Chapter 2 - THE SEAT AT THE HEAD OF THE TABLE
The dining room doors opened.
Three people walked in.
Uncle Michael, wearing a suit that was at least fifteen years old.
Mrs. DeLuca, leaning heavily on her wooden cane.
And Mr. Caruso, holding a worn felt hat in his hands.
They stopped just inside the threshold.
Thirty wealthy guests turned to stare at them.
Vanessa stepped back, her face flushed with humiliation.
Luca didn’t look at the guests.
He didn’t look at his fiancée.
He walked directly to the three people who had practically raised him.
“Uncle Michael.”
Michael looked at the crystal chandeliers, then at Luca.
“We didn’t want to interrupt, Luciano. The young lady downstairs said there was a mistake with the catering count.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“Is that what she told you?”
“She said it was a fire code issue,” Mrs. DeLuca added quietly, clutching her purse. “Too many bodies in one room. We understand.”
Luca turned his head slowly.
He stared at Vanessa.
A fire code issue.
Vanessa lifted her chin, trying to maintain her poise in front of the city’s elite.
“Luca, please. Let’s sit down and discuss this later. The dinner is getting cold.”
“Let it freeze,” Luca said.
He reached out and gently took Mrs. DeLuca’s arm.
He didn’t call a waiter.
He didn’t ask me to do it.
The head of the Chicago mafia personally walked an eighty-year-old woman to the table.
“Emma,” he called out.
“Yes, sir.”
“Bring three more chairs.”
I moved immediately.
Vanessa’s voice cracked like a whip. “Emma, stop.”
I froze.
“There is no room at the head of the table,” Vanessa said, her voice trembling with barely controlled rage. “The seating chart is perfectly balanced. If they sit there, someone else has to move.”
Luca pulled his own chair out.
The heavy, carved mahogany chair at the very head of the table.
“You’re right,” he said.
He looked at Uncle Michael.
“Sit here.”
The entire room gasped.
In Luca’s world, the head of the table wasn’t just a seat. It was power. It was absolute authority.
Michael shook his head rapidly. “No, no, boy. I can’t sit there.”
“You taught me how to tie my shoes when my father was in prison,” Luca said softly. “You sit wherever you want in my house.”
He forced Michael into the boss’s chair.
Then he looked at Vanessa.
“Now there’s room.”
Vanessa’s face went completely pale.
She realized what was happening. He wasn’t just embarrassing her. He was dismantling her authority in front of his crew and his bankers.
I set the extra chairs down.
Luca seated Mrs. DeLuca. Then Mr. Caruso.
He remained standing behind them.
“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered. “Where will you sit?”
He didn’t answer me.
Instead, he looked down at Mr. Caruso’s hands.
Mr. Caruso was holding something besides his hat.
A small, velvet box.
“What is that, Antonio?” Luca asked.
Mr. Caruso looked nervous. He glanced at Vanessa, then back at Luca.
“It’s... well, it was supposed to be a private gift. For tonight. But your fiancée told me downstairs that she wouldn’t accept it.”
Luca’s eyes darkened. “She said what?”
Vanessa stepped forward, her voice rising. “Luca, it’s a rusty old pocket watch! It doesn’t even work. I told him we would put it in storage. It doesn’t belong at a formal engagement!”
Mr. Caruso opened the box with trembling fingers.
Inside was a tarnished silver watch.
But it wasn’t just any watch.
I saw Teresa Romano cover her mouth with her hand.
“Elena’s,” Teresa whispered.
Luca went perfectly still.
“My mother’s watch,” he said.
Mr. Caruso nodded, his eyes filling with tears. “She gave it to me to fix three days before she died. I kept it safe all these years. I wanted to give it to the woman who would become your wife.”
Luca reached into the box.
He picked up the watch.
He ran his thumb over the engraved back.
Then he looked at Vanessa.
“You told him to put my mother’s watch in storage.”
Vanessa crossed her arms. “I didn’t know whose it was! He didn’t explain!”
“She didn’t let me,” Mr. Caruso said quietly.
But before Luca could speak, Uncle Michael shifted in the big chair.
His shoe kicked something under the table.
“What’s this?” Michael asked.
He reached down and picked up a crumpled piece of paper.
He flattened it out on the pristine white tablecloth.
It was a drawing.
Crayon on construction paper.
A drawing of a house, a big man, and a little boy.
Vanessa saw it.
For the first time all night, she didn’t just look angry.
She looked terrified.
Luca stared at the paper.
“Where did you find this?” he demanded.
Michael pointed under Vanessa’s chair. “It was on the floor right there.”
Luca picked it up.
His hands began to shake.
“This is Leo’s.”
I stopped breathing.
Leo. Luca’s seven-year-old nephew. The boy he had raised since his brother was killed.
“Vanessa,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly quiet register. “Why is Leo’s drawing here? I thought you put him on the plane to the Swiss boarding school yesterday.”
Vanessa swallowed hard. “I... I did.”
Luca flipped the drawing over.
On the back, written in sloppy seven-year-old handwriting, was a date.
Today’s date.
And underneath it:
Emma gave me the blue crayon.
The entire table went dead silent.
Luca slowly turned his head and locked eyes with me.
“Emma.”
May you like
My heart pounded against my ribs.
“Where is my nephew?”
