Chapter 3 - THE CHARM OF A BROKEN SWALLOW
The static of the tape player hissed through the grand dining room.
Nobody breathed. Nobody spoke.
Vanessa’s eyes darted from the vintage Dictaphone on the table to my wrist, her expression twisting from annoyance to pure, unfiltered shock.
Luca stood up slowly.
He didn't look at his guests. He didn't look at his fiancée. He walked around the long mahogany table, his heavy footsteps echoing against the marble floor, until he stood directly in front of me.
I was trembling. I tried to pull my sleeve down, to hide the cheap silver bracelet I had worn every single day since I was a child, but my fingers wouldn't cooperate.
"Mr. Moretti," I whispered, my voice shaking. "I'm sorry. I'll get back to the kitchen—"
"Don't move."
His voice wasn't harsh. It was terrifyingly gentle.
He reached out. His large, warm hand gently wrapped around my wrist. He pulled my arm forward into the light of the chandelier.
He stared at the tarnished silver swallow. One of its wings was snapped off. It was exactly as his mother had described.
"You," Luca breathed, looking at my face as if seeing me for the very first time. "You've been working in my house for fifteen months."
"I just clean the rooms, sir," I stammered, my heart racing. "I didn't know who she was. I swear to you, I didn't know Mrs. Moretti was your mother when I helped her at the hospital. I was just a kid."
Vanessa suddenly marched over, her silk gown rustling aggressively.
"This is a scam!" Vanessa snapped, pointing a manicured finger at me. "She must have found out about the recording! She probably bought that cheap piece of junk at a pawn shop to worm her way into this family's money!"
Margaret stood up from her chair. "Megan didn't know about the tape, Vanessa. Nobody did. I kept it locked in a safe deposit box for ten years."
"Then she snooped through Catherine’s belongings!" Vanessa fired back.
Luca didn't let go of my wrist. He turned his head slowly to look at his fiancée.
"My mother's belongings have been sealed since she died," Luca said, his voice dropping an octave. "And Megan was hired by the agency. Not by me."
He let go of my wrist and turned back to the table. He picked up the yellowing piece of drawing paper Margaret had placed there. The charcoal sketch of the crescent moon.
He walked back to me and held it up.
"Did you draw this?" he asked.
I looked at the smudged charcoal. "Yes. I drew it in the waiting room. My mother was having a biopsy that day. Drawing kept my hands from shaking."
Luca stared at the paper. Then, he flipped it over.
On the back, written in blue ink, was a signature. Just a messy, loopy letter 'M' with a star dotting the top.
"I know this handwriting," Luca said softly.
He looked at me. "Every morning, I find a sticky note on my desk telling me which files you organized and which coffee roast you brewed. The signature is exactly the same."
My cheeks burned. "I just want to do a good job, sir."
Vanessa let out a bitter, mocking laugh. "Oh, how touching. The billionaire and the little maid who saved his mommy. What is this, a soap opera? Luca, she is the help. You are the head of the Moretti syndicate. We are getting married in four days!"
Luca finally turned to face Vanessa fully.
"Why are you so terrified of a sixteen-year-old girl's drawing, Vanessa?"
"I am not terrified!" she yelled. "I am insulted! You are humiliating my family in front of half of Chicago's elite!"
"The only person humiliating you is yourself," Luca replied coldly.
He walked back to the table and pressed the button on the tape player.
“Luca,” Catherine’s voice resumed, sounding weaker now. “I don't know who this girl is. But she possessed a kindness I haven't seen in our world for a very long time. I know your father expects you to marry into a powerful family to secure the business. I know the Bellinis are circling.”
Vanessa flinched.
“But if you ever find a woman with a heart like the girl in the hospital,” Catherine whispered, “marry her. Do not marry for power, Luca. Marry for peace. The Bellini family will only bring you war.”
The tape clicked off.
The silence in the dining room was deafening.
Vanessa’s face was completely drained of blood. Her family—the Bellinis—were seated at the far end of the table. Her father, Don Bellini, a man known for crushing his rivals, slowly stood up.
"You disrespect my daughter in this house, Luca?" Don Bellini growled, his thick accent filling the room.
Luca didn't blink. "I am listening to my mother's dying wish, Carlo."
"Your mother was a weak woman who didn't understand our business," Bellini sneered.
Before Luca could react, Margaret stepped directly in front of the mafia boss.
"Don't you ever speak of Catherine that way," Margaret said, her voice shaking with rage.
Bellini looked down at the sixty-four-year-old woman and scoffed. "Get out of my way, you old hag. You're nothing but a glorified servant who overstayed her welcome."
He raised his hand as if to shove Margaret aside.
I didn't think. I just moved.
I lunged forward, stepping between the massive mafia don and the elderly woman, throwing my arms out to shield her.
"Don't touch her!" I yelled.
Bellini glared at me, his eyes dark with malice. "You've got a lot of nerve for a maid, girl. You think because of some old tape, you're protected?"
He grabbed my shoulder, his grip like a vice, his thick fingers digging painfully into my collarbone.
A heavy, terrifying sound echoed through the room.
It was the sound of a gun being cocked.
I gasped and turned my head.
May you like
Luca Moretti was standing three feet away, his tailored suit jacket pushed back, a black steel pistol aimed directly at the center of Don Bellini's forehead.
"Take your hand off her," Luca whispered. "Before I take your arm."
