Chapter 2
Raffaele moved Sofia and Lily into the penthouse’s private den.
A nurse who had been attending the gala for an elderly guest cleaned Sofia’s hands and recommended urgent care the next morning if the swelling worsened.
“They’re chemical burns and irritation,” she said. “Mostly superficial, but she needs to stop using detergent until they heal.”
Raffaele looked at Sofia.
She looked away.
Lily fell asleep curled beside her within twenty minutes.
Only then did Raffaele return to the kitchen.
Samuel was waiting with two servers and the evening sous-chef.
Delia and Marcus had been removed to separate rooms with bodyguards outside.
Raffaele did not want another confrontation.
He wanted information.
Samuel began.
Six months earlier, Delia had taken over most event staffing for the penthouse.
That had not seemed unusual.
After Raffaele and Sofia married four years earlier, Delia remained the person who organized large Montoro family gatherings.
She had done it since their mother died.
Sofia was twenty-one when she married Raffaele, young enough that half the family quietly assumed the marriage would not last.
Before meeting him, she had worked restaurant kitchens while finishing community college.
Delia never forgot that.
At first the comments were small.
“You already know where the plates go.”
“You’re better at this than the girls we hire.”
“Come on, Sofia, you used to do this for a living.”
Sofia laughed them off.
Raffaele never heard most of them.
Then Christmas happened.
Two agency dishwashers never arrived.
Sofia volunteered to help for half an hour.
After that, Delia began scheduling fewer workers.
“She told us Mrs. Montoro liked staying useful,” Samuel said.
Raffaele’s face hardened.
“Did Sofia say that?”
“No.”
“Then why did you follow Delia’s orders?”
Samuel held his gaze.
“Because your sister runs this house when you’re busy.”
“My wife lives here.”
“Yes.”
Samuel paused.
“But everybody knows who gets listened to when those two disagree.”
Raffaele knew exactly what he meant.
For years, he had avoided choosing between Sofia and Delia by telling both women to “work it out.”
It had felt neutral.
Now he saw what neutrality looked like when one woman controlled schedules, vendors, staff access and Raffaele’s calendar.
One server spoke next.
“Mrs. Montoro did complain once.”
“When?”
“February. After a dinner.”
“What happened?”
The server looked uncomfortable.
“Mr. Vale told everyone she was embarrassed about her background and didn’t want you knowing she still helped in the kitchen.”
Marcus.
Raffaele leaned back against the counter.
“And you believed him?”
The server shook his head.
“I didn’t know what to believe.”
Samuel pulled a folded staffing sheet from his pocket.
“I started keeping these three months ago.”
Raffaele opened it.
Twelve workers had been billed for that night’s gala.
He counted the people who had actually worked.
Seven.
“Where are the other five?”
May you like
Samuel’s answer was immediate.
“They’ve never worked here.”
