Chapter 4 - THE DRAKE PROTOCOL
The private dining room on the top floor of the Drake was wrapped in floor-to-ceiling glass, offering a sweeping view of Lake Michigan churning beneath an overcast sky.
Vanessa was already seated beside her father, Don Antonio Bellini. She looked striking in an emerald-green pantsuit, a glass of mimosa resting between her slender fingers. But when the heavy double doors swung open and I walked in behind Luca, the stem of her glass gave a sharp, brittle creak against her manicured nails.
Her face drained of color for half a beat before she forced a bright, socialite smile.
"Luca, darling," she purred, standing up to kiss his cheek.
Luca caught her by the waist, returning the gesture with practiced perfection. "Vanessa. You look radiant." His hand lingered on her hip—just an inch from where she had jammed my body into the shelf yesterday. "You remember Claire, of course."
Vanessa’s gaze locked onto mine. The hatred vibrating in her green eyes was pure poison.
"Claire," she said, her voice dripping with artificial warmth. "I see your hand was bandaged. I told Luca you should have taken the entire week off. The help works so hard; they really don't know their own limits."
"I insisted on coming, Miss Bellini," I said softly, holding the leather-bound portfolio against my chest. "Mr. Moretti was generous enough to give me duties that don't require heavy lifting."
"Sit, everyone," Don Antonio boomed from the head of the table. He was an aging patriarch with silver hair, thick rings on every finger, and the ruthless reputation of a man who had built his empire on blood and cement. "We have contracts to sign before the press conference at noon."
I pulled out a chair behind Luca’s left shoulder, sitting quietly with my tablet open. Marco entered the room a moment later, stationing himself by the service door, his arms crossed over his chest.
The tension in the room was so thick you could carve it with a blade.
"The Lake Michigan shipping manifests," Luca began, sliding a folder across the mahogany table toward Don Antonio. "We agreed to split the southern distribution thirty-seventy in your family's favor, provided the Moretti family retains absolute authority over the docks."
Don Antonio flicked through the papers. "A fair union. When you marry Vanessa, our borders dissolve anyway. Isn't that right, little girl?"
Vanessa smiled tightly, her eyes flicking repeatedly toward Marco by the door. "Of course, Papa."
"There is just one addendum," Luca said smoothly.
He leaned back, resting his elbows on the armrests, steepling his fingers.
"I reviewed the logistics logs last night. Around 4:00 P.M. yesterday, an unauthorized wire transfer was scheduled from our joint holding account in Zurich. Three million dollars, routed through a shell corporation registered in the Cayman Islands under the name V.M. Logistics."
Vanessa froze.
The air evaporated from the room.
"V.M.?" Don Antonio frowned, looking between his daughter and Luca. "Vanessa Moretti? You set up the joint bridal trust already?"
"I didn't," Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "The authorization signature used my private seal. The very seal I keep locked in the bottom drawer of my desk. The drawer that was opened yesterday afternoon."
Vanessa’s fingers twitched against her napkin. "Luca... you must have signed it during the wedding prep meetings. You've been so busy with the cartel mergers—"
"I don't forget where I put three million dollars, Vanessa," Luca interrupted, his tone as sharp as a scalpel. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't look angry. He looked like an executioner reading a docket. "Claire, bring up the authorization IP address on the screen."
My fingers flew across the tablet. A large 4K monitor mounted on the oak wall hummed to life, displaying a digital audit trail.
"The transfer request originated from inside my private estate yesterday at 4:22 P.M.," Luca stated, his eyes boring directly into Vanessa. "Right around the time you were helping Claire with the linen closet."
Vanessa’s composure cracked. "Are you interrogating me in front of my father? In front of a maid?"
"I'm asking an accounting question," Luca said softly. "Why is my bride moving liquidation capital three weeks before our wedding?"
Behind us, Marco cleared his throat. The leather of his holster creaked under his jacket. "Boss, if there’s a security breach with the accounts, let me take my team and trace the IP. Don Bellini is a guest. We shouldn't air internal audits over brunch."
Luca turned his head slowly, looking at his best man.
"You're right, Marco," Luca said, a terrifying ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Let's handle it internally. Right after Don Antonio reviews the recipient of that three million."
Luca tapped the table twice.
I hit the key on the tablet.
The screen refreshed, flashing a document that made Marco’s hand twitch violently toward his jacket.
May you like
It wasn't a bank routing slip. It was a photograph of the handwritten note taken inside Luca’s office.
DO IT BEFORE HE SAYS I DO.
