Chapter 4 - The Threat in the Shadows
The clock showed nearly two in the morning by the time Marco left the study to deploy his men around the perimeter of the estate.
Mrs. Carter had finally fallen asleep in the guest suite on the second floor—a room with Egyptian cotton sheets and a fireplace that had once belonged to a European countess. The old lunch lady had looked around the room, smiled at Luca, and said, *“It’s a bit bigger than my apartment on Racine, troublemaker.”*
Now, I was walking down the long, dimly lit hallway toward the service stairs. My shift had ended six hours ago, but the mansion was under lockdown. Nobody was allowed to leave through the security gates until Luca gave the order.
I pulled my phone from my apron pocket. Three missed calls from my father’s nurse.
I dialed the number with shaking fingers, stepping into the alcove beneath the grand staircase.
“Emma?” Nurse Sarah’s voice sounded tired.
“Sarah, I’m sorry. I couldn't get to my phone. Is he okay?”
“His fever broke around midnight,” she sighed. “He’s resting. But Emma... the clinic called again today. If we can’t make the balance payment on his physical therapy by Friday, they’re going to suspend his home visits.”
Three thousand two hundred dollars.
I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against the cold wood paneling. “I’ll get it, Sarah. Tell them I’ll have the money by Friday afternoon.”
“Okay, honey. Get some rest.”
I hung up, pressing the back of my hand against my eyes to hold back the tears. How was I going to find three thousand dollars in three days? With Vanessa gone, the household would be in chaos. If Luca decided to purge the staff—which bosses often did when a betrayal occurred—I’d be out on the street with nothing.
“How much do you need?”
I jumped, dropping my phone onto the Persian rug.
Luca stood three feet away. He had changed into a dark charcoal shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and black slacks. He was holding a glass of amber scotch. In the dim hallway light, the scar running along his jawline looked stark and jagged.
“Mr. Moretti,” I stammered, scrambling to pick up my phone. “I—I’m sorry. I didn't mean to use my phone in the hall. It’s against house rules—”
“Emma.”
He said my name so softly it stopped me mid-sentence.
He didn't look like a mob boss right now. He looked like a man standing in the ruins of his own life.
“How much does your father need?” he asked again.
I swallowed hard. “Three thousand two hundred dollars, sir. For his therapy. He had a stroke eight months ago.”
Luca took a sip of his scotch, his eyes never leaving mine. “Your father was Thomas Reed, wasn't he?”
I blinked in surprise. “You know my father?”
A ghost of a smile touched Luca’s lips, though his eyes remained shadowed. “Thomas Reed was the head custodian at St. Jude’s Elementary. He worked there forty years.”
“Forty-two,” I corrected automatically.
“He caught me smoking behind the dumpsters when I was twelve,” Luca said. “He didn't turn me in to the principal. He handed me a broom and made me sweep the entire gymnasium floor twice. Then he bought me a hot dog from the cart on the corner.”
Luca looked down at his glass, swirling the amber liquid.
“The good people in that neighborhood were always feeding me,” he murmured. “And I spent the last ten years surrounding myself with snakes who only wanted to eat off my plate.”
“Mr. Moretti—”
“The money will be in your account by eight o’clock tomorrow morning, Emma,” he said firmly. “Ten thousand. Pay the clinic. Pay the nurse. Take care of your father.”
My breath hitched. Ten thousand dollars was four months’ wages. “Sir, I can’t accept that. I didn't tell you so you’d give me charity—”
“It isn’t charity,” Luca cut in, stepping closer. The faint scent of cedarwood, rain, and expensive whiskey clung to him. “It’s a debt. Your father treated a dirty street kid like a human being thirty years ago. In my world, we pay our debts with interest.”
Before I could find the words to thank him, the heavy iron front doors banged open.
Marco strode down the hallway, his face grim. Behind him were two armed guards.
“Boss,” Marco said, ignoring me completely. “We’ve got a problem on Racine Avenue.”
Luca turned instantly, all warmth vanishing from his face. “Mrs. Carter’s apartment?”
“Neighbors called the precinct twenty minutes ago,” Marco said, holding out a tablet displaying a live police scanner transcript. “Two men kicked her front door off the hinges. They tore the place apart. Overturned the furniture, ripped up the floorboards, smashed the kitchen cabinets.”
Luca’s eyes flared with dangerous fire. “Were they looking for cash?”
“No,” Marco replied. “The neighbor said they were shouting about a box. They wanted something Vincent left behind.”
Luca’s jaw clenched. “They think the lunchbox was a decoy. They think there’s another piece to this.”
He turned toward the stairs where Mrs. Carter was sleeping, then looked at Marco.
“Get the cars ready,” Luca ordered. “We’re going to the old neighborhood.”
“Boss, Silvio Castiglione has men all over that precinct right now,” Marco warned. “If you step foot on 18th Street tonight, it’s a declaration of war.”
Luca set his scotch glass on a marble pedestal with a sharp, definitive click.
“Silvio Castiglione took my father,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on my arms stand up. “He took twenty years of my life. And tonight, he sent dogs into the home of an eighty-one-year-old woman who gave me bread when I had nothing.”
He reached into his waistband, checked the magazine of a black semi-automatic pistol, and racked the slide with a crisp, lethal snap.
“Tell Silvio the war started thirty years ago,” Luca said. “I’m just here to finish it.”
He turned toward me.
“Emma.”
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Your father still has his master keys to St. Jude’s?”
I swallowed hard, looking at the gun in his hand, then into his dark, unwavering eyes.
“Yes,” I whispered. “He keeps them in the top drawer of his desk at home.”
Luca nodded once.
May you like
“Get your coat,” he said. “You’re coming with me.”
***
