Chapter 2 - The Torn Toast
The restaurant was dead silent.
Thirty influential guests, men who commanded respect and fear in Chicago, sat perfectly still, watching the scene unfold.
Luca Moretti remained kneeling beside his ten-year-old son, his large hands resting gently on Noah's trembling shoulders. He looked up at Vanessa. The warmth he usually reserved for his fiancée had vanished, replaced by an icy, terrifying void.
"I asked you a question, Vanessa," Luca said softly, his voice echoing in the quiet room. "Did you tell my son he was no longer welcome in my home on Saturdays?"
Vanessa’s perfectly manicured hands gripped the edge of the dining table. The blush of embarrassment crept up her neck, coloring her cheeks beneath her expensive makeup. She looked around at the guests, trying to find a sympathetic face.
She found none.
"Luca, darling," Vanessa started, her voice pitched slightly higher than usual. "You're taking this out of context. The boy is confused. I was simply trying to explain that when we get married, we’ll have our own schedule. Our own lives. He’s going to be starting middle school soon; he’ll have sports and friends."
"He’s ten," Luca corrected sharply. "His schedule is my schedule."
Vanessa’s smile tightened into a grimace. "Well, perhaps if his mother wasn't always dumping him on us every weekend, you and I could actually have some time to ourselves. She uses him to keep tabs on you."
Luca stood up slowly.
He didn't yell. He didn't raise a hand. But the subtle shift in his posture—the straightening of his spine, the slight narrowing of his dark eyes—was enough to make Marco, his lead security detail standing by the door, instinctively step forward.
"You think Elena uses my son to manipulate me?" Luca asked, his voice dangerously calm.
"Everyone knows she does!" Vanessa snapped, her frustration finally bubbling over. "She hates that you're moving on. She hates that I'm going to be your wife. I just wanted one weekend, Luca! One weekend where we didn't have to plan our lives around burnt pancakes and stuttered conversations!"
A collective gasp rippled through the dining room.
I clamped a hand over my mouth, horrified.
Noah flinched, shrinking back against his father's leg.
Luca stared at the woman he was supposed to marry in two months. He looked at the three-carat diamond ring glittering on her left hand.
"You think his stutter is an inconvenience," Luca stated. It wasn't a question.
"I think he needs speech therapy, not a captive audience at an engagement party," Vanessa fired back, emboldened by her own anger. "I am trying to prepare him for the real world, Luca. People aren't going to coddle him like you do."
Luca reached down and gently placed a hand on the back of Noah's head, stroking his hair.
"Rachel," Luca said without looking at me.
I jumped slightly. "Yes, sir?"
"Take Noah to the kitchen. Get him some ice cream."
"Yes, sir." I stepped forward, offering my hand to the little boy. "Come on, Noah. Let's go see what flavors they have."
Noah looked up at his father, his big brown eyes filled with worry. "Dad?"
"I'll be right there, buddy," Luca promised, offering a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Go with Rachel."
Noah took my hand, and we walked quickly toward the swinging doors of the restaurant kitchen. As the doors closed behind us, cutting off the view of the dining room, I heard Luca’s voice ring out, loud and absolute.
"The engagement is over, Vanessa."
I stopped walking, pulling Noah gently behind a stainless-steel prep counter. I couldn't help but peek back through the small, circular window in the swinging door.
Vanessa was standing frozen, her mouth open in shock. "Luca... you can't be serious."
"Take the ring off," Luca commanded.
"You're breaking our engagement over a misunderstanding?" Vanessa shrieked, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "My father is investing ten million dollars into your new hotel project! If you call this off, you lose the Bellini backing!"
"I don't need your father's money," Luca said coldly. "And I don't need a wife who views my son as a burden. Take. It. Off."
Vanessa glared at him, tears of humiliation welling in her eyes. With a furious, jagged movement, she ripped the diamond ring from her finger and slammed it onto the pristine white tablecloth.
"You'll regret this," she spat, grabbing her designer clutch.
"Marco," Luca said to his security guard. "Show Miss Bellini to the door. Her family’s drivers are waiting."
Marco stepped forward, gesturing toward the exit. "This way, Vanessa."
She stormed out of the restaurant, the heavy mahogany doors slamming shut behind her.
The silence that followed was heavy, uncomfortable. The thirty guests, a mix of syndicate bosses and legitimate business partners, shifted awkwardly in their seats.
Luca picked up his champagne glass, looking around the table.
"I apologize for the interruption, gentlemen," Luca said smoothly, as if he hadn't just blown up a massive alliance. "Please, enjoy the rest of your meal. The chef has prepared a special dessert."
He set his glass down, turned his back on the room, and walked straight toward the kitchen doors.
I quickly pulled Noah away from the window, grabbing two bowls and a carton of vanilla bean ice cream from the freezer.
Luca pushed through the doors. He looked exhausted. He loosened his silk tie and unbuttoned his collar, the mafia boss facade melting away to reveal a tired, deeply devoted father.
"Ice cream?" Luca asked, forcing a smile for his son.
Noah nodded, sitting on a metal stool. "Vanilla."
Luca grabbed a spoon and sat next to him. "You know what, buddy? Vanilla is exactly what we need right now."
I scooped the ice cream, setting the bowls in front of them. "Can I get you anything else, sir?"
"No, Rachel. Thank you," Luca said quietly. He looked at me, a profound gratitude in his dark eyes. "Thank you for helping him practice. And thank you for standing up for him out there."
"He worked really hard, Mr. Moretti," I said honestly.
Luca nodded, turning his attention to Noah. They ate in silence for a few minutes.
Then, Luca reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.
"Noah," Luca said gently. "We need to call your mom."
Noah looked up, his spoon pausing halfway to his mouth. "Why?"
"Because you told her you didn't want to see me anymore," Luca said, his voice thick with emotion. "And I need to tell her that's not true. I need her to know that my weekends belong to you."
Noah looked down at his ice cream, tears pooling in his eyes again. "She cried, Dad. When I told her, she cried really hard."
Luca’s jaw tightened. "I know, buddy. Let's fix it."
He dialed a number on his phone, put it on speaker, and set it on the stainless-steel counter.
It rang three times.
"Hello?"
The voice on the other end was frantic, out of breath, and unmistakably terrified.
"Elena?" Luca asked, his brow furrowing. "It's Luca. Is everything alright?"
"Luca!" Elena gasped, the sound of breaking glass echoing in the background. "Luca, thank God! You have to come! They're in the house!"
Luca shot to his feet, knocking his stool over. "Who is in the house, Elena? Where are you?"
"I don't know!" she screamed, her voice muffled as if she were hiding in a closet. "Three men! They broke through the back door. They... they asked where Noah was!"
My heart stopped.
Luca’s blood ran cold.
"I'm coming," Luca roared, pulling his gun from his shoulder holster. "Lock yourself in the safe room, Elena! Do not come out!"
"Luca, please hurry!" she sobbed.
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Then, a loud, violent CRASH echoed through the phone speaker. A man’s rough voice yelled something unintelligible, followed by Elena's piercing scream.
The line went dead.
