Chapter 2 - The Contract on the Mahogany Table
The dining room descended into absolute silence.
The clinking of silverware, the murmur of the thirty guests, even the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner seemed to freeze under the weight of Luca’s question.
“What did you make my father sign?”
Vanessa’s perfectly manicured hands trembled slightly, but she quickly masked it, lifting her chin with the practiced arrogance of old money.
“It’s a standard residential agreement, Luca,” she said smoothly, though her voice lacked its usual commanding tone. “Your father misunderstood the terms. He’s been very confused lately.”
“Don't,” Luca warned, his voice dropping to a terrifying, lethal register. “Do not blame his mind for your lies.”
He walked slowly toward her, holding the folded piece of paper. He didn't yell. He didn't gesture wildly. His stillness was what made the guests stop breathing.
“You told my father he had to sign this or I would lose the house,” Luca repeated, his dark eyes boring into hers. “Why would he believe that?”
Vanessa swallowed hard. “I... I told him we had some unexpected expenses with the wedding. And the business. I said the retirement community was an investment property my father owned, and moving him there would free up capital.”
Frank shifted in his chair, his hands gripping the edge of the table.
“She said the syndicate was struggling, son,” Frank whispered, tears pooling in his cataract-clouded eyes. “She said you were too proud to ask for help, but that if I signed the paper, her father’s company would absorb your debts.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
The Moretti syndicate was the most powerful organization in Chicago. They weren't struggling. Luca’s father had built an empire, and Luca had doubled it.
Luca turned to his fiancée. The realization dawning in his eyes was colder than ice.
“You told him the family was going bankrupt,” Luca said softly.
“I was trying to motivate him!” Vanessa shrieked, panic finally cracking her polished exterior. “He wouldn't leave, Luca! He just sat in his study staring at your mother’s things! I couldn't start my life with you living in a museum dedicated to a dead woman!”
The room gasped.
Frank flinched as if he had been struck.
Luca didn't hit her. He didn't even raise his voice. He simply looked down at the contract in his hands.
“This isn't a residential agreement, Vanessa,” Luca stated, his eyes scanning the fine print at the bottom of the page.
Vanessa stepped backward, her red silk gown rustling against the Persian rug.
“It’s a transfer of power of attorney,” Luca read aloud, his voice echoing in the silent room.
I stopped breathing.
“And a full relinquishment of shares,” Luca continued, looking up at his father. “Dad, you didn't just sign away your right to live in this house. You signed over your remaining thirty percent ownership in the Moretti holding companies.”
Frank stared at his son in horror. “No... no, she said it was just a lease for the apartment. I can't read the small print, Luca. I trusted her.”
“I know you did, Dad,” Luca said gently, before turning a murderous glare back to Vanessa.
“Who is the beneficiary on this contract?” Luca demanded.
Vanessa’s lips trembled. She glanced frantically around the room, looking for an exit, looking for support, but the thirty guests—captains, investors, and politicians—were staring at her with undisguised disgust.
“Answer me,” Luca snarled, taking a step toward her.
“My father!” Vanessa screamed, backing into the heavy mahogany buffet table. “It transfers the shares to my father! We needed them, Luca! You don't understand!”
“I understand you tried to steal a third of my empire by manipulating a half-blind old man,” Luca said, his voice laced with venom.
He ripped the contract in half. Then in quarters. He dropped the shredded pieces onto her empty plate.
“The engagement is over,” Luca announced to the room.
Vanessa gasped, clutching her chest. “Luca, you can't! My father will destroy you! The Bellini family—”
“The Bellini family is nothing without my backing,” Luca interrupted coldly. “And as of tonight, you don't have it. Pack your things. If you are still in this house in one hour, I will let my men carry you out.”
Vanessa burst into hysterical tears. She looked at the guests, but no one moved to comfort her. She glared at me, her eyes burning with pure hatred.
“This is your fault,” Vanessa spat at me. “You pathetic little maid.”
She turned and ran out of the dining room, the heavy double doors slamming shut behind her.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Luca stood at the head of the table. He took a deep breath, smoothing the front of his tailored suit jacket, instantly transforming from a betrayed fiancé back into the Don of Chicago.
“The dinner is over,” Luca said quietly. “Please excuse us.”
Within two minutes, the dining room was completely empty.
I stood by the serving cart, my hands shaking so badly the silver tray rattled against the wood. I wanted to disappear into the kitchen, but my feet felt glued to the floor.
Luca walked over to his father. He knelt down again, resting his hands on the old man’s knees.
“I am so sorry, Dad,” Luca whispered, the ruthless mafia boss vanishing entirely. He was just a son, brokenhearted that he had failed to protect his father.
Frank wiped his eyes, placing a trembling hand on Luca’s cheek. “It’s not your fault, son. She was very convincing.”
“I shouldn't have brought her here,” Luca muttered, burying his face in his hands.
“You wanted to be happy,” Frank said softly. “Your mother and I only ever wanted you to be happy.”
Frank looked over at me.
“Claire,” Frank called out gently.
I jumped slightly. “Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Thank you,” the old man smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “For the glasses. And for the courage.”
“You’re welcome, sir,” I whispered, tears prickling my eyes.
Luca stood up and turned to look at me. His dark eyes were intense, analyzing me as if seeing me for the first time.
“You knew she was trying to force him out,” Luca said.
I nodded slowly, terrified he was going to fire me for insubordination. “Yes, sir.”
“And you were helping him pack?”
“He asked me to,” I explained quickly. “He said he didn't want to cause trouble for you. I tried to tell him to talk to you, but he was so convinced he was a burden.”
Luca stared at me for a long moment. The silence was heavy.
Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick, silver money clip holding a stack of hundred-dollar bills. He walked over and placed it on my serving cart.
“Take the rest of the week off, Claire,” Luca ordered softly. “With pay.”
I stared at the money. It was more than I made in three months.
“Mr. Moretti, I can't take this,” I said, my voice shaking.
“You protected my father when I was too blind to see what was happening in my own house,” Luca stated firmly. “Take it. That’s an order.”
“Thank you, sir,” I breathed, wrapping my fingers around the cold silver clip.
As I turned to push the cart back to the kitchen, the heavy dining room doors burst open again.
It was Marco, Luca’s massive head of security. He looked completely pale, out of breath.
“Boss,” Marco gasped, gripping the doorframe.
Luca’s expression instantly hardened. “Did she not leave?”
“She left, sir,” Marco panted, stepping into the room. “She took her car and sped through the front gates.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Luca demanded.
Marco looked at Frank, then back at Luca, his eyes wide with a terrifying panic.
“She didn't just take her car, Boss,” Marco said, his voice trembling. “She broke into your private study before she ran.”
Luca froze.
“What did she take?” Luca asked, the air in the room suddenly turning to ice.
Marco swallowed hard.
“She took the ledger, sir,” Marco whispered. “And she took the recording.”
Frank let out a strangled gasp, clutching his chest.
Luca’s face drained of all color. The untouchable Don looked as though he had just been stabbed.
“Marco,” Luca said, his voice cracking. “Tell me she didn't take the recording.”
“I’m sorry, Boss,” Marco said, lowering his head. “The safe was emptied.”
I watched the most powerful man in the city stagger backward, catching himself on the edge of the dining table.
“Luca?” Frank panicked, trying to stand up. “Son, what recording?”
May you like
Luca looked at his father, his eyes filled with absolute, unadulterated horror.
“The recording from the night Mom died,” Luca breathed.
