Chapter 8 - THE TARGET WAS NEVER THE BOSS
The gold necklace slipped from Luca’s fingers, landing silently on the plush rug.
I stared down at the photograph of myself. The image was grainy, taken from across the street in the rain. I was carrying groceries into my apartment building. I looked so ordinary. So insignificant.
Kill the maid.
My stomach violently turned. I gripped the armrest of the rocking chair, suddenly feeling very dizzy.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Why would anyone want to kill me? I’m nobody. I just clean the house and serve the food.”
Luca didn’t answer right away. He crouched down, picked up the photograph, and turned it over to study the red handwriting. The muscle in his jaw was jumping.
“They weren’t trying to take over the family tonight,” Frank said, pacing the room. “Taking Leo, setting up the mother… it was all smoke. A massive, loud distraction so no one would notice the real objective.”
“Which was eliminating Emma,” Luca finished, his eyes locked on me.
“But why?!” I cried, my panic finally breaking through. “I haven’t done anything to the Bellinis!”
“It wasn’t the Bellinis,” Luca said softly.
He stood up and walked toward the window, looking out into the dark, rainy grounds of the estate.
“Adrian owed money to New York,” Luca murmured, piecing it together aloud. “He used Marco’s watch as collateral. But New York doesn’t want territory in Chicago. They want a pipeline. A clean, untraceable way to move money through the city’s hotel banquets and union dinners.”
I felt a cold chill wash over my skin.
“The Grand Palmer,” I whispered.
Luca turned around to look at me. “Exactly. You worked banquets at the Grand Palmer for three years, Emma. Before you came to work for me, what did you see?”
My mind raced backward, tearing through eleven months of memories. The endless weddings, the retirement parties, the union meetings. The late nights clearing plates in empty ballrooms.
“Nothing,” I stammered. “Just politicians and union bosses getting drunk. It was normal.”
“Think harder,” Frank pressed, stepping closer. “Banquet workers are invisible. People talk in front of you because they think you aren’t listening. What did you hear? What did you see?”
Then, it hit me.
A memory I had buried because it seemed so trivial at the time.
“Table 12,” I breathed.
“What about it?” Luca asked.
“Seven months ago. The Longshoreman’s Union annual gala.” I closed my eyes, the memory rushing back in vivid detail. “I was clearing a tray of champagne glasses from Table 12. There were two men sitting there. Not union guys. They wore suits that cost more than my car. One of them handed the other a thick, leather-bound book. Like a ledger.”
Luca and Frank exchanged a sharp look.
“And?” Luca prompted.
“The man dropped it,” I continued, my heart hammering against my ribs. “It fell under the table. I crawled under to get it for him. When I picked it up, some pages fell out. It wasn’t a union roster. It was a list of shipping containers. Dates. Port authorities. And millions of dollars tied to offshore accounts.”
“Did they see you looking at it?” Frank asked sharply.
“Yes,” I swallowed hard. “The older man snatched it from my hands. He looked furious. He asked for my name. I told him it was Emma.”
“Did he have a name?” Luca asked. “Did you hear anyone call him anything?”
I nodded slowly. “The other man called him Donato.”
Frank cursed loudly, dragging a hand down his face. “Donato Vieri. The head of the New York commission.”
“You held Donato Vieri’s entire laundering operation in your hands,” Luca said, awe mixing with horror in his voice. “You saw the container numbers. You could tie him to a federal RICO case.”
“But I never told anyone!” I pleaded. “I didn’t even know what it was! I quit a month later and came to work here.”
“You came to work for me,” Luca corrected gently. “To New York, that doesn’t look like a coincidence. It looks like you stole their ledger secrets and brought them to a rival mafia boss in Chicago to seek protection.”
It all made sense now.
New York thought I was a spy. They thought I was feeding Luca information to tear down their port operations.
They had leaned on Adrian Bellini’s gambling debts to force him to do their dirty work. The engagement dinner, the seating chart, the kidnapping of Leo—it was all a chaotic smokescreen to justify a bloodbath in the mansion tonight, where a “stray bullet” would conveniently take the life of the maid.
“They’re going to kill me,” I whispered, tears finally spilling down my cheeks. “I’m just a maid, and I’m going to die.”
“No, you’re not,” Luca said.
He walked across the room, picked up the gold swallow necklace from the floor, and gently fastened it around my neck. The metal was cold against my skin, but his hands were warm.
“I told you,” Luca said, his voice a low, unbreakable vow. “This necklace is for the women who protect this family. And this family protects its own.”
He turned to Frank.
“Call Anthony, Peter, and Michael back into the dining room,” Luca ordered. “Tell them to lock the gates, arm every man on the payroll, and prepare the cars. We aren’t waiting for New York to send another hit squad.”
Frank grinned, a terrifying, predatory smile. “What’s the play, Boss?”
Luca looked down at the photograph of me, crushed it in his fist, and threw it into the fireplace.
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“We’re going to the Grand Palmer,” Luca said coldly. “We’re going to find Donato Vieri. And Emma is going to show us exactly which service elevator to throw him down.”
TITLE: THE BANQUET WORKER’S REVENGE
