The Girl With the Bruised Eye
Chapter 01 - The Girl With the Bruised Eye
I had twelve candles left.
That was all.
Twelve candles, one silver lighter, and a dining room full of people pretending not to notice that I could barely see out of my left eye.
The Moretti dining room was built for intimidation. Crystal chandeliers hung low over a table long enough to seat a king’s enemies. White orchids spilled from silver vases. Candlelight trembled against cut glass, polished knives, and the still faces of twenty-four guests who knew better than to ask questions in Luca Moretti’s house.
I leaned across the table.
The flame touched the wick.
Then the room doubled.
Crystal glasses blurred together. The chandelier became two chandeliers. The white orchids stretched and swam in front of me like pale hands reaching out of water.
I nearly lowered the flame into the centerpiece.
“Careful, Julia.”
Vanessa Bellini’s voice sliced through the room, soft enough to sound elegant and sharp enough to draw blood.
“You’re lighting candles, not performing surgery.”
A few guests smiled because they were expected to smile. Men in tailored jackets. Women in diamonds. People who would rather watch a girl burn her hand than risk offending Luca Moretti’s fiancée.
I straightened too quickly. Pain flashed under my brow.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Then try not to set anything on fire.”
My fingers tightened around the silver lighter. I moved to the next candle, keeping the left side of my face hidden behind the loose curtain of hair I had pinned there before coming downstairs.
That was when Luca Moretti spoke.
“Julia.”
The single word did what Vanessa’s cruelty had not. It stopped me cold.
Luca sat at the head of the table, one hand resting beside his untouched wineglass. He was thirty-nine, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, and still in the way dangerous men were still. His black suit looked simple until you noticed the cut. His open white collar made him seem less formal, not less powerful. Tattoos disappeared beneath his cuffs and at the edge of his throat, reminders that money had only refined him. It had not softened him.
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Look at me.”
My stomach tightened.
I turned my face toward him.
Not all the way.
Just enough to keep my hair where it was.
Luca put down his fork.
“Move your hair.”
Vanessa gave a soft laugh.
“For heaven’s sake, Luca. She walked into the conservatory door this afternoon. She’s embarrassed.”
The lighter went motionless in my hand.
Luca slowly turned his head toward his fiancée.
“The conservatory?”
“Yes, darling.” Vanessa lifted her wineglass. Her red satin gown glowed like spilled blood under the chandeliers. “She was carrying flower boxes and apparently forgot glass is solid.”
I stared at the candles.
Because I had never told Vanessa I couldn’t see properly.
I had never told anyone.
And I had not walked into a glass door.
My name is Julia Bennett. I was twenty-eight years old, had worked at the Moretti estate for eleven months, and had spent the last four hours pretending the left side of my face did not hurt.
My cheekbone was swollen. There was a small cut beneath my eyebrow. Every few minutes, my vision blurred.
I should have gone home.
I should have seen a doctor.
But rent was due Monday, my father’s heating bill was sitting unpaid on my kitchen counter, and Vanessa had leaned close in the conservatory that afternoon and whispered, “If Luca hears one word about what happened in here, you won’t just lose this job.”
So I had washed the blood from my face.
Covered the bruise with makeup.
Pinned my hair lower.
And returned to work.
Luca looked back at me.
“Move your hair, Julia.”
The room went silent in a new way. Not polite. Not bored. Hungry.
Slowly, I tucked the hair behind my ear.
Someone near the middle of the table stopped breathing.
The bruise spread dark across my left cheekbone, ugly beneath the powder I had used to hide it. The skin beneath my eyebrow was swollen. My eye did not open all the way.
Vanessa sighed as if I had spilled soup.
“It looks worse than it is.”
Luca looked at her.
“You examined her?”
Vanessa’s smile tightened.
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
Nobody spoke.
He turned back to me.
“Can you see clearly?”
“Yes, sir.”
It was a lie.
He knew it.
Luca picked up the small menu card beside his plate and held it out toward me.
“What does this say?”
My heart started pounding.
From where I stood, the letters blurred together. Black ink swam over cream paper. I blinked hard, but my left eye watered and pulled the whole world out of shape.
“Roasted…” I swallowed. “Sea bass.”
Luca did not move.
Because the card said filet mignon.
Vanessa shifted in her chair.
“She probably needs glasses.”
Luca looked at her.
“Apparently she also needs you to answer for her.”
Vanessa stopped smiling.
He pushed the empty chair beside him away from the table.
“Sit down, Julia.”
“Sir, I still have the candles.”
“Someone else can light candles.”
“I can finish.”
“Sit.”
I lowered myself into the chair because refusing Luca Moretti twice was not bravery. It was stupidity.
The guests watched without watching. Forks remained suspended. Wineglasses rested untouched. Everyone knew a private storm had entered the room, and everyone was measuring how far the lightning might travel.
Luca leaned closer.
“What happened in the conservatory?”
I stared at my hands.
“I walked into the door.”
“What were you carrying?”
“Flowers.”
Vanessa immediately said, “White orchids.”
Luca’s eyes moved to her.
“White orchids?”
“Yes.”
“That’s interesting.”
Vanessa frowned.
“What is?”
“The orchids arrived this morning.”
Her expression barely changed.
“So?”
“They were brought directly into the ballroom.”
Silence.
Luca looked at me again.
“Why were you carrying them through the conservatory?”
My mouth went dry.
I couldn’t answer.
Because there had been no flower boxes.
There had been an elderly woman with rain on her coat.
A suitcase by her feet.
And Vanessa Bellini screaming at her to get out of the house before Luca came downstairs.
Luca watched my face for several seconds, and I realized then why men feared him. He did not need to shout. He did not need to threaten. He simply looked at a person until the truth began moving under their skin.
“Are you afraid of losing your job?” he asked.
My eyes filled before I could stop them.
“Yes, sir.”
“You won’t.”
Vanessa set down her glass.
“This is becoming ridiculous.”
Luca turned toward her.
“Then help me understand it.”
“There’s nothing to understand.”
“You knew where Julia was injured.”
“She told me.”
Luca looked at me.
“Did you?”
I hesitated.
That was enough.
He stood.
“Mrs. Carter.”
The head housekeeper approached quickly, pale-faced and silent.
“Take Julia upstairs. Call Dr. Harris.”
I shook my head.
“Mr. Moretti, I need the shift.”
“You’ll be paid.”
“I haven’t finished.”
“You have now.”
Vanessa gave a small laugh.
“She doesn’t need a doctor over a bruised cheek.”
Luca looked directly at her.
“How do you know it’s only a bruised cheek?”
Vanessa said nothing.
Mrs. Carter helped me stand. I had almost reached the doorway when Luca spoke again.
“Julia.”
I stopped.
He didn’t ask whether Vanessa had hit me. He didn’t ask whether I had lied.
Instead, he asked the question that cut through everything.
“Who were you protecting?”
My entire body went still.
Vanessa’s hand tightened around her wineglass.
Luca saw that too.
“Nobody, sir,” I whispered.
His eyes held mine for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“Go see the doctor.”
I left the dining room on trembling legs.
And for the next thirty-five minutes, Luca Moretti behaved as though the conversation had never happened.
He finished dinner. Discussed Saturday’s ceremony. Listened while Vanessa spoke about seating arrangements. Even complimented the white orchids decorating the room.
By dessert, Vanessa had relaxed.
She thought he had let it go.
At 9:51, Luca quietly left the dining room.
He walked through the east corridor and opened the doors to the conservatory.
Warm air met him. Moonlight shone through the glass ceiling. Rows of lemon trees, roses, and winter herbs filled the room. Nothing looked disturbed.
Then Luca noticed the broken pot beside the far bench.
Dark soil scattered across the tile.
A chair had been knocked sideways.
And near one of its legs—
a pair of reading glasses.
They were not mine.
They were not Vanessa’s.
Outside the side door, rain had softened the gravel path. Fresh footprints led toward the old gardener’s cottage.
Luca followed them.
The cottage had been empty since his mother died. She had spent years using it as a quiet place to drink coffee with Rosa Alvarez, the woman who had cared for the Moretti gardens for nearly three decades.
Luca tried the door.
Unlocked.
Inside, a lamp was burning.
A suitcase sat beside the wall.
An elderly woman stood at the small kitchen sink, pressing a wet towel against her wrist.
Luca stopped.
“Mrs. Alvarez?”
The woman turned.
Her face changed immediately.
“Luca?”
He had not seen Rosa in almost five years. She had retired to Arizona after his mother became ill. But there she was, seventy-two years old, gray hair loose at her temples, rain still darkening the shoulders of her coat.
“What are you doing here?” Luca asked.
Rosa looked toward the window.
“I was waiting until the party ended.”
“Why?”
She did not answer.
Luca noticed a red mark around her wrist.
“What happened to you?”
Rosa’s eyes filled.
“That maid tried to help me.”
Luca went still.
“Julia?”
Rosa nodded.
“She opened the conservatory door when she heard us arguing.”
“With Vanessa?”
Another nod.
“Vanessa told me I had no business being here. Julia told her she couldn’t throw an old woman outside in the rain.”
Rosa looked down.
“Vanessa grabbed my suitcase. Julia tried to take it back.”
Her voice trembled.
“The suitcase struck Julia in the face.”
For several seconds, Luca said nothing.
Then he pulled out a chair.
“Sit down.”
Rosa obeyed.
“Why did you come back to Chicago?”
Rosa looked toward her suitcase.
“Because your mother asked me to.”
Luca stopped breathing for a second.
“My mother died three years ago.”
“I know.”
Rosa opened the suitcase.
Inside were clothes, gardening books, and a small wooden box.
“She gave this to me six weeks before she died.”
Luca stared at it.
“Why didn’t you give it to me then?”
“Because she told me not to.”
Rosa placed the box on the table.
“She said I should wait until you decided to marry.”
Luca opened it.
Inside was his mother’s rosary.
A small brass key.
And a sealed envelope with his name written across the front.
His mother’s handwriting.
Across the back, she had written one sentence.
GIVE THIS TO LUCA ONLY IF HE CHOOSES VANESSA.
Luca stared at the words.
Then slowly looked at Rosa.
“She knew Vanessa?”
Rosa’s expression changed.
“Yes.”
“How?”
For several seconds, the elderly woman said nothing.
Then she reached into the bottom of her suitcase and removed a photograph.
It showed Luca’s mother sitting in this very conservatory.
Rosa stood beside her.
And behind them was a much younger Vanessa Bellini.
The date in the corner was twelve years old.
Luca had not met Vanessa until five years later.
He looked up.
“Why was Vanessa in my mother’s house seven years before I met her?”
Rosa’s hands began trembling.
“That’s why your mother sent me away with the box.”
Luca stared at her.
“What happened here?”
Rosa looked toward the mansion, where Vanessa was still smiling among his guests.
Then she said the words that made Luca forget every person waiting downstairs.
“Your mother didn’t meet Vanessa through you, Luca.”
May you like
A tear rolled down the old woman’s cheek.
“Vanessa came to this house looking for your father.”
