CHAPTER 3 – PART 3 – They Beat the Pregnant Maid and Threw Her Out—Then the Father Walked Through the Door

PART 3: THE HOUSE TURNS AGAINST ME

My first thought was absurdly practical.

Someone had packed my suitcase badly.

The zipper bulged because whoever had gone through my room had shoved everything inside without folding it, and I could see the corner of my blue sweater caught in the teeth.

Then I understood what the suitcase meant.

Caterina watched me understand.

“Close the door.”

I remained beside it.

“I’d rather leave it open.”

Beatrice laughed.

“Still giving orders.”

“I’m not giving an order.”

“No,” Caterina said.

“You seem to have forgotten your position entirely.”

I looked at the suitcase again.

“May I ask why my room was searched?”

“You may ask anything you like.”

“Will you answer?”

Her expression hardened.

Beatrice stepped forward.

“We know you’re pregnant.”

I had spent weeks imagining the conversation.

In every version, Dante stood beside me.

Without him, the room seemed suddenly enormous.

“Yes.”

Caterina’s fingers tightened around her cane.

“And you believed you could remain here?”

“I believed my private medical condition had nothing to do with my employment as long as I could perform my duties safely.”

“Private.”

She repeated the word as if it offended her.

“You have been living in my son’s home.”

“In the staff wing.”

“You have been assigned to his rooms.”

“As part of my job.”

“You have been seen entering the library after midnight.”

My heart began to pound.

“Who told you that?”

Beatrice smiled.

“You think people don’t notice you because you wear a uniform.”

There it was.

Not certainty.

Suspicion.

They did not know.

Not yet.

Caterina stood.

“You will leave today.”

“I would like to speak with Rosa.”

“Rosa is not in charge.”

“I would like to collect my belongings properly.”

“They’re already collected.”

“I would also like the wages I’m owed.”

Beatrice stared at me.

“You’re being dismissed from a private household and you’re worried about a paycheck?”

“Yes.”

That answer infuriated her more than tears would have.

I understood why.

They wanted shame.

They wanted begging.

They wanted me to participate in my own humiliation so they could feel justified.

I would not.

Caterina walked closer.

“Who is the father?”

I met her eyes.

“That is private.”

“Not in this house.”

“Yes, in this house.”

Beatrice gave a short laugh.

“This is unbelievable.”

Caterina stopped less than three feet from me.

“Did my son touch you?”

There was a world hidden inside that question.

I heard fear beneath the contempt.

If I said yes, everything would become real.

If I said no, I would be lying about my child.

If I stayed silent, Caterina would hear whatever answer she already believed.

So I said, “Ask him.”

Her face changed.

Beatrice’s smile vanished.

“You disgusting little—”

“Beatrice.”

Caterina silenced her without looking away from me.

“Did you seduce my son?”

“No.”

“Then you deny being with him?”

“I said ask him.”

Her cane struck the floor.

The crack echoed through the sitting room.

“You entered this house with nothing.”

I nearly laughed because it was so perfectly wrong.

She mistook two bags for nothing.

She mistook employment for desperation.

She mistook silence for absence.

“You ate our food.”

“I worked for it.”

“You slept beneath our roof.”

“I worked for that too.”

“You wore a uniform paid for by my family.”

“As an employee.”

“And now you stand there pregnant, refusing to explain yourself.”

“I do not owe you the intimate details of my life.”

Her face went white.

No one spoke to Caterina Moretti that way.

I knew it.

She knew it.

Beatrice stepped toward me.

“You think because Dante smiles at you, you matter?”

My stomach tightened.

“Beatrice.”

“He gets bored.”

“Stop.”

“Women like you always mistake attention for affection.”

“I said stop.”

“You probably planned this from the beginning.”

Something inside me finally moved from fear to anger.

“I did not plan my child.”

“You expect us to believe that?”

“I do not care what you believe.”

Beatrice slapped me.

The sound was sharper than the pain.

I staggered.

My hand flew to my cheek.

For several seconds, nobody moved.

Even Caterina looked surprised.

Then I saw something worse happen.

She decided Beatrice had been right to do it.

“Leave,” Caterina said.

I lowered my hand.

“I will.”

“Now.”

“After I speak to Rosa and receive what I am owed.”

“You are in no position to negotiate.”

“I’m not negotiating.”

I turned toward the door.

Caterina caught my arm.

I froze.

“Let go of me.”

“Do not turn your back on me.”

I looked down at her hand.

Then back at her face.

“Let go.”

She released me.

I walked into the hallway.

Beatrice followed.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To Rosa.”

“She isn’t here.”

I stopped.

“What?”

“We sent her to the market.”

My fear returned.

They had planned this.

They had deliberately removed the one person in the house who might interfere.

I reached for my phone.

Beatrice snatched it from my hand.

“Give that back.”

“No.”

“Beatrice.”

“You can have it after you’re outside.”

I moved toward her.

Caterina’s cane struck the marble between us.

“Enough.”

I stepped back instinctively.

“Give me my phone.”

“You will leave quietly,” Caterina said.

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“No?”

“You searched my room, packed my things, isolated me from the housekeeper, took my phone, struck me, and now you expect me to walk outside quietly so you can decide afterward what story everyone hears.”

“You are hysterical.”

“I’m very calm.”

That frightened her more.

I could see it.

Beatrice crossed her arms.

“What exactly do you think you can do?”

I looked at her.

“I can wait for Dante.”

Caterina’s face changed again.

“He is not returning until tomorrow.”

“He will return.”

“And when he does, you will be gone.”

“No.”

The cane moved before I expected it.

It struck my upper arm.

Pain flashed down to my fingertips.

I gasped.

My feet slipped against the polished floor.

My shoulder hit the wall.

The world tilted.

My first thought was the baby.

I wrapped my arm around my stomach.

“Don’t.”

Caterina’s face was pale.

Perhaps she had not meant to hit me that hard.

Perhaps she had.

I will never know.

Beatrice stared.

“Mamma.”

“Get her out.”

A footman stood near the entrance to the foyer.

His name was Thomas.

He was twenty-four and had a mother who sent him containers of food every Sunday.

He looked sick.

“Mrs. Moretti—”

“Put her suitcase outside.”

He hesitated.

“Now.”

He lifted it.

I walked after him because staying in that hallway suddenly felt more dangerous than leaving.

My arm throbbed.

My cheek burned.

My child felt impossibly fragile inside me.

At the foyer, I reached for my suitcase.

Beatrice caught up.

“You should have known better.”

I turned.

“Than what?”

“Than to think he would choose you.”

I stared at her.

“This has never been about him choosing me over you.”

Her face twisted.

“You have no idea what this family has sacrificed for that company.”

“I haven’t asked for the company.”

“You don’t need to ask if you’re carrying his heir.”

The word fell between us.

Heir.

So they knew.

Or believed they knew.

Caterina entered the foyer behind her.

“Beatrice.”

Too late.

I looked from daughter to mother.

“This is about the baby.”

Caterina said nothing.

“You’re afraid Dante will acknowledge the baby.”

“You will not use a pregnancy to control my son.”

“I have never controlled him.”

“You appeared in this house from nowhere.”

“I did not appear from nowhere.”

“You made yourself indispensable.”

“I did my job.”

“You found reasons to be near him.”

“He assigned me.”

“You became pregnant.”

“My baby is not a strategy.”

“To women like you, children are often the oldest strategy there is.”

My anger became so cold I stopped shaking.

“You know nothing about women like me.”

“I know exactly what you are.”

“No.”

I looked directly at her.

“You never bothered to ask.”

For one moment, I almost told her my name.

I almost said Bellandi.

I almost watched recognition change her face.

Then I remembered every person who had treated me differently because of that surname.

I remembered old friends who returned my calls after newspapers mentioned my father’s memorial foundation.

I remembered people whose sympathy appeared only when they realized whose daughter I had been.

And I understood something.

If Caterina needed my father’s name to believe I deserved basic human dignity, then she did not deserve the name yet.

I reached for my suitcase.

Beatrice kicked it toward the door.

“Go.”

The suitcase tipped over.

I bent automatically to catch it.

That was when the cane struck my shoulder from behind.

I lost my balance.

My knee hit the marble first.

Then my hand.

My teeth cut into the inside of my lip.

Warm blood filled my mouth.

I heard Thomas curse under his breath.

Someone screamed my name from the service corridor.

Rosa.

She had returned.

I tried to push myself up.

My body would not cooperate.

The blood that fell onto the marble came from my mouth, but panic did not care where blood came from.

Blood was blood.

I curled both hands over my stomach.

“No.”

Rosa ran toward me.

“What have you done?”

Caterina lifted her chin.

“She refused to leave.”

“She is pregnant!”

“So she claims.”

Rosa stopped dead.

I looked up.

There was murder in her eyes.

Beatrice pointed toward the entrance.

“Throw her out.”

Rosa stared at her.

“No.”

The entire foyer seemed to hold its breath.

Beatrice had probably never heard that word from a servant in her life.

“No?”

“No.”

Caterina stepped forward.

“You forget yourself.”

“I have worked in this house since before your daughter could walk.”

“And you are still staff.”

“Yes.”

Rosa moved between me and Caterina.

“Staff, not livestock.”

My throat tightened.

Thomas placed my suitcase down.

Beatrice glared at him.

“Pick that up.”

He did not.

That was the first crack.

Small.

Almost invisible.

But it was there.

Caterina saw it too.

Her authority depended on people obeying before they had time to decide whether she deserved obedience.

Now they were deciding.

Caterina looked at me.

“You have infected this house with disrespect.”

I wiped blood from my lip.

“No.”

My voice shook.

“You did that yourself.”

She raised the cane.

Rosa stepped in front of me.

“Don’t.”

Caterina’s face turned crimson.

“Move.”

“No.”

Beatrice shoved my suitcase with her shoe again.

“Get her out before she starts pretending she’s losing the baby.”

Something inside me collapsed.

I looked at her.

I had endured the insults.

I had endured the slap.

I had endured the cane.

But those words went somewhere deeper.

“If she loses the baby, that’s her problem,” Beatrice said.

I heard Rosa gasp.

I curled over my stomach.

I did not ask them to spare me.

I had stopped believing they would.

I whispered, “Please don’t hurt my baby.”

The front doors opened.

Cold air rushed into the foyer.

Dante stood beneath the archway.

His driver remained frozen behind him.

The expression on Dante’s face disappeared when he saw me.

Not changed.

Disappeared.

He saw my knees on the floor.

He saw Rosa standing between me and his mother.

He saw my overturned suitcase.

He saw Beatrice’s hand still wrapped around my phone.

Then his gaze fell on the blood.

“Elena?”

I had never heard my name sound like that.

He dropped his coat.

He crossed the foyer.

Caterina spoke first.

“Dante, before you overreact—”

He did not even look at her.

He knelt beside me.

His hands hovered because he did not know where he could touch without hurting me.

“Are you bleeding from anywhere else?”

“My lip.”

“The baby?”

“I don’t know.”

The words broke me.

“I don’t know.”

His face went white.

He touched my cheek.

I flinched.

He saw the mark Beatrice had left.

His hand fell.

Then he looked at my arm.

The bruise was already beginning.

His head turned slowly.

“Who touched her?”

No one answered.

His voice became quieter.

“Who touched Elena?”

Beatrice swallowed.

Caterina gripped her cane.

Dante stood.

I had seen him furious once during a business call.

This was different.

Fury was hot.

What stood in front of me was ice.

He looked at Beatrice first.

“Give her the phone.”

Beatrice did not move.

“Dante—”

“Give Elena her phone.”

She held it out.

Rosa took it from her.

Dante turned toward Thomas.

“Call Dr. Mercer and tell him we’re coming.”

“Yes, Mr. Moretti.”

Then he finally looked at his mother.

Caterina drew herself upright.

“She deceived this family.”

Dante said nothing.

“She came into your home, she behaved improperly, and now she is pregnant.”

Still nothing.

Caterina’s confidence began to falter.

“You have responsibilities beyond some servant girl.”

Dante’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“She is not some servant girl.”

Caterina laughed bitterly.

“Then what exactly is she?”

I closed my eyes.

We had delayed the truth for months.

We had convinced ourselves there would be a better time.

A cleaner time.

A safer time.

There was no safe time left.

Dante looked at his mother.

“She is the woman I love.”

The foyer became silent.

Then he looked at me.

And before I could stop him, before fear or pride or caution could interfere, he said the one thing that changed the balance of power in that room forever.

“And the child she is carrying is mine.”

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