Chapter 2
The heavy, polished brass handle of the bedroom door turned with a sharp click. The bright, natural sunlight from the hallway spilled into the primary suite, illuminating the gentle, pastel colors of the room. Five-year-old Elodie Mancini was sitting quietly on the edge of her large, plush bed. She was a beautiful child with fair, rosy cheeks that flushed with a sudden, nervous apprehension as the door swung wide open. She wore a simple, elegant little dress, a soft white cardigan, and polished flats. In her small arms, she tightly held a worn, beloved stuffed rabbit.
Standing in the doorway was Greta Vale, a twenty-nine-year-old maid. Greta wore a traditional, professional maid uniform complete with a crisp white collar, a neat apron, dark tights, and sensible flats. Her fair skin was pale with anxiety, her eyes darting nervously back into the hallway. In her arms, she held a large, folded stack of Elodie’s floral bedding.
"Greta? What are you doing with my blankets?" Elodie asked, her tiny American accent trembling with innocent confusion. She hugged her stuffed rabbit a little tighter to her chest.
Before Greta could answer, Donatella swept into the room like a cold winter storm. Her designer heels punctured the quiet atmosphere of the child's sanctuary.
"Greta is moving your things, Elodie," Donatella announced, her voice entirely stripped of any grandmotherly warmth. "You are moving to the room at the end of the hall. This space is required for family business now."
"But this is my room," Elodie protested softly, sliding off the edge of the bed. Her small flats touched the thick carpet. "Daddy said this is my special room."
"Your father spoils you, and it ends today," Donatella snapped, her fair, rosy face twisting with irritation. "Get your toys and get out into the hallway. Rocco’s men are coming up the stairs right now."
Greta stood frozen near the door frame, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the folded bedding. "Ma'am, perhaps we should wait until Mr. Vittorio returns? He specifically requested that Elodie remain in this room to be close to the master suite."
"I do not recall asking for your opinion, Greta," Donatella said, turning a venomous glare toward the maid. "You are paid to clean, not to advise me on the management of my own household. Take those blankets down the hall immediately, or pack your own bags and leave."
"Yes, ma'am," Greta whispered, her voice shaking as she quickly stepped out into the corridor.
Elodie, feeling the sudden, overwhelming hostility, tried to walk past her grandmother to reach the hallway. "I want to call my Daddy," the five-year-old whimpered, tears beginning to well in her bright eyes. "I don't want to move."
"Stop your whining!" Donatella barked, her patience completely evaporating.
As Elodie approached the doorway, the heavy, thudding footsteps of Rocco’s bodyguards echoed up the stairs. They were carrying large, heavy boxes filled with Rocco’s personal belongings. The hallway was becoming chaotic, filled with the shifting of power.
Elodie tried to squeeze past the doorframe, but Donatella moved with sudden, vicious speed. The sixty-seven-year-old matriarch raised her hands and violently shoved Elodie away from the bedroom doorway.
The forceful push caught the small child completely off guard. Elodie stumbled backward, her tiny flats catching on the edge of the thick rug. She let out a sharp, breathless gasp as she lost her balance entirely. She fell hard backward, crashing onto the carpet right beside a large stack of Rocco’s moving boxes. Her stuffed rabbit tumbled from her grasp, landing a few feet away.
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Donatella stood towering over the fallen child, her expression completely devoid of mercy. Her American accent was sharp, cold, and contemptuous as she delivered the final verdict.
“A real heir gets the best room.”
