The Torn Uniform
Chapter 01 - The Torn Uniform
"Turn around, sweetheart. You're serving dinner, not guarding a prison."
Vanessa Bellini laughed as I backed away from the dining table with a silver basket of rolls pressed to my ribs.
Twenty-six guests sat beneath the chandeliers of Luca Moretti's Chicago mansion, their knives gliding through filet, their diamonds catching candlelight, their conversations polished to the point of boredom.
And I was desperately trying to keep anyone from seeing the back of my uniform.
The black fabric had ripped from my left shoulder almost to my waist. Beneath it, a long scrape burned every time I moved. I had fastened the dress together with three safety pins stolen from Mrs. Carter's sewing drawer.
One had already come loose.
"Emma," Vanessa said, pointing one manicured finger toward the bread basket. "I asked you for more bread. Or have you forgotten how to do that, too?"
I leaned forward to serve her.
The movement pulled hard across my injured shoulder. Pain shot down my back so sharply that the room faded at the edges. My grip weakened. The basket tilted, and two dinner rolls rolled across the white tablecloth like small guilty things.
Vanessa pushed back her chair.
"For God's sake. Look what you've done."
"I'm sorry, ma'am."
I reached for the bread, but she recoiled as though my fingers carried disease.
"Don't touch it. You've probably got dirt all over your hands."
A man's voice interrupted her.
"Emma."
Every muscle in my body went still.
At the head of the table, Luca Moretti had put down his fork.
He was thirty-nine, broad-shouldered, still in that frightening way men were when they had spent their lives being obeyed. His black suit looked carved onto him. The open collar of his white shirt revealed a hint of ink at his throat, and his eyes were fixed on me with a quietness worse than anger.
"Stand up," he said.
"Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
"Turn around."
My heart nearly stopped.
Before I could answer, Vanessa gave a small embarrassed laugh, the kind a hostess makes when a servant drops a tray and she wants the room to know she is gracious enough not to scream.
"She caught her uniform on the kennel gate this afternoon," Vanessa said. "Apparently, she can't even feed a dog without destroying her clothes."
Luca slowly turned his head toward his fiancƩe.
"The kennel?"
"Yes, darling." Vanessa lifted her wineglass. "She was helping with Bruno."
My hands went cold.
Because Vanessa had just mentioned the one place she had ordered me never to discuss.
And Bruno was not in his kennel anymore.
My name is Emma Collins. I was twenty-eight, had worked at the Moretti estate for eleven months, and had spent the last four hours pretending there wasn't an ugly scrape across my back.
Normally, I could serve a dining room without anyone noticing me. I was good at being invisible. Invisible women hear things, clean things, fix things, and go home with aching feet while other people keep their secrets.
Tonight, every movement hurt.
But my rent was due Friday. My mother had just been discharged from the hospital after a pneumonia scare that had turned into a stack of bills on my kitchen table. Vanessa had warned me that if I mentioned what happened in the kennels, I would be looking for work by morning.
So I had cleaned the scrape.
Pinned my torn uniform together.
And gone back to work.
Luca pushed his chair away from the table. The scrape of wood against marble made several guests stop chewing.
"Emma, let me see your shoulder."
"It's nothing, sir."
"Then you won't mind showing me."
Slowly, I turned around.
The room went quiet.
The three safety pins strained against the torn cloth. Dried blood marked the edge of my collar. The long scrape crossed the back of my shoulder and disappeared under the fabric toward my ribs.
One of the guests quietly set down his fork.
Luca's expression changed by almost nothing. His jaw did not tighten. His voice did not rise.
That was what made him dangerous.
"You've been working like this all evening?"
I nodded.
Vanessa sighed. "For heaven's sake, Luca. It's a scratch. She caught herself on the kennel fence."
Luca looked at her.
"The fence?"
"Yes."
"The kennels have wooden gates."
Vanessa's smile faltered, but only for a second.
"Well, there must be something sharp out there."
Luca turned back to me.
"What happened?"
I stared at the floor.
"I fell."
"Against what?"
"The gate."
Vanessa immediately added, "She was trying to get Bruno into his carrier."
Luca stopped moving.
"His carrier?"
Vanessa lifted her glass again. Her diamonds flashed under the chandelier. "Yes, darling. I arranged for him to stay somewhere quieter during the wedding preparations."
My stomach dropped.
Luca looked directly at her.
"You moved Bruno?"
"Only temporarily."
"Where?"
"Some boarding place outside the city."
He was silent for several seconds.
Bruno was a fourteen-year-old golden retriever. He had belonged to Luca's mother, and after her death he had become less a pet than a living remnant of her. He slept near the fireplace in Luca's study. He limped in the mornings. He was nearly deaf. Every evening, Luca personally gave him arthritis medication wrapped in a little piece of roasted chicken.
Everyone who worked in that house knew Bruno did not leave the estate.
Everyone except Vanessa pretended not to resent him.
Luca looked back at me.
"Emma, was Bruno hurt this afternoon?"
My eyes immediately filled.
Vanessa set down her glass.
"Oh, for God's sake. The dog is perfectly fine."
Luca did not look away from me.
"Then why is Emma crying?"
I couldn't answer. Not with Vanessa watching me.
Luca studied my face, and something in his gaze softened just enough to frighten me more.
"Are you afraid of losing your job?"
I nodded once.
"You won't."
Vanessa laughed nervously. "Really, Luca. Are we going to interrupt our engagement dinner because the maid scratched herself and an old dog went on vacation?"
He ignored her.
"Emma, leave the bread."
"Sir, I still have another two hours."
"You'll be paid."
"I need the money."
"And you've earned it."
He called for Mrs. Carter, the head housekeeper, without raising his voice. She appeared in the doorway so quickly she must have been listening from the hall.
"Take Emma upstairs," Luca said. "Have Dr. Harris examine her shoulder."
Vanessa shook her head. "She doesn't need a doctor."
Luca turned toward her.
"You've spent this entire conversation telling me what Emma needs."
Vanessa stopped smiling.
He looked back at me.
"Go."
I started toward the doorway.
Then I remembered the little blue blanket hidden beneath the pantry sink.
Bruno's blanket.
The one Luca's mother had made for him when he was a puppy, blue flannel with his name stitched unevenly in yellow thread. I had taken it from his empty kennel because I could not bear to see it thrown away with the rest of his things.
"Mr. Moretti?"
Luca turned.
"Yes?"
I wanted to tell him everything.
About the van.
The stranger.
The way Bruno had struggled to stand when they pulled him from his bed.
But Vanessa was staring at me, and I still heard her voice in my head.
One word, Emma, and your mother will have to find another way to pay her bills.
"Nothing, sir," I whispered.
Luca watched my face for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, he said, "When Bruno comes home, I want you to take a few days off. With pay."
My throat tightened.
Because I did not know whether Bruno was ever coming home.
I left the dining room.
And Luca returned to dinner.
He discussed the wedding. He listened while Vanessa described the flowers she had ordered for the ceremony. He even smiled when one of their guests asked whether Bruno would be wearing a bow tie in the wedding photographs.
"Of course," Vanessa answered brightly. "He's practically family."
Luca looked at her for a moment.
Then raised his glass.
By dessert, she was laughing again.
She thought he had accepted her explanation.
But at 9:38, Luca quietly excused himself.
He did not go to the security office.
He went straight to the kennels.
Bruno's bed was empty. His water bowl was gone. Someone had removed the framed photograph of Luca's mother that had always hung beside his stall.
But something else caught Luca's attention.
A torn strip of black fabric was caught beneath the metal latch on the rear service gate.
The same material as my uniform.
Beside it, on the concrete, was a dark stain.
Blood.
Luca pulled out his phone.
"Daniel. Find out who collected Bruno this afternoon."
A pause.
"Miss Bellini arranged a private animal transport, boss."
"Which company?"
"I'm checking."
Luca walked into Bruno's empty kennel. His mother's old dog had never spent a night away from the estate without Luca knowing exactly where he was.
Now there was not even a note identifying the place he had supposedly been taken.
Luca called Bruno's veterinarian.
Ten minutes later, Daniel returned the call.
"Boss, Dr. Patterson says Bruno was supposed to come in tomorrow for his arthritis medication. She specifically advised against boarding. He's too old. Unfamiliar places make him anxious."
Luca looked toward the mansion.
Vanessa had known that.
She had been sitting beside him when the veterinarian called the previous week.
"Find that transport company," Luca said.
But Daniel was already speaking to someone else. His expression changed.
"Boss. We found the driver."
"Where's Bruno?"
Daniel hesitated.
"The driver says Miss Bellini didn't book a boarding kennel. She sent him to an animal shelter in Indiana. She signed the surrender paperwork herself."
Luca stared at the empty kennel.
"Under whose name?"
"Yours."
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in Luca's study with my shoulder bandaged and my torn uniform replaced by an oversized gray sweater Mrs. Carter had found in the laundry room.
Dr. Harris had cleaned the scrape and told me to rest. I had nodded as if rest were a thing poor people could simply choose.
Luca entered carrying Bruno's blue blanket.
My eyes filled at once.
He placed it on the desk between us.
"Emma," he said, "what happened at the kennels?"
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then I told him.
Vanessa had come outside with a stranger shortly after four. The man carried a large dog carrier. Bruno had been sleeping in his bed, stiff but comfortable. When the stranger tried to lift him, Bruno whimpered.
I asked where they were taking him.
Vanessa said it was none of my business.
I told her Bruno needed his medication and that Mr. Moretti hadn't said anything about moving him. She ordered me to open the rear gate.
I refused.
"She told the man to take him anyway," I whispered.
Luca sat very still.
"And your shoulder?"
"I tried to get between them. Vanessa pulled me backward by my uniform. The fabric tore, and I fell against the metal latch."
He looked down at the blanket.
"Did Bruno get into the van?"
I nodded.
"And you couldn't stop them?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Moretti."
Luca looked at me.
"You tried to protect him."
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he picked up his phone.
"Daniel. Tell the shelter I'm coming for Bruno. And find out who told them I wanted him surrendered."
He stood.
But I caught his sleeve.
"Mr. Moretti."
He turned.
"There's something else."
I reached beneath the folded sweater and removed a piece of paper I had hidden there.
It was the receipt the driver had dropped beside the kennel. I had not understood it when I found it.
But Luca did.
It was not a boarding receipt.
It was an authorization for an owner-requested euthanasia appointment.
Scheduled for the following morning.
At the bottom was a handwritten note from Vanessa.
Owner confirms dog is aggressive. Do not release to staff.
Luca read the paper once.
Then again.
His voice, when it came, was nearly a whisper.
"She told them Bruno was aggressive?"
I nodded.
"She said he'd attacked me."
His eyes moved to the bandage beneath my collar.
"Emma, did Bruno bite you?"
"Never. He has never bitten anyone."
Luca picked up his phone again.
"Daniel. I'm leaving now."
But before he could finish, Daniel spoke so loudly I heard him through the receiver.
"Boss, the shelter just called back."
Luca stopped.
"What did they say?"
Daniel's voice had changed.
"They don't have Bruno anymore. The shelter transferred him to a veterinary clinic an hour ago."
Luca looked at the clock.
10:14 p.m.
"Why?"
Daniel hesitated.
Then answered.
"Because Vanessa called them herself and said you wanted the appointment moved up to tonight."
May you like
Luca went perfectly still.
And in that terrible silence, I realized the old dog had less than an hour to live.
