Chapter 1 - The Descent to the Iron Door
The sound of Victoria’s hand striking Beatrice’s cheek echoed like a pistol shot through the high-ceilinged drawing room.
The blow sent Beatrice stumbling sideways, her shoulder crashing against a mahogany display cabinet before she caught her balance. A sharp, metallic tang of blood flooded her mouth where her tooth had caught the inside of her lip.
“You filthy piece of hired help,” Victoria hissed, her voice vibrating with venom as she tossed the torn sketchbook onto the floor. “How dare you open your mouth when I am speaking to the child? You are nothing in this house. Less than nothing. A lump of lard in a black dress that I am going to have Leo throw out on the street by tonight.”
Lily let out a shrill, terrified cry and darted forward, throwing her small arms around Beatrice’s waist. “Leave her alone! Don't hit her!”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed into slits of pure malice. She grabbed Lily by the upper arm with a force that made the little girl gasp, yanking her away from Beatrice.
“Quiet!” Victoria snarled. “I have had enough of your sniffling, pathetic whining. You need to learn what happens to ungrateful brats who ruin a home.”
“Let her go!” Beatrice screamed, lunging forward, but Victoria was faster.
Dragging the sobbing child behind her, Victoria marched toward the heavy oak door that led down to the sub-level service corridors. The wine cellar, situated in the deepest, coldest part of the foundation where the original 19th-century brickwork met modern concrete reinforcements, was windowless, dark, and freezing.
“No!” Lily shrieked, clawing at the doorframe as Victoria forced her down the narrow stone steps. “Mommy! Please! Beatrice!”
“You can stay down there and think about your manners until Leo gets back,” Victoria snapped. “Maybe a few hours in the dark will teach you how to smile for pictures.”
Click.
The heavy deadbolt turned with a loud, metallic finality.
Beatrice threw herself against the oak door a second later, pounding her fists until her knuckles split. “Victoria! Open this door! She can't breathe down there! Her asthma—she doesn't have her inhaler!”
Victoria turned around, brushing her immaculate designer blouse with a look of supreme boredom. “She can scream all she likes. The walls are thick, Beatrice. Nobody will hear her. And as for you...” Victoria stepped close, her manicured finger pressing hard into Beatrice’s bruised cheek. “If you try to open that door, I will tell Leo you attacked me and threatened to harm the child. Whose word do you think a mafia boss is going to believe? His fiancée, or the fat maid who couldn't keep her mouth shut?”
With a cold, triumphant smile, Victoria turned and walked up the staircase toward the master suite.
Beatrice didn't hesitate. She waited until the click of Victoria’s heels faded down the upper hall, then slid down the door to the stone floor. From the other side of the thick oak, a faint, ragged sound reached her ears.
Thump... thump...
Lily was scratching at the wood. Her small voice was a thin, wheezing rasp. “Beatrice... I can't... my chest hurts...”
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That was when Beatrice had stood up, her vision swimming with pain and rage, and done the one thing no one in the Rossi mansion ever dared to do.
She ran up the stairs, broke into Leo’s private office, smashed her shoulder through the reinforced door, and dialed his personal number.
