housekeeper Gianna.

My mother, next to me in the car, glanced over. "What's wrong? Did something happen to Rosaria?"

I let out a breath, my chest tight, and took her hand. "Mamma. When we get to the party, stay in the car. It's a mess of people I don't trust. I don't want anything happening to you."

She frowned, but she'd learned to trust how I handled things. She didn't push.

Outside the windshield, the city stretched bright under the afternoon sun.

What I didn't know: somewhere on the Moretti estate, Gianna stood over the blood on the staircase, already dried black, smiling down at it.

And in the ballroom, Lucio was straightening his cufflinks, wondering why his mother was late.