Chapter 3 - SHADOWS BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
The heavy oak doors of Luca’s private study muffled the shouting.
Even through thick mahogany, Vanessa’s piercing voice echoed down the hall.
“You are throwing away a billion-dollar merger over sentimentality!”
I wiped down the counters, my ears straining against my better judgment.
Luca’s reply was a low, terrifying murmur.
I couldn't make out the words.
Only the chilling, controlled cadence of a man whose loyalty had just been weaponized against him.
Thirty minutes passed.
The shouting stopped abruptly.
The silence that followed felt far more dangerous than the screams.
Heavy footsteps approached the kitchen.
I kept my eyes glued to the white porcelain sink, scrubbing a spotless pan.
Luca appeared in the doorway.
His tie was loosened, collar button undone.
His expression was carved from granite.
“Emma,” he called out.
I turned immediately.
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Leave the catering staff to finish the evening service.”
He stepped further into the room.
“Take your coat. My driver will take you home.”
“Sir, my shift doesn't end for another two hours—”
“That wasn't a request, Emma.”
His gaze locked onto mine, brooking zero argument.
“Given what you witnessed tonight, your safety in this estate is no longer guaranteed.”
A cold shiver raced down my spine.
“My safety?”
“Vanessa left,” he said flatly.
“She took her things and drove off ten minutes ago swearing vengeance.”
My stomach dropped into my shoes.
A Bellini didn't just walk away from a Moretti alliance.
They declared war.
“I can take the subway, Mr. Moretti. I don't need a driver.”
“You live on Racine Street, correct? Number four-eighty-two?”
I froze.
“How do you know where I live?”
“I know everything that happens inside my perimeter, Emma,” he said quietly.
“And right now, you possess knowledge that dangerous men would kill to acquire.”
He pulled a sleek black keycard from his pocket and laid it on the stainless-steel table.
“Take this. It opens the penthouse suite above the garage.”
I stared at the plastic card like it was a live grenade.
“I can't stay here, sir. I have my mother's apartment—”
“Your mother’s apartment was broken into forty-eight hours ago,” Luca interrupted.
My breath caught.
The room spun.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing was stolen,” Luca continued, stepping closer.
“The intruders were looking for Anthony’s file. They knew Maria Moretti left a duplicate deed.”
Tears hot and fast spilled over my lashes.
My mother lived alone.
She was fragile, recovering from major surgery.
“Who... who did it?” I choked out.
“Men wearing Bellini signet rings,” Luca whispered.
The floor seemed to drop beneath my feet.
Vanessa wasn't just a spoiled socialite fiancée.
She was an operative in a hostile corporate takeover backed by muscle.
Luca reached out, his warm thumb gently wiping a tear from my cheek.
The touch was electric, completely unexpected from a Chicago mafia kingpin.
“Stay in the estate tonight, Emma,” he commanded softly, his face inches from mine.
May you like
“Trust me.”
Before I could answer, a deafening explosion shattered the night air from the front gates.
