Chapter 4 - The Black Rosary On The Marble
“Mom!” I screamed, surging forward.
Luca threw his arm out, catching me hard across the chest, pinning me back behind his broad shoulders. “Don't move, Hannah,” he ordered, his voice low and dangerous.
Carlo Bellini stood in the doorway of the garden, looking impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit. His grip on my mother’s arm wasn't violent, but it was absolute. My mother, Margaret, was wearing her blue grocery store uniform. She looked terrified, her eyes wide as she stared at the opulent glass garden, then at me.
“Hannah?” my mother whimpered, trying to pull her arm away. “What’s going on? These men came to the store…”
“She’s fine, little bird,” Carlo smiled, though the expression didn't reach his eyes. He released her arm and patted her shoulder with terrifying gentleness. “I just thought, since my daughter was so abruptly dismissed from her own engagement party, I should bring a guest of my own to smooth things over.”
Vanessa stepped out from behind one of the massive bodyguards. She had a smug, victorious sneer on her face. She had run straight to her father.
Luca stood perfectly still. The tension radiating off him was palpable, a tightly coiled spring ready to snap. “Let her go, Carlo. Now.”
Carlo chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. He stepped fully into the garden, looking around at the floral arrangements and the scattered photography equipment. “Beautiful setup, Teresa,” he said, nodding to Luca’s mother. “A bit heavily reliant on white lilies, though. Reminds me of a funeral.”
Teresa sat in her chair, her hands resting calmly on her lap. She didn't look frightened. She looked like a queen holding court. “A funeral is exactly what this will be if you don't take your hands off that woman, Carlo.”
Carlo’s smile faded. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out the thick stack of foreclosure documents Vanessa had taken. He tossed them casually onto the glass patio table.
“I own this woman, Teresa,” Carlo said coldly. “Her husband stole from me. He owed me a massive debt, and he died before he could pay it. I’ve been generous enough to let her stay in that pathetic little house, taking small payments from her daughter’s maid salary.”
“My father didn't owe you anything!” I shouted from behind Luca, unable to hold back the fury burning in my throat. “You murdered him!”
Carlo’s eyes snapped to me. For a second, the mask slipped, revealing the ruthless killer underneath. “You have a loud mouth for the help.”
“She’s not the help today,” Luca interrupted, his voice booming with authority. “She is under my protection. You are standing in my house, Carlo. You violated the truce the second you laid a hand on a civilian.”
“The truce?” Carlo scoffed. He walked slowly toward Luca, stopping just a few feet away. “There is no truce, boy. There is only a merger. You marry my daughter next week, our families unite, and the Moretti assets fall under my umbrella. That was the deal.”
“There is no wedding,” Luca said, his dark eyes locked onto Carlo’s. “I’m breaking the engagement. Vanessa is a parasite, and you are a liability. The deal is dead.”
Vanessa gasped, her face flushing with humiliation. “Dad, don't let him talk to me like that!”
Carlo held up a hand, silencing his daughter. He stared at Luca for a long, heavy moment. Then, he reached into his pocket again.
He didn't pull out a gun.
He pulled out a heavy, black wooden rosary. The beads were worn, the silver crucifix scratched and tarnished.
He laid it gently on the glass table, right next to the foreclosure documents.
Teresa inhaled sharply, a sound of pure agony. She pressed her hand over her mouth, her eyes welling with tears.
“Do you recognize that, Luca?” Carlo asked softly.
Luca stared at the rosary. The color drained from his face. “That’s my father’s.”
“It is,” Carlo nodded. “Antonio was praying with it in the warehouse right before the fire started. A tragedy, really.”
Carlo leaned closer to Luca, lowering his voice so only we could hear. “You think you hold the cards because you found some old pocket watch? Because your mother hid a piece of paper in her walker? Let me make this very clear, boy. You break this engagement, and I won't just take the Collins woman's house.”
Carlo pointed a thick finger at my mother, who was trembling by the door.
“I will burn her house to the ground with her inside it,” Carlo whispered. “And then I will come for Teresa. I will finish what I started eight years ago.”
Luca’s fists clenched at his sides. I could see the muscles in his jaw ticking. He was a powerful man, but he was backed into a corner. Carlo had an army of men outside. We had a photographer’s empty chair and a silver walker.
“You have until tomorrow to publicly apologize to Vanessa,” Carlo commanded, straightening his suit jacket. “The wedding proceeds next Saturday. In the gallery. No walkers. No embarrassments.”
Carlo turned on his heel. “Come, Vanessa. We’re leaving.”
Vanessa cast one last, triumphant look at me before following her father out the door. The bodyguards backed out, shutting the heavy oak doors behind them.
As soon as they were gone, I ran to my mother. She collapsed into my arms, sobbing into my shoulder.
“Mom, I’ve got you,” I cried, holding her tight. “You’re safe now.”
I looked over at Luca. He was staring at the black rosary on the table. His expression was completely shattered. The strong, untouchable boss was gone, replaced by a grieving son who had just been handed the weapon that killed his father.
Teresa slowly stood up, relying entirely on her own strength. She walked over to Luca and placed her hand on his cheek.
“Luca,” she whispered. “Don't do this. Don't marry her to save me.”
Luca didn't look at her. He reached out and picked up the black rosary, wrapping the beads tightly around his knuckles.
“Hannah,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Take your mother upstairs to the guest suite. Lock the door. Do not come out until I tell you.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked, terrified by the look in his eyes.
Luca looked at the glass doors where Vanessa had just walked out.
“I’m going to agree to the wedding,” he said.
Before Teresa could protest, Luca turned and walked briskly out of the garden. But as he passed the wrought-iron table, his foot caught the edge of Vanessa’s discarded purse—the one she had frantically shoved her things into before leaving.
The purse tipped off the chair, spilling its contents onto the floor again.
Luca kept walking, ignoring it.
I helped my mother toward the door. But as we passed the spilled purse, a small, brightly colored piece of heavy cardstock caught my eye. It had slid under a garden fern.
I bent down and picked it up.
It was a first-class airline ticket.
Passenger: Vanessa Bellini.
Destination: Palermo, Italy.
Date: Sunday, October 25th.
May you like
The day after the wedding.
It was a one-way ticket.
