Chapter 2 - The Wedding Dress Fitting
The dining room went still. Thirty-six guests held their breath.
Teresa’s hands trembled on the table. She looked so small, yet in that moment, she was the only person in the room with the courage to speak.
"What happened that day, Mom?" Luca asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Vanessa’s red silk gown rustled as she took a panicked step toward Teresa. “Luca, she’s confused. Her memory has been slipping for months. Everyone knows that.”
“My memory is perfectly fine,” Teresa said softly.
Luca didn't look at his fiancée. He kept his dark eyes fixed entirely on his mother. "Tell me."
Teresa swallowed hard. “You were in New York for three weeks settling the union contracts. Vanessa invited me to her dress fitting at the boutique downtown. She said she wanted my opinion because I was going to be her mother-in-law.”
“I did!” Vanessa cried, her voice pitching high. “I wanted it to be special!”
“When I arrived,” Teresa continued, ignoring her, “Vanessa was already in the dressing room. Her mother and two of her friends were waiting in the seating area. I sat down next to them.”
Teresa looked down at her hands.
“I had brought your grandmother’s veil, Luca. The one with the Venetian lace. I thought Vanessa might want to wear it. It’s been in our family for four generations.”
Luca nodded slowly. “I remember. You showed it to her the night we got engaged.”
“Yes,” Teresa whispered. “But when I took the box out of my bag, Vanessa’s mother looked at it and laughed.”
I felt a cold knot form in my stomach.
“She laughed?” Luca’s voice was dangerously quiet.
“She asked why I brought something so ancient and yellowed to a high-end boutique,” Teresa said, a tear finally slipping down her wrinkled cheek. “She said Vanessa was marrying a Don, not a fisherman. She told her friends that the Moretti family might have money now, but they still had the taste of peasants.”
The guests murmured in shock. The Bellini family was wealthy, but they were old money. They had always looked down on the Morettis, whose wealth was built on blood, sweat, and street-level dominance.
Vanessa’s face lost all its color. “My mother didn’t mean it like that, Teresa! It was a joke!”
“It wasn’t a joke,” Teresa said. “And when Vanessa walked out of the dressing room, she saw her mother laughing. She saw me holding the box.”
Teresa looked up at her son, her eyes shattered.
“Vanessa walked over, took the box from my hands, and dropped it into the wastebasket.”
Luca went completely still.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
“She threw my grandmother’s veil in the trash?” Luca asked, his voice hollow.
“She said it smelled like mothballs,” Teresa whispered. “And then she told me I could leave. She said she only invited me because it would look good on social media, but since I brought garbage into the store, I was no longer needed.”
Luca slowly stood up straight. The absolute stillness of his body was more terrifying than if he had started shouting.
He turned his head toward Vanessa.
“Is it true?” he asked.
Vanessa backed away, her hands shaking. “Luca, it was just a piece of old lace! My mother had already ordered a custom silk veil from Paris! The photographer was coming, and I didn’t want him taking pictures of something that looked like it came from an antique shop!”
“It was my grandmother’s veil,” Luca repeated, the words slicing through the air like a blade. “The veil my mother wore when she married my father.”
“I didn’t know!” Vanessa screamed, desperate. “I thought it was just some old thing!”
“You knew,” a voice said from the back of the room.
Everyone turned.
It was Marco, the head of security, standing by the double doors.
“I drove Mrs. Moretti to the boutique that day, Boss,” Marco said grimly. “I was standing outside the dressing room. I heard the whole thing. Miss Bellini knew exactly what it was. And when she threw it away, she told her mother, ‘Let the old bat know her place.’”
Vanessa gasped, looking at Marco with pure venom. “You liar! You’re just a driver!”
“I’m the man who digs the veil out of the trash after you left,” Marco shot back.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a delicate, folded piece of yellowed lace wrapped in tissue paper. He walked over and placed it gently on the table in front of Teresa.
Teresa touched the lace, fresh tears falling.
Luca stared at the veil. Then, he looked at the massive diamond on Vanessa’s left hand.
“Take it off,” Luca commanded.
Vanessa froze. “What?”
“The ring,” Luca said, stepping toward her. “Take it off.”
“No!” Vanessa shrieked, clutching her hand to her chest. “Luca, we are getting married in two months! My family has invited three hundred people! You can’t do this over a piece of lace and a misunderstanding!”
“It’s not about the lace,” Luca said softly. “It’s about the fact that you treated my mother like a prop to elevate your own status, and then discarded her the moment she embarrassed you.”
He held out his hand.
“The ring, Vanessa.”
“My father will not stand for this!” Vanessa threatened, backing toward the doors. “He secured the alliance between our families! You need us!”
“I don’t need anyone who disrespects my mother,” Luca stated.
Vanessa glared at him, then at Teresa, and finally at me.
She violently pulled the heavy diamond ring off her finger and threw it onto the marble floor. It bounced and clattered, coming to a stop near my feet.
“You’re a monster,” Vanessa spat at Luca. “You and your entire peasant family.”
She turned and ran out of the dining room, her heels clicking rapidly against the marble.
The heavy doors swung shut.
The engagement was over.
The thirty-six guests sat in stunned, terrified silence.
Luca didn’t look at them. He walked over, picked up the ring from the floor, and slipped it into his pocket. Then, he turned to the guests.
“The dinner is over,” Luca announced calmly. “Thank you for coming.”
Within two minutes, the dining room was completely empty, save for Luca, Teresa, Marco, and me.
I stood by the sideboard, feeling incredibly out of place. I began to quietly gather the empty champagne glasses onto my tray, trying to make myself invisible.
Luca knelt beside his mother’s chair.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Mom?” he asked softly, taking her hands. “Why did you let her treat you like that for an entire year?”
Teresa wiped her eyes. “Because she made you smile, Luca. Since your father died, you’ve been so consumed by the business. You never smiled anymore. But when you brought Vanessa home, you looked happy. I didn’t want to be the reason you lost that.”
Luca kissed her forehead. “I’m not happy if you’re hurting, Mom. Never.”
Teresa smiled, stroking his cheek.
Then, she looked over at me.
“Hannah,” Teresa said gently.
I stopped wiping the table. “Yes, ma'am?”
“Thank you,” the old woman whispered. “For moving the flowers.”
I offered a small, nervous smile. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Moretti.”
Luca stood up and looked at me. His dark eyes were intense, analyzing me as if seeing me for the first time.
“You risked your job tonight,” Luca said.
I swallowed hard. “I just wanted her to be able to see you, sir.”
“Marco,” Luca called out.
“Yes, Boss?”
“Double Hannah’s salary starting tomorrow,” Luca ordered. “And make sure she’s assigned directly to my mother’s care. She doesn’t take orders from anyone else.”
My heart leapt into my throat. “Thank you, sir! Thank you so much.”
Luca nodded. He offered his arm to Teresa, helping her stand. “Come on, Mom. Let’s get you upstairs.”
As they walked toward the doorway, Teresa stopped. She reached into her small clutch purse and pulled out a folded, worn piece of paper.
She handed it to Luca.
“I almost forgot,” Teresa said, her voice trembling slightly. “This came in the mail today. Addressed to you.”
Luca took the paper. He unfolded it.
I watched his face change. The calm, protective son vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, terrifying mafia Don. The color drained from his face, and his jaw locked.
“Where did this come from?” Luca demanded.
“There was no return address,” Teresa said, looking worried. “Just a blank envelope. What is it, sweetheart?”
Luca didn’t answer. He just stared at the paper.
He slowly turned it around so Marco could see it.
It wasn’t a letter. It was a photograph.
A picture of a young boy, maybe six years old, sitting on a swing in a park.
And written across the bottom in red ink were three chilling words:
He has his eyes.
Marco gasped. “Boss... is that...?”
May you like
Luca crushed the photo in his fist.
“Lock down the estate,” Luca ordered Marco, his voice shaking with a sudden, violent panic. “Nobody gets in. Nobody gets out.”
