Chapter 5 - THE COLD CONFESSION
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The grand dining room on the first floor had become a gilded prison.
Twenty-eight high-society guests sat in absolute terror under the watchful barrels of Marco’s men.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
The only sound was the drip of cold champagne falling from the hem of Vanessa’s ruined dress onto the marble.
Vanessa paced behind her chair, her manicured nails digging into the palms of her hands.
Her father, Antonio Bellini, sat three seats down, his weathered mobster face twitching with impatience.
“Calm down, Vanessa,” Antonio muttered in a harsh whisper.
“The Morettis won't execute an alliance over a twisted ankle.”
“He’s making a scene to establish dominance before the contract is signed.”
The heavy double doors of the dining room swung open.
Luca walked in alone.
He had put on a fresh black jacket, unbuttoned, his hands resting casually inside his trouser pockets.
His face was completely devoid of anger.
There was no shouting, no wild gesturing, no outward sign of fury.
That was what terrified the guests most.
When Luca Moretti shouted, men were beaten.
When Luca Moretti smiled, men were buried.
He walked slowly down the length of the long table, stopping directly behind Vanessa’s empty chair.
“Senator Harris,” Luca said smoothly, addressing the politician at the head of the table.
The senator sat up straight, his face glistening with cold sweat.
“Yes, Luca?”
“I must apologize for the interruption of our dinner,” Luca said, his voice cultured and polished.
“My daughter has suffered a severe medical emergency.”
“A private limousine is waiting in the courtyard to escort you and your wife back to the Gold Coast.”
The senator didn't wait for a second invitation.
He grabbed his wife’s hand, threw his napkin onto the table, and practically bolted for the front foyer.
Within three minutes, every guest who did not share the last name Bellini had fled into the night.
Only eight people remained in the vast, echoing ballroom.
Luca, Marco, four armed Moretti enforcers, Antonio Bellini, and Vanessa.
Antonio Bellini pushed his plate forward and stood up, buttoning his gray pinstripe suit.
“All right, Luca, the theatrics are over,” the older man sneered.
“Your daughter is fragile.”
“She inherited her mother’s weak constitution.”
“Vanessa was only trying to instill some discipline so the girl doesn't embarrass the family name in public.”
Luca looked at the older Bellini, his expression unreadable.
“Discipline, Antonio?”
“Yes, discipline,” Antonio barked, stepping toward the center of the room.
“A Moretti daughter doesn't cry over a twisted joint.”
“You’ve coddled her since Helena died.”
“Vanessa did what any proper mother would do.”
Luca turned his head toward Vanessa.
“Did you tell my daughter I wanted to abandon her in Switzerland, Vanessa?”
Vanessa swallowed, her throat bobbing nervously.
“She misunderstood a conversation I had on the phone.”
“Did you tape her torn ligament three days ago and force her to practice four hours a day?”
Vanessa took a step back, her back hitting the edge of the sideboard.
“Her dance coach said consistency was crucial!”
Luca took the bent, bloody needle from his pocket and set it down on the white linen tablecloth.
“And who placed this inside her shoe tonight?”
Silence stretched across the room like a piano wire pulled to the breaking point.
Antonio Bellini laughed, a dry, dismissive sound.
“It was an accident, Luca!”
“A maid dropped it! What does it matter?”
“Are you going to jeopardize our billion-dollar shipping merger over a scratch on a child’s heel?”
Luca looked at Antonio Bellini, then down at the needle.
“It matters,” Luca said softly, “because Sophie is not a merger.”
“She is my life.”
Luca nodded once to Marco.
In a fraction of a second, Marco stepped behind Antonio Bellini, kicked the back of the older man’s knee, and forced him down onto the marble floor.
Two enforcers pinned the mafia boss’s arms behind his back with zip-ties.
“What are you doing?!” Antonio Bellini roared, thrashing against the floor.
“You can’t touch me! The Commission will slaughter your family!”
Luca walked over, pulling a silver fountain pen from his inner jacket pocket.
He unscrewed the cap, revealing the sharp platinum nib.
He crouched down beside Antonio Bellini, looking into the older man’s terrified eyes.
“The Commission answers to the man who holds the docks, Antonio.”
“And the docks belong to me.”
Luca looked up at Vanessa, who was shaking violently against the sideboard.
May you like
“Confess, Vanessa,” Luca whispered.
“Tell me why you wanted my daughter crippled tonight.”
