Chapter 6 - THE RETURN TO THE BALLROOM
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The grandfather clock in the Moretti mansion’s grand dining hall struck ten with ten slow, ominous chimes.
Thirty guests still sat in their formal chairs, the dessert plates untouched, the champagne flutes growing warm and flat.
The air inside the vast room was suffocating, thick with fear and hushed, nervous whispers.
Vanessa Bellini was pacing behind the head table, her red silk gown rustling aggressively against the mahogany chairs.
Her father, Salvatore Bellini, sat near the center of the table, his face flushed red from four glasses of straight bourbon.
“Sit down, Vanessa!” Salvatore hissed in a harsh whisper.
“You’re making a spectacle of yourself in front of the commissioner!”
“He went to the house, Dad!” Vanessa panicked, her voice rising to a shrill pitch.
“Sal took him straight to West Addison!”
“He doesn't have the proof!” Salvatore snapped back, slamming his glass against the table.
“The records are sealed under my private corporation! Legally, the boy doesn't exist!”
Before Vanessa could answer, the massive oak double doors at the back of the ballroom were thrown wide open with a booming crash.
Every single conversation in the room died instantly.
Standing in the doorway, framed against the warm light of the grand foyer, was Luca Moretti.
He had removed his soaked suit jacket, wearing a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms.
His dark tattoos of eagles and daggers were fully exposed along his muscular wrists.
Held securely in his left arm, dressed in clean navy-blue trousers and an oversized cashmere sweater, was six-year-old Leo.
The little boy clung to Luca’s neck, his wide hazel eyes blinking with curiosity at the massive crystal chandeliers and the rows of staring people.
Walking on Luca’s right, carrying the battered cardboard box containing thirty-four years of service, was Sal Russo.
Sal wore his dark chauffeur’s coat proudly, buttoned to the collar, his silver hair neatly combed beneath his cap.
And walking on Luca’s left, her head held high and her housekeeping apron discarded forever, was me.
A collective, horrified gasp rippled through the thirty high-society guests.
Several women dropped their silver forks onto their plates, the metal clattering loudly against porcelain.
Vanessa Bellini froze as if an icy spear had been driven through her spine.
The glass of champagne in her hand slipped from her trembling fingers, shattering into dozens of sparkling shards against the marble floor.
Her eyes locked onto the little boy resting his chin on Luca’s shoulder.
Leo spotted her across the vast dining room, his face brightening with recognition.
“Mommy!” Leo called out, his small, innocent voice ringing clearly through the frozen hall.
“Daddy found my mitten!”
The room became completely, horribly airless.
Commissioner Vance, seated three chairs down from Salvatore, slowly set his linen napkin onto the table, his face draining of color.
Luca did not shout.
He did not draw the weapon resting inside his shoulder holster.
He walked down the long center aisle of the ballroom with slow, unhurried, measured strides.
Each click of his leather dress shoes against the marble sounded like the countdown to an execution.
When he reached the head of the table, he pulled out the grand carved armchair where Vanessa had been sitting.
He gently set Leo down into the plush velvet cushion, tucking the small green plastic dinosaur into the boy’s hands.
“Sit here, buddy,” Luca said softly, his voice full of warmth as he smoothed down his son’s curls.
“Nobody is ever going to tell you to hide again.”
Leo smiled, happily rolling the dinosaur across the white linen tablecloth, completely unaware of the war erupting around him.
Luca slowly turned around, his dark gray eyes impaling Vanessa Bellini where she stood trembling against the sideboard.
“You told thirty people tonight that Sal was too old to drive for this family, Vanessa,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on my arms stand up.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small, worn red wool mitten.
May you like
He laid it gently beside the shattered champagne glass at Vanessa’s feet.
“Tell our guests who this belongs to.”
