Chapter 3 - The Cold Kitchen
Luca froze.
Slowly, deliberately, he pulled back from his mother’s embrace. The vulnerability that had softened his harsh features vanished, replaced by an expression so terrifyingly empty that the commuters walking past instinctively steered clear of us.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his private encrypted phone. The screen was completely dark.
“Marco,” Luca commanded, his voice dead and level.
Marco stepped forward, already pulling out his own device. “Mine’s running, boss. Signal is... wait.” Marco tapped the screen, frowning. “Boss, the local repeater at the mansion was jammed. The moment we stepped into the SUV, forty encrypted pings hit my queue. All from the River West depot.”
Luca stood up from the floor, his frame towering over both of us. He gently took his mother’s weathered hands into his own.
“Who told you this, Ma?”
Mrs. Moretti swallowed hard, adjusting her glasses. “I was waiting in that little hallway by the service pantry, like that girl told me to. A man walked in through the delivery door—wearing an expensive gray coat, smoking a cigarette. He didn't see me in the dark. He was on the phone. He said, ‘Tell the crews to move the crates at nine o’clock sharp. The girl has Luca pinned down with a room full of politicians and judges. He won't notice a thing until morning.’”
She looked up at Luca, her voice cracking. “I know that voice, son. That was Vincent Bellini. Your father’s oldest rival. Why are you marrying his daughter?”
A bitter, chilling smirk touched Luca’s lips. It was the smile of an executioner who had just realized his target had walked right up to the gallows voluntarily.
“Because I thought Vincent was broken,” Luca murmured quietly. “I thought offering him a truce through his daughter would spare the city another war. It turns out a snake only pretends to be dead until you turn your back.”
He turned to his lead security officer. “Marco. Take five cars to the River West depot. Tell Leo to lock the perimeter and shoot anyone trying to touch the north loading bays. Don't call the police. Don't call anyone. Handle it.”
“On it, boss,” Marco said, turning on his heel and sprinting toward the exit while barking orders into his earpiece.
Luca then reached down with one hand and lifted his mother’s battered, tape-wrapped suitcase as easily as if it were a bag of feathers. With his other hand, he gently took her frail elbow.
“We’re going home, Ma.”
“Not back to that place, Luca,” she pleaded softly, shaking her head. “That woman... she looked at me like I was dirt on her shoe.”
“That house belongs to you, Ma,” Luca said, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. “You scrubbed floors in Little Italy for twenty-five years to pay for the first loan that built this empire. If anyone is leaving tonight, it’s not going to be you.”
He glanced over at me. The harshness in his eyes softened just a fraction.
“Emma.”
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Stay close to her. Don't leave her side for a second.”
“I won't, sir.”
The ride back to the Gold Coast mansion was dead silent. The rain had picked up, lashing against the tinted glass in frantic sheets. In the backseat, Mrs. Moretti held my hand between her two warm, wrinkled palms, rubbing my knuckles with a quiet gentleness that reminded me so much of my own late mother.
When the SUV pulled back through the wrought-iron gates of the estate, the party was clearly in disarray. Several luxury sedans belonging to wealthy guests were already lined up down the driveway, their drivers waiting in the drizzle. People were whispering under umbrellas, clutching their furs, sensing the shift in the air.
Luca didn't take the service elevator this time.
He led us straight through the massive oak front doors into the two-story foyer.
The dining room doors burst open, and Vanessa came marching out, holding her red train in one hand and a half-empty glass of vintage red wine in the other. Her dark hair was slightly unpinned, her mascara smudged from fury.
“Luca! What is the meaning of this? Half our guests are leaving!” she shrieked, storming across the polished Italian marble.
Then she stopped dead in her tracks.
Her gaze fell on Mrs. Moretti, standing proudly in her faded blue cardigan, her worn sneakers resting on the pristine white tiles. And beside her stood me, still wearing Luca’s cashmere jacket.
Vanessa’s face turned an ugly, mottled shade of crimson. “You brought her back here? Into my home?”
“It was never your home, Vanessa,” Luca said.
His voice was terrifyingly calm as he stepped between his mother and his fiancée.
“And this house never belonged to someone who treats the woman who gave me life like vermin.”
Vanessa let out a sharp, hysterical laugh, pointing an accusing, manicured finger at me. “You’re listening to this little peasant? A maid who washes our sheets and sweeps our dirt? She’s trying to poison your mind, Luca! She wants your money! She probably set up this whole pathetic show to get a promotion!”
She took an aggressive step toward me, raising her glass as if she wanted to throw the wine in my face. “Get out of my sight, you little—”
Before she could finish the sentence, Luca caught her arm.
He didn't twist it, but his grip was so tight that Vanessa’s eyes popped open in genuine shock. The wine glass slipped from her fingers, shattering on the marble floor and splashing dark red across the hem of her expensive scarlet gown.
“You have five minutes to pack your bags,” Luca whispered into her ear, his voice freezing the air in the foyer. “If you are still on this property when the clock strikes ten, I will personally throw every piece of jewelry, every dress, and every piece of garbage your father bought you onto the curb in the rain.”
Vanessa gasped, clutching her wrist as Luca released her. “You can't do this to me! My father—”
“Your father is currently trapped inside the River West warehouse with twenty of my men holding shotguns to his throat,” Luca interrupted smoothly, pulling his cuffs straight.
Vanessa’s jaw dropped. The color completely drained from her lips, leaving her as pale as paper.
“Did you really think I didn't keep a private radio relay on the river docks?” Luca asked, tilting his head slightly. “You thought you could distract me with a dinner party and a pretty red dress while your family stole fifty million dollars in bonded pharmaceuticals from my family? You played a very stupid game, Vanessa. And your time is up.”
Vanessa backed away slowly, terror finally breaking through her arrogance. She glanced at the security guards standing like stone statues along the walls, then at me, and finally at Mrs. Moretti, who was looking at her with a quiet, sorrowful pity.
With a muffled sob of rage and humiliation, Vanessa turned and fled up the grand staircase, her heels clicking violently on the marble.
Luca watched her disappear down the upper hall. Then, he turned to his mother.
“Ma,” he said gently, the coldness vanishing from his features entirely. “The dining room is cleared. Let’s go to the kitchen. I want you to finish your soup.”
May you like
Mrs. Moretti smiled, a small, knowing twinkle returning to her eyes. She patted his cheek. “Only if you sit down and eat with me, Luca. And your little friend Emma, too. That girl hasn't eaten a bite all night, and she’s skin and bones.”
Luca looked at me, a subtle, intriguing curve touching the corner of his lips. “You heard her, Emma. Into the kitchen.”
