Chapter 3 - The Broken Glass
The Gold Coast mansion was ablaze with light when our three-vehicle convoy pulled back through the iron gates at eleven-twenty.
The rain had turned into a steady, freezing mist that clung to the limestone facade. Inside, the last of the outside guests had departed, leaving only the catering staff packing away silver trays, the estate guards stationed at the doors, and the lingering smell of expensive cigars and spilled champagne.
Luca personally carried Bruno inside.
He didn't care that the old dog’s paws were damp or that dog hair clung to his custom suit. He cradled the fourteen-year-old retriever against his chest like an infant, walking steadily up the wide marble steps of the grand entryway.
I followed two paces behind, clutching the folded blue blanket, my heart pounding so violently against my ribs I could barely draw breath.
The foyer fell dead silent the moment we crossed the threshold.
Mrs. Carter, the head housekeeper, dropped the clipboard she was holding. Two footmen froze mid-stride, carrying cases of empty wine glasses.
And standing at the top of the grand sweeping staircase, wearing an ivory silk dressing gown over her red evening wear, was Vanessa Bellini.
She had a cigarette between two fingers and an ice-cold martini in the other. When her eyes fell upon the bundle in Luca’s arms, the glass in her hand tilted. A thin stream of gin spilled onto the cream-colored carpet.
"Luca?" she said, her voice wavering between theatrical confusion and genuine panic. "What... what is that doing here?"
Luca didn't look up at her. He walked past the foot of the stairs, straight into his private library, and gently laid Bruno down on the thick sheepskin rug beside the unlit marble fireplace. The old dog gave a low groan of contentment, resting his chin on his front paws, his eyes already heavy with exhaustion now that he was back in his familiar sanctuary.
Luca pulled the blue blanket over the dog’s back, knelt down, and kissed the top of Bruno’s head.
"Good boy," Luca whispered.
Then he stood up.
When he turned around to face the foyer, the quiet, gentle man disappeared behind a mask of sheer, unadulterated savagery.
He walked out into the center of the marble floor, where forty household employees had gathered in an anxious, silent circle. Vanessa had descended three steps, clutching the mahogany banister so tightly her knuckles were white beneath her rings.
"You look surprised, Vanessa," Luca said. His voice was conversational, almost pleasant, which only made it a thousand times more terrifying.
"I... I don't understand," Vanessa stammered, attempting to recover her haughty composure. She forced a hollow laugh that echoed awkwardly off the high ceilings. "Did the boarding facility refuse him? Darling, you shouldn't have driven all that way yourself. You have drivers for these mundane things."
"The boarding facility didn't refuse him," Luca replied smoothly, undoing the buttons of his suit jacket and sliding his hands into his pockets. "Mainly because there was no boarding facility."
Vanessa’s breath hitched. She took a half-step backward, retreating up the stairs. "I don't know what the driver told you, but—"
"The driver told Daniel everything," Luca interrupted. "And the veterinarian at Saint Jude Emergency Clinic told me the rest."
He paused, letting the words hang in the freezing silence. Several maids exchanged horrified glances.
"You told them Bruno was vicious," Luca continued, taking a slow, measured step toward the stairs. "You told them he had mauled Emma. You forged my private digital seal to bypass the mandatory seventy-two-hour holding period for surrendered animals. You paid five thousand dollars in cash to have my mother’s dog put down before midnight."
Vanessa’s face lost every shred of color. Her lips trembled, the red lipstick suddenly looking grotesque against her chalky skin.
"Luca, he was suffering!" she cried out, her voice rising into an octave of frantic defense. "Look at him! He can barely walk! He sheds everywhere, he smells like an old cellar, and he was going to ruin our wedding photos! I did what you were too sentimental to do! I put him out of his misery!"
"You don't get to decide when my family's memories die," Luca said. He stopped at the bottom of the staircase, looking up at her like a judge looking down from the bench. "And you don't get to touch the people under my roof."
He raised his hand slightly. Daniel stepped forward, holding a sleek black tablet.
"Play it," Luca commanded.
Daniel tapped the screen. The estate’s intercom system crackled to life, playing the external security feed from the kennel area that had been recorded at four-fifteen that afternoon.
Vanessa’s voice rang through the speakers, loud and sharp:
“Get him in the crate, you idiot! I don't care if his hips hurt, push him!”
Then came my voice, trembling but firm:
“Miss Bellini, please, Mr. Moretti hasn't authorized this. Bruno needs his evening medication—”
“Shut your mouth, you pathetic little maid! Don't you dare touch that latch!”
Then came the sickening sound of fabric tearing, a sharp gasp of pain, and the heavy metallic clang of an iron gate slamming against bone.
“If you say one word to Luca,” Vanessa’s recorded voice hissed with venomous clarity, “your sick mother won't live to see the end of the month. I will have your name blacklisted across the entire state. Now clean this mess up.”
The recording clicked off.
The foyer was dead quiet. One of the older kitchen maids was crying quietly into her apron. Mrs. Carter stared at Vanessa with undisguised contempt.
Vanessa stood frozen on the staircase, trapped under the gaze of forty people she had treated like dirt for the past year.
"Luca..." she whispered, her voice cracking as tears of humiliation finally spilled down her cheeks. "You can't do this to me. Think of the alliance. Think of my father! The Bellini family controls the western docks! You can't break our engagement over a dog and a servant!"
Luca tilted his head, his expression entirely devoid of pity.
"Your father called me twenty minutes ago from his country club in Geneva," Luca said quietly.
Vanessa froze. "What?"
"I sent him the audio file. Along with the clinic's forged intake papers bearing my forged signature," Luca continued. "Do you know what your father said to me, Vanessa?"
She couldn't speak. She could only shake her head, trembling violently.
"He said that a woman stupid enough to forge a Don's signature on a legal execution document is too reckless to be trusted with family business," Luca said, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper. "He canceled the alliance. He told me that whatever I decide to do with you tonight... is strictly between you and me."
Vanessa let out a small, strangled scream, her knees buckling. She dropped onto the carpeted step, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving with ugly, broken sobs.
Luca didn't look at her for another second. He turned back to the gathered staff.
"Mrs. Carter."
The head housekeeper stepped forward immediately. "Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
"Pack Miss Bellini’s personal items. Everything she brought into this house must be in the driveway within forty-five minutes. What doesn't fit into her car can be donated to charity."
"Right away, sir."
"And Emma," Luca added, his voice softening just enough that my name felt entirely different on his tongue.
I stepped forward, my hands still shaking. "Yes, sir?"
"Go to the guest suite on the third floor. The east wing."
May you like
My eyes widened. "Sir, that's... that's the family wing. My room is in the servants' quarters in the basement—"
"You don't sleep in the basement anymore," Luca said, his gray eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the room spin. "You took a wound for my family today. In this house, we reward loyalty, and we punish treachery. Go upstairs, Emma. Rest. We have business in the morning."
