Chapter 11 - The Prodigal Brother
"Matteo," Luca breathed, the name sounding like a curse in the quiet parlor.
He stepped away from me, the tender vulnerability in his eyes instantly hardening back into the cold, calculated stare of a man preparing for war.
"I thought your brother was exiled to Europe years ago," I said, recalling the hushed gossip among the kitchen staff when I first started working here. Matteo Moretti was the wild card—reckless, violent, and entirely unpredictable.
"He was," Luca said, buttoning his cuffs with sharp, angry movements. "My father banished him for dealing with cartel runners behind our backs. He hasn't set foot on American soil in six years."
"He claims he has a legal right to the property, sir," Marco said, shifting uncomfortably in the doorway. "He says the Tuscany vineyard was leveraged against a gambling debt he incurred in Monaco. He says the bank is foreclosing, and he’s here to collect the liquidation funds."
"He’s lying," Luca snapped, walking past me toward the hallway. "The vineyard was put into the blind trust. It's fully paid off. It belongs to Hannah."
I followed Luca out of the parlor, my heart pounding a new, frantic rhythm. The peaceful future David had envisioned in his letter was already under attack.
We walked out the massive front doors of the estate, stepping onto the sweeping stone driveway. The morning sun was bright now, reflecting off the hood of a sleek, black European town car parked past the wrought-iron gates.
Leaning against the hood of the car was Matteo Moretti.
He looked like a darker, twisted mirror image of Luca. He wore a sharp designer suit, but his tie was loose, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He had the same dark hair and striking features, but his eyes lacked the grounded morality that anchored Luca. Matteo’s eyes were frantic, hungry, and cruel.
As we approached the gates, Matteo smirked, clapping his hands in slow, mocking applause.
"Look at you, little brother," Matteo called out, his voice dripping with condescension. "I heard you had a busy night. Arresting the Bellinis, dismantling the syndicate... playing the noble hero. Dad would be sick to his stomach."
"What do you want, Matteo?" Luca demanded, stopping a few feet from the locked gates. Marco and two guards stood flanking us, hands resting casually on their holstered weapons.
Matteo stopped clapping and reached into the breast pocket of his suit. He pulled out a folded legal document with a red bank seal.
"I want what’s mine," Matteo sneered. "I heard the old man died and left the Tuscany estate in a blind trust. But he made a mistake, Luca. Six months before he died, I forged his signature and used the vineyard as collateral for a massive loan with a private Swiss bank to cover some... unfortunate losses in Monaco."
"You forged a lien against family land?" Luca asked, his voice deadly quiet.
"I did," Matteo grinned. "And since the debt was never paid, the bank has foreclosed. They sold the debt to a private liquidation firm. A firm that I just happen to own. The vineyard is mine, Luca. Unless you want to buy it back from me for twenty million cash, right now."
"You have no claim," I stepped forward, anger overriding my fear. "That land belongs to the trust. It belongs to my son."
Matteo looked at me, his dark eyes raking up and down my maid's uniform. His lip curled in absolute disgust.
"Ah, the famous Hannah," Matteo laughed cruelly. "I heard Luca was playing house with the hired help. Let me guess, you're the widow of the pathetic driver who got my father killed?"
"Do not speak to her," Luca roared, taking a threatening step forward, his fists clenched. "Do not even look at her, Matteo, or I will let Marco open these gates and break your jaw."
Matteo held his hands up in mock surrender, though the vicious smile never left his face. "Relax, boss. I'm not here for a street fight. I'm here for business. This foreclosure deed is legally binding. The Swiss bank doesn't care about your little blind trust. If you don't wire me twenty million by noon, I am selling the Tuscany vineyard to a corporate developer. They're going to bulldoze the grapes and build a luxury resort over Dad's precious legacy."
Luca stared at the paper in Matteo's hand. If Matteo had truly forged the signature before the trust was finalized, the legal battle could take years, freezing the assets and leaving the vineyard to rot.
Matteo stepped closer to the gate, lowering his voice. "You want to play the legitimate businessman, Luca? Then pay your debts. You have four hours."
Matteo turned on his heel, slid into the back of his town car, and the vehicle sped away down the winding road, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.
Luca stood frozen, his jaw tight with fury and helplessness.
"Luca," I said softly, touching his arm. "Let him have it. I don't care about the money or the vineyard. We have enough to take care of Leo and your mother. We don't need to fight him."
Luca turned to me, his eyes burning with a fierce, unwavering resolve.
"It's not about the money, Hannah," Luca said softly, reaching up to cup my cheek. "That vineyard was my father's dream for a clean life. It was David's dream for your future. I am not letting my degenerate brother destroy the only pure thing our family has left."
He turned to Marco.
"Get the jet ready," Luca ordered. "We're going to the bank in Switzerland. And we're going to prove that signature is a fake."
"Sir, how?" Marco asked, confused. "Your father is dead. He can't testify to a forgery."
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A calm, familiar voice spoke from the grand doorway behind us.
"He doesn't have to," Teresa Moretti said, leaning on her cane as she stepped into the morning sun. Around her neck, glinting in the light, was a heavy, ornate gold locket. "Because my husband never signed a legal document without using his seal."
