Chapter 2 - THE BLOOD-RED CREST
Daniel’s words hung in the quiet of the study.
Fifty thousand dollars.
A rival’s car.
And a driver who had just sold out the head of the Moretti family twenty-four hours before his wedding.
Luca didn't shout.
He didn't throw the glass of scotch resting on his mahogany desk.
Instead, a chilling, absolute stillness settled over him.
He stared at the frozen security footage of Vanessa smiling in the wine cellar.
The woman he was supposed to marry in less than a day was orchestrating his murder.
"Boss," Daniel whispered, breaking the silence. "Do we secure the perimeter? Do I wake the men?"
"No," Luca said softly. His eyes never left the screen. "If we move now, she'll know we saw the tape. We need to know exactly who she sold me to."
"Thomas left his phone behind. We can't track him."
Luca slowly unbuttoned his suit jacket.
"We don't need to track Thomas."
He turned away from the monitors.
"We need to talk to the woman who caught them."
Down in the servant's quarters, the air was thick and suffocating.
I sat on the edge of my narrow twin bed, clutching my left shoulder.
The pain was a deep, throbbing ache that radiated down to my fingertips.
My black uniform was unbuttoned, revealing a massive, ugly purple bruise spreading across my shoulder blade.
Vanessa hadn't just shoved me.
She had slammed me backward into the sharp iron bracket of the wine rack before I hit the wooden banister.
But the physical pain was nothing compared to the terror gripping my chest.
On the small nightstand beside my bed sat a stack of my mother's hospital bills.
Thirty-two thousand dollars.
And resting on top of them was her old wooden rosary.
I picked up the beads, letting them slide through my trembling fingers.
I had failed.
Luca had sent me away from the dining room.
Vanessa would make sure I was fired by morning.
Without this paycheck, my mother's physical therapy would be canceled by Monday.
I reached for my cheap canvas duffel bag under the bed.
I needed to pack.
I needed to get out before Vanessa decided firing me wasn't enough to keep me quiet.
The floorboards in the hallway creaked.
I froze.
The servants' wing was supposed to be empty at this hour.
Mrs. Carter and the other maids were still upstairs, cleaning the dining room after the engagement dinner.
Someone stopped outside my door.
I held my breath, clutching the wooden rosary against my chest.
The brass doorknob slowly turned.
It wasn't locked. We weren't allowed to lock our doors.
The door pushed open.
Luca Moretti stood in the frame.
He had taken off his jacket and tie.
His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and the holster strapped to his ribs was clearly visible.
He looked massive in the cramped, dimly lit room.
He closed the door behind him.
"Mr. Moretti," I gasped, instinctively pulling my uniform shirt up to cover my bruised shoulder. "I'm sorry. I was just packing. I'll be gone in ten minutes—"
"Stop."
His voice wasn't loud, but it commanded the air in the room.
He looked at the cheap duffel bag.
Then he looked at the hospital bills on the nightstand.
He walked over, picked up the stack of papers, and looked at the total.
"Is this why you lied for her?" he asked quietly.
Tears burned my eyes.
"I didn't want to lie, sir. But she told me if I said a word about what I saw, she would make sure I never worked in this city again. My mother... she needs her treatments."
Luca set the bills down carefully.
"Emma."
He stepped closer.
"Show me your shoulder."
I hesitated, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Slowly, I let the fabric of the shirt slip down.
Luca's dark eyes hardened as he saw the jagged, purple contusion.
He reached out.
His fingers didn't touch the bruise.
They hovered just a fraction of an inch above my skin.
The heat from his hand sent a shiver down my spine.
"She did this to you."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes," I whispered.
"Because you walked in on her handing Thomas an envelope."
My breath hitched.
"How do you know that?"
"I have cameras in the cellar. I saw the shove." He lowered his hand and met my eyes. "But the camera angle was blocked. I couldn't see what was inside the envelope. And I couldn't see what Thomas dropped."
I stared at him, stunned.
"I saw you kneel, Emma," Luca said, his voice dangerously soft. "After she pushed you. Before you ran up the stairs. You picked something up."
My hands started shaking again.
I hadn't just fallen.
When Vanessa slammed me into the rack, Thomas had flinched.
Something had slipped from his pocket and slid across the stone floor, stopping right beneath my hand.
I had palmed it in sheer panic.
"If I give it to you," I whispered, tears finally spilling over my cheeks. "She'll kill me."
"No one is going to touch you in my house," Luca said. "I give you my word."
I looked into his eyes.
There was no deception there.
Only a cold, terrifying promise of violence directed at anyone who crossed him.
I reached into the pocket of my canvas bag.
My fingers brushed against the heavy, cold metal.
I pulled it out and handed it to him.
It was a thick, silver money clip.
But it wasn't the money that mattered.
Engraved on the front of the silver clip, filled with blood-red enamel, was a crest.
A hawk clutching a serpent.
Luca stared at the object.
All the color drained from his face.
"Where did you get this?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
"Thomas dropped it when she handed him the envelope," I said.
Luca closed his fist around the clip so hard his knuckles turned white.
"Answer one question, open two," he muttered to himself, his jaw tight.
"Sir? Whose is it?"
Luca looked at me.
"It belongs to the Falcone family."
I didn't know much about the Chicago underworld, but I knew that name.
Everyone did.
"But Mr. Moretti," I said, my voice trembling. "Vanessa's maiden name... her mother was a Falcone."
Luca's eyes locked onto mine.
May you like
"I know."
And right at that moment, the doorknob behind him slowly began to turn again.
