Chapter 2 - THE FROZEN KITCHEN
Silence dropped over the marble kitchen like a falling guillotine.
Vanessa’s fingers tightened on the edge of the quartz counter.
Her manicured nails clicked against the stone.
“It’s a routine transaction, Luca,” Vanessa forced a tight, thin smile.
Her voice carried a tremor she tried desperately to conceal.
“Business acquisitions are complicated. My father’s legal team handles these commercial shifts daily.”
Luca didn’t blink.
His dark eyes remained fixed on the document in his hands.
“Maria Moretti died on October twelfth,” Luca said softly.
His voice lacked all inflection.
It was the quiet before a Category 5 hurricane.
“The signature on this deed transfer is dated November third.”
Anthony shifted his weight uncomfortably near the pantry door.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I stood frozen beside the stainless-steel prep table.
Vanessa laughed, a high, brittle sound that rang hollow in the vast room.
“Dates get clerical errors all the time, darling. Everyone knows real estate paperwork is a bureaucratic nightmare.”
Luca slowly folded the paper.
He slipped it into the breast pocket of his tailored charcoal suit jacket.
“Clerical errors do not backdate corporate seals by three weeks, Vanessa.”
He turned his gaze from her to the old gardener.
“Anthony, thank you for bringing this to my house.”
“I had to, son,” Anthony murmured, his voice cracking with emotion.
“Maria built that soup kitchen with her own hands. She fed my neighbors when the steel mills shut down.”
Luca nodded once.
“Go home to your wife. Your medical expenses are fully covered from tonight onward. My accountant will wire the balance before midnight.”
Anthony’s eyes watered.
He gripped the paper bag containing the two dinner rolls like a lifeline.
“God bless you, Luca. And God bless you, young lady.”
He shuffled out toward the servants' exit, his faded coat swallowing his bent frame.
The heavy wooden door clicked shut.
Only three of us remained in the brilliant kitchen light.
Vanessa crossed her arms over her sequined designer gown.
“Are you really going to humiliate me in front of domestic staff over an old man and a rundown soup kitchen?”
Luca walked past her without a word.
He stopped right in front of me.
His towering frame cast a shadow over my trembling form.
“Emma,” he said, his voice lowering to a gravelly baritone.
“Sir?” I whispered, bracing for my formal termination.
“You are not fired.”
My breath caught in my throat.
“You stay right here. Finish packing Anthony’s fresh meal, and ensure our thirty-eight guests upstairs are served without delay.”
Before I could answer, Luca spun toward his fiancée.
“Vanessa. My study. Now.”
Vanessa’s face lost every trace of color.
She threw one venomous glare in my direction before following him down the long corridor.
I stood alone in the silence.
My hands shook as I scooped fresh roasted duck and honeyed carrots into a thermal container.
What was hidden inside that envelope?
Why did Maria Moretti’s signature appear three weeks after her death?
And how deep did the Bellini family’s betrayal go into the heart of the Moretti empire?
I didn't know it yet.
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But stepping into that kitchen had just pulled me straight into a war zone.
And the first casualty was about to bleed.
