Chapter 4 - WHISPERS IN THE FIREPLACE
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I stared at the white apron sitting on the velvet armchair.
For nearly a year, that piece of cloth had been my armor and my chain.
It was what kept a roof over my child’s head, but it had also reminded me every second that I was inferior to the people who walked these halls.
“Luca, I don't understand,” I whispered, hugging my arms against the chill of my suddenly exposed uniform dress.
“I am an employee.”
“I came here to clean your floors and serve your guests.”
Luca walked over to the antique liquor cabinet, poured two fingers of amber bourbon into a crystal glass, and handed it to me.
“Drink,” he said gently.
“Your hands are shaking.”
I took the glass, the rim cool against my lips, and took a small sip.
The fiery liquor burned down my throat, warming my chest and steadying my racing pulse.
Luca poured a second glass for himself and leaned against the marble mantelpiece, watching me.
“Eleven months ago, my head of security brought me your file,” Luca began, his deep voice filling the quiet room.
“A young mother with no criminal record, raising a daughter alone, working three jobs to pay her mother’s medical debts.”
He took a slow sip of bourbon.
“I watched you work in this house, Madison.”
“I watched you polish banisters until your knuckles were red, never complaining, never asking for handouts.”
“I saw the way you looked at Ellie in the gardens when you thought nobody was watching.”
He set his glass down on the mantel with a soft clink.
“You loved your child more than your own comfort.”
“That kind of loyalty cannot be bought with an hourly wage.”
My eyes burned with fresh tears.
“I just wanted her to be safe.”
“Her father walked out when she was barely talking.”
“He told me she was a burden he didn't want to carry.”
Luca’s eyes darkened with cold disgust.
“The man was a coward who didn't deserve either of you.”
He took two deliberate steps toward the sofa, stopping directly in front of me.
He was so close I could smell the expensive tobacco, sandalwood, and clean rain clinging to his suit.
“Vanessa was never my choice, Madison,” Luca confessed quietly.
“The marriage was arranged three years ago by the syndicate council to prevent a bloody turf war over the south-side shipping lines.”
“I tolerated her because I believed she understood the rules.”
“I thought she was vain and ambitious, but harmless.”
He shook his head, a muscle jumping in his chiseled jaw.
“I didn't see the venom she carried inside.”
“She knew,” I said softly, looking up into his dark eyes.
“She knew how much I loved this job.”
“She used my fear of being homeless to force me into silence.”
“She told me that if I made a single mistake, she would ensure my mother lost her bed at the clinic in Oak Park.”
Luca’s expression went completely rigid.
“Your mother is in a private clinic?”
“Yes,” I answered, setting my glass down on the side table.
“She has chronic pulmonary fibrosis.”
“The medical bills are six thousand dollars a month.”
“The salary you pay me, combined with the free housing, was the only reason she was still getting oxygen treatments.”
Luca let out a slow, terrifying breath through his nose.
He pulled his encrypted smartphone from his inner pocket and dialed a single number.
He put the device to his ear without breaking eye contact with me.
“Marco,” Luca commanded into the phone.
“Boss?” a deep voice answered from the speaker.
“Send four men to the Oak Park Pulmonary Clinic immediately.”
“Transfer Madison’s mother, Evelyn Reed, to the private VIP wing at Northwestern Memorial under Moretti family protection.”
“All current balances are to be cleared tonight, and her account is placed on my personal ledger permanently.”
My jaw dropped in sheer disbelief.
“Luca, no! That’s tens of thousands of dollars!”
Luca ignored me, continuing his orders into the receiver.
“And Marco?”
“Yes, boss?”
“Salvatore Bellini has men stationed near Oak Park.”
“If anyone wearing Bellini colors approaches that clinic door, put them in the ground.”
“Understood, Mr. Moretti.”
The call clicked off.
Luca slipped the phone back into his pocket, looking down at me as if he had merely ordered a cup of morning coffee.
Tears streamed uncontrollably down my cheeks.
I stood up from the sofa, my hands reaching out instinctively, grasping the lapels of his suit coat.
“Why are you doing this for us?” I sobbed, looking into his fierce, unyielding eyes.
“We are nobody to you.”
Luca reached up, his large, warm hands gently covering mine where they rested against his chest.
His thumbs stroked the backs of my fingers with an tenderness that made my knees weak.
“You are not nobody, Madison,” Luca whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from mine.
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“You are the woman who stood in front of twenty-eight killers to protect her child.”
“And in this house, courage is the only royalty that matters.”
