Chapter 2 - THE SIGNATURE
The cold Chicago wind whipped around the bus shelter, cutting straight through Luca’s black suit jacket, but he didn't feel it.
He stared at the signature on the eviction notice.
It was perfect. The sharp slant of the ‘L’, the heavy cross of the ‘T’s. Someone had meticulously forged his handwriting to sign away the single piece of property his mother had dedicated to the people who had served his family with loyalty.
“Demolition?” Luca asked, his voice dangerously quiet. “At six in the morning?”
“Yes, sir,” Margaret whispered, clutching her damp coat. “They brought large machines yesterday afternoon. The foreman said if we aren't out by sunrise, they’ll bulldoze the walls with our belongings still inside. Most of the residents have nowhere else to go. Thomas—the old gardener—is on an oxygen tank. He can’t just leave.”
Luca’s blood ran cold.
If Vanessa had orchestrated this, she wasn't just stealing prime real estate. She was leaving two dozen vulnerable, elderly people on the street in the dead of winter.
“Daniel,” Luca said, turning to his head of security who was standing by the open car door.
“Boss?”
“Take Mrs. Sullivan back to the estate. Put her in the east guest suite. Tell the kitchen to make her whatever she wants. And have Dr. Harris look at her.”
“Sir, no, please,” Margaret protested weakly. “If she sees me there—”
“Vanessa will not say a single word to you,” Luca promised, his dark eyes fierce with an absolute, terrifying resolve. “You are under my protection now.”
Daniel gently helped the elderly woman into the warm SUV.
“And Daniel?” Luca added as his security chief closed the door.
“Yes, sir?”
“Call Marco. Tell him to wake up the attorney and meet me in my study in twenty minutes. If the lawyer complains, drag him there.”
“Understood.”
Luca climbed into the passenger seat, his mind racing.
Vanessa’s family, the Bellinis, were wealthy, but they had always operated on the fringes of the true Chicago power structure. The engagement was supposed to be a merger of peace. A way to legitimize their standing by attaching themselves to the Moretti empire.
But if Vanessa was selling off protected foundation assets using forged signatures before the wedding even happened, it wasn't a merger. It was a heist.
The SUV sped through the rain, pulling back through the massive iron gates of the Moretti estate. The engagement dinner was still going strong in the dining room, the sound of a string quartet drifting out into the chilly night air.
Luca didn't go to the dining room.
He walked straight through the service corridors, bypassing the party entirely, and headed to the servant’s quarters.
He knocked on the heavy oak door of room 4.
“Just a minute,” a soft, trembling voice called out.
The door opened.
I stood there in a pair of dry, oversized gray sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. My wet hair was wrapped in a towel, and I had just finished applying an ice pack to my swollen knee.
When I saw the boss of the Chicago syndicate standing in my doorway, my breath caught in my throat.
“Mr. Moretti,” I gasped, instinctively taking a step back. “Did I do something wrong? The doctor said I could rest—”
“You didn't do anything wrong, Sophie,” Luca said, his voice surprisingly gentle as he stepped into the small room and closed the door behind him.
He looked at my bruised knee, the angry purple scrape running down my thigh, and the exhaustion etched deep into my face.
“Why didn't you tell me the truth in the dining room?” Luca asked quietly.
I looked down at the floor. “Because she is going to be your wife, sir. And I am just a maid. Who were you going to believe?”
“I believe the woman who took a fall into a freezing pond to protect an old woman’s handbag,” Luca replied instantly.
I looked up, stunned.
Luca pulled Margaret’s broken leather strap from his suit pocket and set it on my small dresser.
“I found her, Sophie. She’s safe. She told me what happened.”
Tears welled in my eyes. The relief was overwhelming. “Is she really okay? Vanessa was so awful to her. She told me to call the police and report her for trespassing.”
Luca’s jaw clenched. “Vanessa is going to have a lot of answering to do tonight. But I need to ask you something first, and I need you to be completely honest with me. Are you afraid of her?”
“I’m afraid of losing my job, Mr. Moretti,” I admitted, my voice shaking. “My sister needs this money.”
“You are not losing your job,” Luca said firmly. “But I need to know if you saw Vanessa with anyone else today. Did anyone come to the estate to meet with her while I was out?”
I thought back to the chaos of the afternoon. The caterers, the florists, the endless stream of deliveries.
And then I remembered.
“There was a man,” I said slowly. “He didn't come through the front gates. He parked near the service entrance around two o'clock. Vanessa went out to meet him in the garden.”
Luca’s eyes sharpened. “Did you see his face?”
“No. He was wearing a dark raincoat. But he handed her a thick manila envelope. And I heard him say something about the bank transfer being complete.”
“Did he say which bank?”
“No,” I frowned, trying to remember every detail. “But as he walked away, he dropped his lighter. When he bent down to pick it up, his coat opened.”
“And?”
“He was wearing a gold tie pin,” I said. “It was shaped like a wolf’s head.”
Luca went completely still.
The color drained from his face, leaving his sharp features looking carved from stone.
“A wolf’s head,” Luca repeated, the words barely a whisper.
“Yes, sir. Is that important?”
Luca didn't answer right away. He stared at the wall, a terrifying, cold realization washing over him.
The wolf was the crest of the Romano family.
They were a violent, ruthless syndicate from New York who had been trying to get a foothold in Chicago real estate for decades. Luca’s father had fought a bloody war to keep them out.
If Vanessa was selling Moretti land to the Romanos... she was committing treason against the entire Chicago outfit.
“Sophie,” Luca said, turning back to me. His voice was suddenly all business, clipped and commanding. “Lock this door. Do not come out for the rest of the night. If anyone knocks and it isn't me, you do not answer it.”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, terrified by the sudden shift in his demeanor.
He turned and walked out, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.
May you like
I locked the deadbolt, my heart hammering against my ribs. I sat on the edge of my small bed, clutching the ice pack to my knee, praying that I hadn't just sparked a mafia war.
But down the hall, I heard the faint, heavy footsteps of men marching toward the dining room.
