Chapter 10 - the BRASS KEY IN THE MAID'S HAND
The absurdity of the request hung in the dusty air of the ruined dining room for a split second before I let out a sharp, breathless laugh.
“The pie?” I asked, staring at the brass key in his extended hand, completely thrown off balance.
“It’s been a very long night, Grace,” Luca said, his smile widening slightly, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. “And I never got to finish my slice.”
I reached out and took the brass key, my fingers brushing against his warm palm. A sudden, terrifying jolt of electricity shot up my arm, making my breath hitch. I looked up, and for a terrifying moment, the impenetrable mafia boss wasn't looking at me like a maid. He was looking at me like I was the only fixed point in a crumbling room.
“Right away, sir,” I whispered, quickly turning away before the blush creeping up my neck betrayed me.
I carefully navigated the rubble and slipped into the kitchen. The room was a disaster zone of bullet holes and shattered appliances, but the massive, industrial refrigerator had somehow survived the crossfire.
I opened the heavy stainless-steel door. Sitting safely on the top shelf, carefully wrapped in foil, was Mary’s peach pie.
I pulled it out, grabbed two clean forks from a surviving drawer, and walked back into the dining room.
Arthur, the giant tow truck driver, was leaning against the grill of his truck, casually smoking a cigar while Marco directed the cleanup crews. Mary and Vanessa were sitting together on the bench seat of the truck cab, holding each other in quiet, exhausted relief.
Luca had cleared a small space on a miraculously intact section of the long mahogany table.
I set the glass baking dish down and peeled back the foil. The sweet smell of cinnamon and peaches filled the air, cutting through the heavy scent of gunpowder and dust.
I handed Luca a fork.
He took a bite of the pie, closing his eyes for a moment as the simple, homemade comfort washed over him.
“She was right,” Luca murmured, opening his eyes and looking toward the truck. “It’s the best peach pie in Illinois.”
He looked back at me, gesturing to the other fork. “Sit with me, Grace.”
I hesitated, clutching my coat tightly. “Sir, I shouldn't. It’s not appropriate.”
“The dining room is currently a parking lot for a three-ton tow truck,” Luca pointed out dryly. “I think we’re past the point of appropriate dining etiquette.”
I couldn't help but smile. I pulled out a slightly splintered chair and sat down next to him, taking a small bite of the pie. It tasted like home.
We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, eating in the ruins of his empire.
“You didn't have to stay tonight,” Luca said suddenly, his voice quiet, breaking the silence. “When Mary told you to run, you grabbed a rifle instead. Why?”
I looked down at the table, tracing the wood grain with my finger. “Because I know what it’s like to fight for the people you love when you have absolutely nothing left.”
I took a deep breath, deciding the truth was the only thing left that mattered.
“When my mother got sick,” I explained softly, “the medical bills ruined us. We lost our house. She worked the night shift at the grocery store until she physically couldn't stand up anymore. And when she died, the debt collectors came after me. I was nineteen. I took this job because it paid cash and it offered a room in the servant’s quarters. I stayed tonight because Mary reminds me of her. And because…”
I stopped, my throat tightening.
“Because why, Grace?” Luca asked, leaning closer, his dark eyes completely focused on me.
“Because this house felt safe,” I whispered, looking up at him. “You made it feel safe.”
Luca’s expression softened, a profound, undeniable tenderness washing over his features. He reached out and gently tucked a stray, dusty lock of hair behind my ear.
“I’m going to make it safe again,” Luca promised, his voice a low, steady vow. “I’m taking the family legitimate, Grace. The Commission, the violence, the wars—I’m ending it. Dominic Rossi was the last ghost of my father’s past. Tonight was the end.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. He was tearing down his entire empire, not for power, but for peace.
“What happens now?” I asked softly.
Before Luca could answer, Marco stepped up to the table, looking incredibly uncomfortable.
“Boss,” Marco interrupted, clearing his throat. “I apologize for the interruption, but there is a situation in the East Wing.”
Luca dropped his hand from my face, instantly switching back into boss mode. “What is it, Marco? Are there more of Rossi’s men?”
“No, sir,” Marco said, shaking his head. “It’s Mrs. Bellini. Mary. While you were eating, she asked to use the restroom in the East Wing. We escorted her, but when the guard checked on her five minutes later…”
Marco swallowed hard.
“She was gone, sir. She slipped out through the bathroom window.”
Luca stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “She ran? Why would she run? I just told her she was under my protection!”
“I don't think she was running from us, boss,” Marco said, holding out a small, folded piece of paper. “She left this on the bathroom counter. It’s addressed to you.”
Luca took the note, unfolding it quickly. His eyes scanned the messy, hurried handwriting.
As he read, the color completely drained from his face.
“Luca?” I asked, standing up, panic gripping my chest. “What does it say?”
Luca looked up, his eyes wide with a terrifying realization.
“Mary didn't come here tonight just to save Vanessa,” Luca whispered, staring at the note. “She came here to finish a thirty-year-old war.”
He handed the note to me.
I read it, my breath catching in my throat.
Mr. Moretti,
May you like
Thank you for protecting my daughter. But Dominic Rossi is not the man who murdered your father twenty years ago. I know, because I was there. I am going to the docks tonight to find the man who actually pulled the trigger. Do not follow me. Let me pay my final debt.
Mary.
