Chương 2
Alessandro looked down at her. “What bad man?”
She pulled the jacket closer around herself.
He tried the iron handle again. The door was old but solid, its frame swollen with damp. He could have ordered one of his men to break it. He could have called for a key. Instead he stepped back and drove his shoulder beside the lock.
The frame cracked on the second impact.
The cottage smelled of fever, extinguished candles, and something scorched in the kitchen. A saucepan had boiled dry on the stove. On the table sat a child’s cup, half a heel of bread, and a row of coins arranged by size.
“Sophia?”
A cough came from the bedroom. It was weak and deep, followed by a silence that lasted too long.
Emma wriggled in his arms. “Mama.”
Alessandro carried her through the narrow doorway.
Sophia Rossi lay beneath two wool blankets, her face flushed dark with fever. Sweat had soaked the hair at her temples. One hand rested on the mattress, fingers curled around a brass key. Bruises marked her wrist in the shape of someone else’s grip.
Her eyes opened when Emma called to her.
For a second she looked only at her daughter. Relief loosened her face.
Then she saw Alessandro.
Sophia tried to sit up.
“No,” he said.
She dragged herself against the headboard anyway. Her breathing rasped.
“Mr. Moretti, I can explain.”
“You can barely speak.”
“I’ll return to work tonight.”
“You will not.”
“The shirt—”
He looked at Emma, who still held it.
“Yes,” he said. “The shirt is safe.”
Sophia’s eyes moved to Alessandro’s jacket around her daughter, to the broken bedroom sightline beyond him, and finally to the water dripping from Emma’s bare feet. Her expression changed.
“Emma, what did you do?”
“I help.”
“I told you to stay here.”
“You sleep.”
“You don’t leave the cottage alone. You know that.”
The child’s lower lip trembled, but she fought it.
Alessandro set her on the bed. Sophia pulled Emma close, then winced as the child’s weight touched her ribs.
“Who bruised your wrist?” Alessandro asked.
Sophia hid the wrist beneath the blanket.
“No one.”
Emma looked at him. “Bad man.”
Sophia’s head turned sharply. “Emma.”
“What man?” Alessandro asked.
“No one came here.”
“The door was locked to keep him out.”
“The door is always locked.”
“Your daughter says otherwise.”
“My daughter is three.”
Emma pressed her cheek against Sophia’s shoulder. “Man with shiny ring.”
Sophia closed her eyes.
Alessandro knew most of the rings worn by the men in his household. Wedding bands, family seals, saints on heavy silver, expensive stones bought after profitable favors. His own hands were bare.
“What did the ring look like?” he asked Emma.
Sophia caught his sleeve.
“Please.”
The grip had little strength, but the fear behind it stopped him.
“Not in front of her,” Sophia whispered.
A knock sounded at the broken door. Kitchen staff entered with blankets, followed by Pietro Bellini, the Moretti family physician, carrying a worn leather case and wearing the annoyed expression of a man who had been interrupted during dinner.
His annoyance vanished when he saw Sophia.
“How long has she been like this?”
“I don’t know,” Alessandro said.
“Four days,” Sophia murmured.
Bellini stared at her. “Four?”
“Maybe three.”
He put two fingers against her neck, then opened his case. “Everyone out except the child’s father.”
“There is no father,” Sophia said.
Bellini glanced at Alessandro.
“I’m not her father.”
Emma, wrapped in his navy jacket and holding his ruined shirt, studied both men as though adults had become a particularly difficult puzzle.
“Then take the child outside,” Bellini said.
“No,” Sophia rasped.
Alessandro expected Emma to cling to her mother. Instead she slid from the bed and took his hand.
Her fingers were freezing.
He led her to the kitchen and placed her on a chair. One of the assistants arrived with blankets and clean towels. Alessandro wrapped Emma’s feet, then found bread and cheese in a cupboard.
“You hungry?”
“No.”
“Eat.”
Her eyes widened.
Alessandro heard the command in his voice and regretted it. He lowered himself onto the chair across from her, though wet trousers clung unpleasantly to his knees.
“Please,” he added.
Emma took a piece of bread.
The kitchen assistant stood near the door, uncertain whether she had been dismissed. Alessandro nodded toward the saucepan.
“Throw that out. Make soup.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Something a sick person can eat.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And something for Emma.”
The woman looked at the bread in the child’s hand. “Of course.”
“What is your name?”
She stared at him.
“Your name,” he repeated.
“Giulia, sir.”
“How long have you worked here, Giulia?”
“Eight months.”
“Do staff members lose wages when they’re ill?”
Giulia’s gaze shifted toward the bedroom.
“I don’t manage wages.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
She twisted the dishcloth in her hands. “Mrs. Fabbri says absence creates inconvenience. Inconvenience is deducted.”
“From everyone?”
“Mostly from those who live on the grounds.”
“Why mostly them?”
“They have nowhere else to go.”
The bluntness appeared to frighten her as soon as she heard herself say it.
Alessandro sat back.
He signed the household accounts every month. Thick folders placed beside his breakfast plate by his business manager, Carlo De Luca. Wages, repairs, utility expenses, garden supplies. Alessandro rarely read beyond the summary page.
“How much has Sophia lost?”
“I don’t know.”
“Find out.”
Giulia nodded quickly and turned toward the stove.
Emma chewed her bread with slow concentration. Crumbs collected on Alessandro’s jacket.
“Where did you learn that song?” he asked.
She hummed two notes, checking which song he meant.
“Yes. That one.”
“Mama sing.”
“Who taught your mother?”
“Nonna.”
“Your grandmother?”
Emma nodded. “Nonna Teresa in heaven.”
The bedroom door opened.
Bellini came out with his sleeves rolled up and his expression grim.
May you like
“She has pneumonia. Her oxygen is too low, her fever is dangerous, and she’s severely dehydrated. I want her in the hospital.”
Sophia’s voice came through the doorway. “No hospital.”
