Chapter 2 - THE SILVER SPOON
Arthur's voice was hoarse from disuse, a gravelly sound that seemed to scrape against the silence of the dining room.
“He didn't just… promise…” Arthur continued, each word a visible effort. “He… made me watch.”
Michael’s chair scraped violently against the marble floor.
“Dad’s confused!” Michael shouted, holding his hands up defensively. “He’s been having these episodes for months! The doctors warned us about the hallucinations!”
Luca didn't look at his brother.
His eyes were fixed entirely on his father. The father he had been told was a vegetable. The father he had been told would never recognize him again.
“Watch what, Dad?” Luca asked, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm register.
Vanessa stepped forward, her silk dress rustling. “Luca, please. This is an engagement dinner. The stress is too much for his heart. We need to get him back upstairs.”
She reached for the handles of Arthur’s wheelchair.
Before she could touch them, Luca’s hand shot out. He grabbed Vanessa’s wrist. He didn't squeeze hard enough to break it, but the sudden, rigid force made her gasp and stumble backward.
“Don't touch him,” Luca said softly.
He released her and knelt back down beside the wheelchair.
“Dad. Look at me.”
Arthur looked at his youngest son. Tears were pooling in the old man’s cloudy eyes.
“The night… she died,” Arthur forced out, his breathing labored. “Your mother… didn't have… a heart attack.”
A collective gasp rippled through the forty guests.
Luca’s mother, Rosa Moretti, had died suddenly five years ago. The coroner’s report had listed cardiac arrest. It was the tragedy that had fractured the family, sending Luca away for three years to run the East Coast operations while Michael stayed in Chicago.
“Michael said she collapsed in the garden,” Luca whispered, the color draining from his face.
Arthur shook his head. His trembling hand lifted the small silver spoon he had been holding all evening.
“She… was in… the kitchen,” Arthur breathed.
He looked at the spoon.
“She was… making… your tea.”
Arthur closed his eyes, the memory clearly agonizing him.
“I… heard… the glass break.”
I stood frozen, still holding the linen napkin I had draped over Arthur’s lap. The baby kicked hard against my ribs, a sharp reminder of my own vulnerability in a room full of powerful, dangerous people. But I couldn't move. I had spent six months helping this old man find his voice, and now, I was watching him tear down the very foundation of the Moretti empire.
“I came downstairs,” Arthur continued, his voice growing slightly stronger, fueled by years of suppressed grief. “Michael… was there. He was… holding… the teacup.”
Luca slowly turned his head.
He looked at Michael.
“You told me you weren't home that night,” Luca said. “You told me you were at the warehouse.”
Michael was sweating now. The confident heir apparent was unraveling in front of thirty-six witnesses.
“He’s losing his mind, Luca! Mom had a bad heart! Everyone knew that! She took medication for it!”
“Exactly,” Arthur whispered.
Arthur looked at me. He squeezed my hand, a silent plea for strength. I squeezed back.
“The tea…” Arthur said, looking back at Luca. “Michael… put her pills… in the tea.”
The dining room went completely silent.
“All of them,” Arthur finished.
Luca stood up.
He didn't yell. He didn't lunge at his brother. He just stood there, looking at the man he had trusted with the family business. The man who had comforted him at their mother’s funeral.
“You overdosed her,” Luca stated. It wasn't a question.
“No!” Michael yelled, backing away toward the heavy dining room doors. “This is insane! He’s senile! You’re going to believe a crazy old man over your own brother?”
“Why would he lie?” Luca asked quietly.
“Because he’s always favored you!” Michael spat, his panic turning into venom. “He wanted you to run the family! He always hated me!”
“And what about the stairs?” Luca asked.
Michael froze.
“The staircase accident,” Luca continued, taking a slow step toward his brother. “The one that supposedly left him brain-damaged. You were the one who found him at the bottom, Michael. You and Vanessa.”
Vanessa shrank back against the wall, her perfect engagement facade completely shattered.
“It was an accident,” she whispered.
“Was it?” Luca asked.
Arthur’s hand trembled as he raised it again.
“He… pushed me,” Arthur said.
Michael looked around the room, realizing there was no way out. The guests were staring at him in horror. The loyal captains who sat at the edges of the room were already standing up, their hands subtly moving toward their suit jackets.
Michael made a desperate move.
He grabbed a heavy steak knife from the table and lunged—not at Luca, but at me.
Before I could even scream, Michael had his arm around my neck, the cold steel of the knife pressed against my swollen belly.
“Nobody moves!” Michael screamed, dragging me backward toward the doors.
I gasped, my hands instinctively flying to protect my unborn child.
“Michael, let her go,” Luca commanded, his voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly calm.
“She’s the reason he’s talking!” Michael yelled, his breath hot against my ear. “This pregnant little rat! I’ll gut her right here, Luca! I’ll do it!”
But Arthur wasn't done.
From his wheelchair, the old man reached into the pocket of his gray cardigan.
He didn't pull out a weapon.
He pulled out a crumpled, yellowed piece of paper.
“The will,” Arthur gasped, holding it up.
Michael saw the paper. He froze, the knife hesitating against my stomach.
“Show them… Luca,” Arthur whispered.
Luca walked over and took the paper from his father’s trembling hand.
He unfolded it.
He read it in silence.
When Luca finally looked up, his eyes were black with a rage that had been brewing for five years.
“You didn't kill Mom over the business, Michael,” Luca whispered.
May you like
He held up the will.
“You killed her because she found out you weren't my father’s son.”
