Chapter 4 - The Poisoned Toast
Downstairs in the grand dining room, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of expensive cigars, molten chocolate mousse, and aged vintage wine.
Vanessa Bellini sat at the head of the long mahogany table like an empress.
Her red silk dress shimmered beneath thirty crystal chandeliers, the diamonds at her throat catching every ray of light. Beside her sat her father, Antonio Bellini—a burly, silver-haired man of sixty-four with broken knuckles and cold, calculating eyes that had financed half the illegal gambling dens between Milwaukee and Gary.
"To the union of Moretti and Bellini!" Antonio bellowed, raising his snifter of vintage cognac high into the air. "To two families who know that power in Chicago isn't requested—it is taken!"
The twenty-six guests laughed, raising their crystal flutes in a cheerful, resounding toast.
The double doors at the far end of the room swung open with a sharp, heavy thud that reverberated off the marble arches.
The laughter died instantly.
Luca Moretti walked in.
He moved with that slow, measured, predatory rhythm that made men instinctively reach for their lapels. He wore no jacket, no tie, his white shirt gleaming against the shadows, his hands resting easily in his trouser pockets.
And walking half a step behind him, limping slightly but holding her head high, was me.
I wore the dark wool skirt and cashmere sweater Mrs. Carter had given me. My hair was combed back, my face washed clean of pond water, and beside me walked Daniel, carrying a heavy, brass-bound leather portfolio.
Vanessa’s smile froze.
The champagne glass in her hand tilted, a thin trickle of golden liquid spilling onto the pristine white damask tablecloth. Her eyes narrowed into furious, venomous slits as she glared past Luca’s shoulder directly at me.
"Luca, darling!" Vanessa said, her voice carrying a brittle, theatrical trill as she pushed back her chair. "Where on earth have you been? Our guests were beginning to think you'd abandoned your own celebration! And... why is the maid back in the room? I thought Mrs. Carter was sending her home to rest."
Luca didn't answer.
He walked the forty feet of polished marble floor without breaking his stride until he reached the head of the table. He stopped right beside his empty high-backed armchair.
He reached out, pulled the heavy mahogany chair back, and looked down at me.
"Sit, Sophie," Luca commanded softly.
The room gasped in unison.
A woman near the middle of the table dropped her silver dessert spoon with a sharp clatter. Antonio Bellini’s bushy gray eyebrows pulled together in sudden, violent outrage.
"Luca, what the hell is this?" Antonio snapped, leaning his heavy forearms onto the table. "You're offering the master seat to a domestic servant in front of the City Treasurer and three state representatives?"
"I asked Sophie to sit, Antonio," Luca repeated, his voice dangerously soft, not sparing the older man a single glance. "And in this house, nobody questions who sits at my table."
My knees were shaking so badly I thought I might collapse, but the intense, unyielding heat in Luca’s eyes acted like an iron pillar at my back. I carefully lowered myself into the leather throne, the soft cushioning easing the throbbing fire in my stitched thigh.
Luca remained standing beside my shoulder, towering over the table like an executioner at the gallows.
He looked across the table at his fiancée.
"Vanessa," Luca said, his tone conversational, almost polite. "You told me earlier that Sophie fell into the pond while helping the gardener."
Vanessa swallowed hard, a tiny, microscopic twitch pulling at the corner of her crimson lips. "Yes, darling. As I said, she was being careless—"
"The gardener is in Florida, Vanessa," Luca interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, slicing through her excuse like a scalpel. "He has been in Sarasota since Monday morning."
Vanessa’s golden tan suddenly looked sickly under the chandeliers. "Well... perhaps she was confused. She’s just a housemaid, Luca, she doesn't keep track of the staff schedules—"
"And whose walking cane was lying in the rose bushes beside the water?" Luca asked, taking a slow step around the table toward her.
Vanessa’s breath hitched. Her hand dropped to her lap beneath the tablecloth.
"I have no idea," she whispered.
Luca raised his hand slightly.
The double doors swung open once more.
Daniel escorted Margaret Sullivan into the room.
The elderly woman walked with her head held high, wearing a clean, dry overcoat, her silver hair pinned neatly into place. In her right hand, she leaned on the wooden walking cane with the blue cloth wrapped around its handle. In her left, she held the yellow demolition notice.
The silence that fell over the room was absolute.
Two of the city commissioners at the table exchanged panicked, terrified glances. Antonio Bellini slowly lowered his snifter of cognac, his knuckles whitening against the crystal.
"Do you recognize this woman, Vanessa?" Luca asked, stopping three feet from his fiancée's chair.
"She... she was a beggar at the east gate," Vanessa stammered, her voice rising into an octave of hysterical defense. "She was trespassing! I had every right to order her off the property!"
Luca reached out, took the yellow paper from Margaret's hand, and dropped it into the center of Vanessa’s dessert plate.
The paper slapped against the chocolate mousse, splattering dark sauce across her red silk bodice.
"This is an eviction notice for the Moretti Family Residence on Clark Street," Luca said, his voice echoing off the high ceilings like a death sentence. "Signed with my name. Forged by an unlicensed notary in Cicero who took thirty thousand dollars from your brother Paul’s shell company."
Vanessa scrambled out of her chair, backing away from the table, knocking her crystal glass over.
"Luca, it was an investment!" she screamed, her mask of society elegance ripping apart completely. "That land is worth sixty million dollars! Your mother was running a charity for deadbeats and washed-up factory workers! My father had the zoning approved! We were going to build the most exclusive condominiums on the river!"
"My mother didn't build that house for an investment, Vanessa," Luca whispered, his gray eyes flashing with a terrifying, ancient fire. "She built it so honest people wouldn't die in the street."
May you like
He turned his head toward Daniel.
"Call the police commissioner," Luca commanded. "Tell him there is a fugitive warrant out for Paul Bellini for interstate wire fraud and commercial forgery. And tell him that if his officers don't find Paul within sixty minutes... my men will."
