[COMPLETED] A Pregnant Maid Secretly Cared for the Forgotten Mafia Don—Then His Ruthless Son Saw the Old Man Point at Her

Mrs. Gable's suspension became official the next morning.

She was told to surrender her keys, keep away from Giovanni, and attend any further interviews through the attorney. Victor Hale was instructed to stop approving care-related expenses pending review. Neither decision proved a crime, but both prevented the disputed arrangements from continuing.

I should have felt safe.

Instead, I kept checking the corridor whenever I heard footsteps.

For eleven months, Mrs. Gable had decided whether I received enough shifts to pay the rent. Even without her keys, the habits she'd taught me were hard to break.

I sat beside Giovanni while the communication therapist introduced a simple board with pictures and large letters. He could not manage it for very long. Some answers came through his eyes, others through a small movement of his right hand. When he grew tired, the therapist stopped rather than push for another response.

"We are not trying to prove a point," she explained. "We're giving him a choice."

Giovanni seemed calmer when she said that.

In the afternoon, someone left an envelope for me at the staff entrance. Inside was a note with no signature, telling me that people who lied about wealthy families lost their jobs. It mentioned the street where I rented my apartment.

My hands went cold.

I showed it to the attorney immediately.

"Did you see who delivered it?" he asked.

"No. It was on the counter."

He placed it in a clear evidence sleeve and asked security to preserve the entrance camera records. He didn't claim to know who had written it. The mention of my address was troubling enough without guessing.

Lorenzo listened while I explained what had happened.

"You can stay in one of the guest suites while this is investigated," he offered.

"I don't want to be hidden away," I said. "I want to know that I can go home without someone coming after me."

He nodded. "Then we'll take the threat seriously. You make the decisions about where you stay."

I went home that evening with a driver because the snow was still deep and my doctor had ordered rest. My apartment was small and badly heated. The rent notice sat on the kitchen table beside letters addressed to Brody.

Some of the envelopes were from companies demanding repayment of his gambling debts. I had never borrowed that money, but the letters frightened me anyway. There was also the rent we had both promised to pay before he disappeared.

I set down my bag and sat beside the window.

For months, everything I did had been about surviving the next bill. Now I was part of an investigation involving people who could spend more on a dinner than I earned in a year. I worried that telling the truth might cost Lily the little security I had managed to build.

The next morning, I returned to the estate only after receiving confirmation that my duties would be adjusted to my doctor's restrictions and that my wages would continue while the workplace injuries were reviewed.

Lorenzo hadn't tried to turn me into a permanent witness or an unpaid caretaker. A licensed nursing team now handled Giovanni's medical needs. I visited because I wanted to, not because there was nobody else.

"How was your night?" I asked Giovanni.

He blinked once when I asked whether he liked the warmer room.

"I thought you might."

The therapist handed me the picture board. Giovanni's gaze moved to the drawing of a house, then to the drawing of a telephone. We couldn't confidently interpret what he meant, and she wrote down the response rather than force it into a story.

Outside the room, Victor Hale had finally sent a statement through his lawyer. He denied misusing any funds. He claimed all contractors had performed the work for which they were paid, and he suggested that the missing equipment had been transferred elsewhere on the property.

"Then he can tell us where," Lorenzo said.

The accountant inspected the storage rooms, delivery logs, and receiving records. Some equipment had never been recorded at the gates. Other invoices contained identical descriptions, dates, and amounts under supposedly separate suppliers.

A shipment of medical bedding was recorded twice. The signatures at the bottom were nearly identical.

"Could that be an accident?" I asked.

"One duplicate can be a mistake," the accountant replied. "A long pattern requires an explanation."

Security recovered footage from the morning the threatening note appeared. It showed someone in a winter coat placing the envelope on the counter, but the face was obscured. No one claimed the recording proved who sent it. The attorney forwarded the threat and the relevant footage to the police.

When I visited Giovanni after supper, I found Lorenzo sitting beside him. They were not speaking. Lorenzo held an old photograph of himself as a boy, and Giovanni watched it from his chair.

"I don't know whether he'll forgive me," Lorenzo said when I entered.

"He can decide that himself, when he has a way to tell you."

The words surprised both of us.

Lorenzo set the photograph down. "You're right."

Later that night, a staff member noticed Mrs. Gable outside the service entrance. She had returned despite her suspension and was asking for access to the records room. When security refused, she left.

The attorney ordered the office locks changed and checked the backup of the electronic accounts.