Chapter 2 - THE SILENCE THAT BROKE THE ROOM
The silence in the dining room was absolute.
Seventy-six-year-old Agnes Miller stood near the edge of the long mahogany table, her trembling hands clutching her small handbag.
She didn't look angry.
She just looked incredibly, profoundly tired.
And she was looking right at Vanessa.
"Luca, honey... has she ever shown you how she treats someone she doesn't need anything from?"
Vanessa Bellini's perfect, porcelain face flushed a deep, violent crimson.
She let out a sharp, breathless laugh that echoed against the crystal chandeliers.
"How dare you."
Vanessa took a step forward, her red silk gown rustling in the quiet room.
"You are a maid. A glorified cook who used to wipe counters in this house. Do not speak to me as if we are equals."
Luca didn't raise his voice.
He didn't have to.
"Vanessa. Step back."
The command was so quiet, so devoid of emotion, that the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
Vanessa froze.
She turned to her fiancé, her eyes wide with manufactured disbelief.
"Luca, you cannot be taking her side. She is deliberately trying to humiliate me in front of our friends."
"She asked a question," Luca said slowly. "And considering you just tried to banish her to the kitchen over a dropped fork, I think it's a fair one."
Vanessa’s chest heaved.
"I was trying to save her from embarrassing herself!"
"No," Luca said. "You were trying to save yourself from looking at her."
He turned away from the woman in the red dress.
He looked at Agnes.
The elderly woman’s chin was quivering, and she was shrinking back toward the doorway, clearly terrified of the scene she had just caused.
"Agnes," Luca said gently. "Please sit down."
"No, sweetheart," she whispered. "I'm going home."
Before Luca could stop her, Agnes turned and hurried toward the grand foyer.
Her steps were uneven.
I immediately followed her.
"Mrs. Miller, wait," I called out, rushing to grab her wool coat from the cloakroom.
By the time I reached the front door, Luca was already there.
He didn't look at the twenty-eight wealthy guests sitting in awkward, breathless silence in his dining room.
He was looking at the woman who had practically raised him.
"Let my driver take you," Luca said, his voice thick with an emotion I rarely saw from the ruthless head of the Moretti family.
Agnes shook her head, tears spilling down her wrinkled cheeks.
"It's just a short walk down the driveway, Luca. I need the air."
She reached out and patted his chest, right over his heart.
"I love you, my boy. Be careful."
Then she stepped out into the cold Chicago night.
Luca stood in the doorway, watching her small figure disappear down the long, lamplit driveway.
When he finally closed the heavy oak door, the click of the lock sounded like a gunshot.
He turned back toward the dining room.
Vanessa was standing in the archway, her arms crossed, trying to look imposing.
"Is the drama over?" she asked coldly.
Luca stared at her.
"The dinner is over," he said.
Vanessa blinked. "What?"
Luca walked past her, addressing the room of silent, staring guests.
"Thank you all for coming. The engagement dinner is concluded. Please see yourselves out."
A collective gasp swept through the room.
Men in tailored suits awkwardly stood up. Women in designer dresses avoided eye contact.
"Luca!" Vanessa hissed, grabbing his arm. "You cannot do this! You are humiliating me!"
He slowly looked down at her hand on his sleeve.
Then he looked into her eyes.
"You spent the entire evening humiliating a woman who means more to me than almost anyone in this room," he said quietly. "Did you really think there wouldn't be a consequence?"
Within ten minutes, the mansion was entirely empty of guests.
Only the staff remained, quietly clearing the fine china and crystal glasses.
I was at the end of the table, carefully picking up the three small pieces of chicken Agnes had dropped.
My heart was pounding.
I had never seen Luca Moretti look at someone the way he had just looked at Vanessa.
Vanessa was pacing near the fireplace, furious.
"You are overreacting," she snapped. "She is a senile old woman."
"Do not speak about her again," Luca warned, pouring himself a glass of bourbon.
"Fine!" Vanessa threw her hands up. She snatched her silver clutch purse from the mantelpiece.
As she grabbed it, the clasp caught on her diamond ring.
The purse snapped open.
Several items tumbled onto the Persian rug.
A lipstick. A compact mirror. A set of keys.
And a crumpled piece of paper.
Vanessa gasped and immediately dropped to her knees, scrambling to grab the paper before anything else.
But I was closer.
"Allow me, Miss Bellini," I said automatically, reaching down to help.
My fingers brushed the paper.
It was thick construction paper.
Crayon marks covered the surface.
Before Vanessa could snatch it away, I saw what it was.
It was a child's drawing.
A stick figure of a little boy with dark hair, locked inside a black box. Standing outside the box was a tall woman in a red dress.
Across the top, in clumsy, six-year-old handwriting, were the words: HELP ME UNCLE LUCA.
Vanessa ripped the drawing from my hand, her perfectly manicured fingernails digging into my wrist.
"Don't touch my things," she hissed, her eyes wild with a sudden, desperate panic.
She shoved the drawing into her purse and snapped it shut.
But as she stood up, she froze.
Luca was standing right behind her.
He was staring at her purse.
"What was that?" he asked.
Vanessa swallowed hard. The confidence was completely gone from her face.
"Nothing. Just an old receipt."
"You don't panic over a receipt," Luca said softly.
He held out his hand.
"Give it to me."
Vanessa took a step back, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the silver clutch.
"Luca, it's private."
May you like
He didn't move. He didn't blink.
"Give me the purse, Vanessa. Or I will take it from you."
