Chapter 2 - THE DOOR CLOSES
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The heavy double doors of the dining room did not open when Vanessa grabbed the polished brass handle.
Daniel, the head of Moretti security, stood on the other side, his broad silhouette blocking the glass panels like an iron wall.
He turned the brass deadbolt from the outside with a heavy, echoing click.
Vanessa rattled the handle frantically, her designer clutch slipping from her trembling fingers and falling onto the marble floor.
Forty-eight guests sat frozen in absolute silence under the blazing crystal chandeliers.
The faint clink of a champagne glass falling over and dripping onto the carpet was the only sound in the entire hall.
Luca Moretti did not rush after her.
He walked down the center aisle with measured, deliberate steps, each click of his leather dress shoes echoing like a ticking clock.
His eyes never left the woman in the red gown who was now pressed flat against the locked mahogany doors.
His tailored black suit remained immaculate, but the dark ink sprawling across his knuckles and throat seemed to darken with every breath he took.
I stood beside Mara, my hands instinctively resting on her trembling shoulders.
The cold champagne was still dripping from the hem of my housekeeping blouse, soaking through the fabric against my ribs, but I barely felt the chill.
Mara looked up at her brother, her eyes red-rimmed and wide with four years of buried terror.
“Luca, she told me she would have Elena killed if I ever spoke a word to you,” Mara whispered, her voice carrying through the breathless room.
Vanessa spun around, her spine hitting the wood, her manicured fingers clawing at the doorframe.
“She is a drunk, Luca!” Vanessa shrieked, her voice cracking across the high plaster ceilings.
“Look at her! She’s hallucinating because she’s desperate for attention!”
Luca stopped five feet away from her.
He did not raise his hand, and he did not raise his voice, but the cold intensity radiating from his frame made the nearest guests lean back in their chairs.
“My sister has been sober for five hundred and forty-two days, Vanessa,” Luca said softly.
“She remembers every single hour of her recovery.”
“She remembers who visited her, and she remembers who threatened her.”
He looked down at the floor between them, where the red purse lay open, spilling lipstick, a compact mirror, and a gold credit card.
“You told me you were in Paris for Fashion Week four years ago on the night Elena packed her bags,” Luca said.
“You showed me the receipts from the hotel on the Champs-Élysées.”
“I was in Paris!” Vanessa cried, tears of panicked rage cutting dark tracks through her foundation.
“Ask my father! Ask my sister!”
“I don't need to ask your father,” Luca replied, his dark eyes narrowing into razor-sharp slits.
“Because on October fourteenth, four years ago, my private jet was grounded in Chicago due to an engine sensor failure.”
“The mechanic who signed off on that false report was paid through a dummy corporation registered to the Bellini shipping line.”
Vanessa’s chest heaved in ragged, desperate gasps.
The arrogant smile she had worn while mocking Mara’s sobriety had vanished completely, leaving behind the pale, terrified face of a trapped predator.
“Elena was never pregnant, Luca,” Vanessa whispered, trying to steady her quivering lower lip.
“You lived with her for five years.”
“You would have known if she was carrying your child.”
Mara pushed her chair back and stood up, her green evening gown rustling against the table.
“Elena found out three weeks after you were shot in the warehouse district, Luca,” Mara said, stepping into the center aisle.
“You were in a coma for sixteen days at Northwestern Memorial.”
“The doctors told her you had a twenty percent chance of surviving the surgery.”
“She was terrified that the Russian syndicates would finish off the family if they knew you had left an heir.”
Luca’s shoulders went rigid beneath his tailored jacket.
“She came to your apartment?” Luca asked, turning his head toward his sister.
“She came at midnight,” Mara answered, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
“She had a two-year-old boy in her arms.”
“He had your dark hair, Luca.”
“He had your gray eyes.”
“And he was wearing the little silver cross our father gave you on your baptism day.”
A collective gasp rippled through the dining table as several older aunts crossed themselves in disbelief.
Luca closed his eyes for two agonizing seconds, his chest rising and falling as if an iron weight had landed on his lungs.
When he opened his eyes again, all humanity had drained from his face, replaced by the lethal authority of an underworld king.
May you like
He turned his gaze back to Vanessa.
“Where is my son?”
