THE MAFIA BOSS HEARD VANESSA CLAIM THE MIRROR WAS FOR PHOTOGRAPHS EVEN THOUGH LUCA HAD NEVER REQUESTED IT

The silence inside the dining hall was heavier than the mirror had been.

Luca pulled out the heavy armchair opposite Vanessa and sat down.

He didn't slouch.

He sat upright, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the black serpent tattoo coiling around his right wrist.

He placed the small transmitter on the polished mahogany between them.

It sat there like a venomous spider.

“Gianni,” Luca called without turning his head.

“Yes, Boss?”

“Call Dr. Evans. Have him wait in the east wing library. Bring antiseptics, suture kits, and burn cream.”

“Right away, Boss.”

Gianni bowed slightly and disappeared down the arched hallway.

Vanessa wiped her cheeks with a linen napkin, trying desperately to regain her composure.

She adjusted her diamond necklace.

She tried to sit tall.

“Luca, you are humiliating me in front of the help. Do you have any idea how this looks? We are getting married in six weeks! The entire Chicago commission expects this union!”

Luca reached into his pocket.

He pulled out a silver lighter.

He flicked it open.

The blue flame danced between his fingers.

He held the transmitter over the flame for three seconds, testing its shell.

Then he blew out the fire.

“The Bellini family has four shipping docks on the south side,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Three of them are facing federal grand jury indictments this month. Your father called me six times yesterday asking for an emergency loan of twelve million dollars.”

Vanessa swallowed hard.

Her eyes darted toward the exit.

Marco stepped forward, blocking the arched doorway, his massive frame folding his arms.

“I told your father I would consider it,” Luca continued. “Because I believed the Bellini family understood what an alliance meant.”

He looked up from the table.

His gaze pinned Vanessa like an insect on a needle.

“Did your father give you this bug, or was it Antonio Romano?”

At the name Romano, Vanessa flinched violently.

Romano was Luca’s deadliest rival.

A ruthless cartel broker who had been trying to seize the Lake Michigan distribution lanes for five years.

“I don’t know Antonio Romano!” Vanessa cried out. “Luca, how could you even say that name to me? You know my family hates the Romanos!”

“Then explain this,” Luca said.

He tapped the table.

“Claire. Tell me what happened at four o'clock today.”

I swallowed dryly.

My throat felt like sandpaper.

The warmth of Luca’s coat was the only thing keeping my body from shaking apart.

I kept my eyes on the white linen tablecloth.

“I was dusting the second-floor gallery,” I whispered.

“Speak up,” Luca said gently. “No one in this room will touch you.”

I took a deep breath.

“I was dusting the second-floor gallery. Mrs. Bellini came up with two men wearing maintenance overalls. But they weren't our regular estate maintenance crew. They had toolboxes from a telecommunications company based in Cicero.”

Vanessa slammed her palm on the table.

“She’s lying! She’s an envious little peasant who wants to ruin my reputation!”

“Let her finish,” Luca growled.

The temperature in the room plummeted another ten degrees.

Vanessa pulled her hand back as if the table had burned her.

“I saw them unscrew the back backing of the antique mirror,” I said, looking directly at Luca now. “One of the men had a soldering iron. When they left, Mrs. Bellini stayed behind. She was on the phone. She said... she said into the phone: ‘The dinner table is wired. You will hear every word about the port shipments tonight.’”

Vanessa’s face went from pale to ghostly gray.

“You little bitch,” Vanessa hissed under her breath.

“Go on, Claire,” Luca urged.

“I waited until she went into the dressing room,” I continued. “I took a small kitchen knife from the dumbwaiter. I wanted to pry the box loose before you came home from the docks. I knew... I knew if someone was listening, your men could get ambushed.”

Luca’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second.

A subtle, almost invisible shift in his iron gaze.

“And then?”

“Mrs. Bellini came back out,” I whispered, touching my split lip with a trembling finger. “She caught me behind the mirror. She grabbed the frame and pushed it down onto me. She... she took the paring knife from my hand.”

The room seemed to suck in all available oxygen.

Luca stood up slowly.

His height made the ornate chandelier above him look fragile.

“She took the knife?” Luca asked.

“She held my arms down against the back of the frame,” I said. “She dragged the edge across my skin. She told me if I said a single word about the bug, she would tell you I stole her grandmother’s ruby ring. She said you would feed me to the river.”

Luca stared at Vanessa.

His jaw clenched until the muscles along his cheekbones stood out like cords.

Vanessa jumped out of her chair.

“She’s making it up! Look at her! She probably cut herself on broken glass to set me up! Luca, look at me! I am a Bellini! Why would I need to wiretap my own husband’s house?”

“Because your father didn’t send you,” Luca said.

He picked up his phone from the table.

He dialed a number on speakerphone.

The ringing echoed through the high-vaulted ceiling.

One ring.

Two rings.

A voice answered.

Raspy.

Elderly.

Nervous.

“Luca? Luca, my boy, did you review the paperwork for the docks?”

It was Don Salvatore Bellini.

Vanessa’s father.

“Salvatore,” Luca spoke directly into the mic. “Your daughter is standing in my dining room.”

“Ah, Vanessa! Good, good. She’s helping with the gala arrangements, yes?”

“Salvatore, did you ask Vanessa to place an audio transmitter behind the 18th-century Florentine mirror in my dining room?”

Complete silence on the line.

Ten seconds.

Fifteen seconds.

Then Salvatore’s voice broke into panicked stuttering:

“What... what are you talking about? Luca, on my honor, I know nothing of this! What transmitter? What has she done?”

“Did you authorize her to meet with Antonio Romano’s intermediaries in Cicero?” Luca asked coldly.

“Romano?! Luca, God forbid! Romano wants to slaughter us both! If Vanessa went near Romano, she is out of her mind! Luca, listen to me, do not associate my name with that butcher—!”

Luca hung up.

He tossed the phone onto the velvet cushion of his chair.

He turned back to Vanessa.

“Your own father didn’t know.”

Vanessa backed up until her spine hit the heavy drapes over the garden terrace doors.

“Luca... please. Let me explain. You don't understand the pressure I was under!”

“You didn't do this for your family,” Luca whispered.

He walked toward her.

Each step sounded like a death march on the marble.

“You did it because Romano offered you something your father couldn't.”

“He was going to kill my brother!” Vanessa shrieked, breaking completely. “Romano has Mario in a basement in Detroit! He said if I didn't give him the port access codes and the recording of tonight’s meeting, Mario’s fingers would come in the mail tomorrow morning!”

The truth hung in the air.

Raw.

Ugly.

Undeniable.

Luca stopped three feet from her.

“So to save your idiot brother who gambles at illegal tables,” Luca said, “you chose to sacrifice my entire family. You chose to let Romano ambush thirty of my men at the port tonight.”

Vanessa fell to her knees.

Her designer dress pooled around her knees on the bloody marble floor.

“Forgive me, Luca! Please! We can fix this! We can feed Romano fake information! We can ambush him instead! I'll do whatever you want!”

Luca looked down at her with pure disgust.

“You cut an innocent girl who grew up without a mother.”

“What?” Vanessa blinked, completely bewildered.

“You tortured Claire,” Luca said. “You used a blade on someone under my roof. In my home. Under my protection.”

He didn't yell.

He didn't scream.

That was what made Luca Moretti terrifying.

He was quietest when he was most lethal.

“Marco.”