Chapter 5 - Poison In The Wine Glass And The Traitor Exposed At Dawn
I stepped out from behind the doorframe.
My fingers gripped the hem of his black silk shirt.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Moretti,” I said softly. “I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I heard the voices and I... I got scared.”
Luca turned around.
The murderous fury in his eyes vanished the moment he saw me.
In its place was an exhausting, ancient sorrow.
He looked tired.
For the first time since I had started working in his house eleven months ago, Luca Moretti looked human.
Not an untouchable mafia boss.
Just a grieving brother who had carried a ghost on his shoulders for three long years.
“You shouldn't be standing on those legs,” he said quietly.
He walked over to me.
He didn't grab me.
He carefully guided me by the elbow toward the leather wingback chair beside his desk.
I sat down, pulling my bare feet under the cushion.
“I remember Elena,” I whispered, looking up at him.
Luca paused, his hand still resting on the arm of the chair.
“You do?”
“My father brought me to your family’s estate when I was sixteen,” I said. “It was a summer barbecue. Your father was still alive. Elena was sitting under the weeping willow tree near the pond. She had a sketchbook. She showed me drawings of the swans. She was so gentle. She gave me half of her lemon pastry because she said I looked shy.”
A faint, ghost-like smile touched Luca’s lips for half a second.
Then it disappeared into the shadows of his neat beard.
“She was too good for this life,” Luca murmured. “I spent three years thinking an anonymous drunk driver took her away. And the monster who set her up was sleeping in my guest rooms, planning a wedding.”
He sat behind the desk, resting his elbows on the polished wood.
He rubbed his temples with his scarred fingers.
“Romano will move by morning,” Luca said.
“What will he do?” I asked.
“He knows the wiretap is dead. He knows Vanessa didn't check in. He has eighty men stationed across three warehouses near the south docks. He’s going to attempt a frontal assault on this estate before I can rally the other capos.”
I felt a cold shiver run down my spine.
An assault on this house.
The walls were brick, and the gates were wrought iron, but against military-grade weapons, no house was impenetrable.
Suddenly, a soft knock came at the study’s double doors.
Luca’s hand instantly went under the desk.
I knew there was a mounted shotgun under the lip of the mahogany.
“Enter,” Luca said.
The door clicked open.
It was Mr. Henderson, the head butler.
He was sixty-five, impeccable in his black tailcoat, carrying a silver tray with a crystal decanter of vintage red wine and two crystal glasses.
“Pardon the intrusion, Don Moretti,” Henderson said with a respectful bow. “I noticed the lights were on in the study. I thought... after the distressing events of the evening, you might require a glass of the 1982 Sassicaia.”
Luca didn't move his hand from beneath the desk.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“Henderson.”
“Yes, sir?”
“You’ve served this family for twenty-two years, haven't you?”
“Twenty-three years next month, sir. Your late father hired me himself.”
“Then you know my father’s strictest rule regarding late-night meetings,” Luca said.
Henderson paused mid-stride.
The silver tray wavered for a split second.
“Sir?”
“My father never drank wine after midnight during a security alert,” Luca stated. His voice was silky, deceptively light. “Only black espresso. Wine dulls the reflexes. You know that better than anyone.”
Henderson smiled, though the smile didn't reach his cold blue eyes.
“Of course, Don Moretti. My mistake. The shock of Miss Vanessa’s arrest must have clouded my judgment. I will fetch espresso immediately.”
Henderson turned to leave.
“Leave the tray,” Luca commanded.
Henderson froze.
“Sir?”
“Put the tray on the table.”
Henderson slowly turned back.
He set the silver tray on the edge of the mahogany desk.
Luca gestured toward the two crystal glasses.
“Pour a glass, Henderson.”
The old butler’s hands were noticeably stiff.
He lifted the crystal decanter and poured two fingers of deep crimson wine into the glass.
The aroma of dark berries and oak drifted into the room.
Luca picked up the glass.
He swirled the wine gently against the crystal.
“Drink it, Henderson.”
Silence descended like an executioner’s axe.
Henderson didn't move.
His formal butler’s posture began to crack.
His shoulders slumped, and his jaw tightened.
“Don Moretti... that bottle is for you. I am merely a servant.”
“I’m offering you a glass of three-thousand-dollar wine, Henderson,” Luca said, rising to his full six-foot-four height. The desk seemed small in front of him. “Drink it. Or I will pour it down your throat with a funnel.”
Henderson took a half-step backward toward the door.
Before he could take another step, Luca lunged over the desk.
His tattooed hand caught Henderson by the throat, slamming the old man hard against the solid oak bookshelf.
Books tumbled to the floor.
Luca grabbed the wine glass with his free hand and held it under Henderson’s nose.
“Cyanide? Or arsenic?” Luca whispered, his voice vibrating with lethal intensity. “Romano bought you too, didn't he? How much did it cost to buy twenty-three years of loyalty, you old bastard?”
Henderson choked, clawing at Luca’s iron grip on his windpipe.
Seeing that the game was over, the old butler’s expression twisted into a sneer of pure venom.
“Two... two million dollars,” Henderson wheezed through clenched teeth. “Romano promised me... retirement in Sicily! You Morettis... you are all animals! Your father treated me like a dog, and you are no better!”
Luca didn't blink.
He hurled Henderson to the floor with enough force to shatter the coffee table beside him.
Luca picked up the glass of wine and splashed it across the Persian rug.
Within seconds, the deep red liquid began to hiss faintly against the wool fibers, emitting a faint, bitter almond smell.
Potassium cyanide.
A single sip would have stopped Luca’s heart in less than forty seconds.
I gasped, pulling back against the chair, horrified.
If Luca had taken that drink while reading Elena’s diary...
Luca pulled a compact black Sig Sauer from his shoulder holster.
He didn't fire.
He used the heavy steel butt of the weapon to strike Henderson across the temple, knocking the traitorous butler unconscious in a single blow.
Luca adjusted his cuff, holstered his weapon, and tapped his radio.
“Gianni.”
“Sir?”
“Henderson was Romano’s inside man. He’s out cold in the study. Drag him to the basement next to Vanessa.”
“Holy shit, Boss... Henderson?”
“Lock him up,” Luca ordered. “Then sound the alarm. Mobilize the outer perimeter. Romano knows the poison failed if he doesn't hear from Henderson by sunrise. The attack is coming.”
Luca clicked the radio off.
He turned back to me.
I was trembling, staring at the unconscious butler and the smoking patch of carpet.
Luca walked over to me.
He knelt down in front of my chair so we were eye to eye.
He took my cold hands into his large, warm palms.
“Claire.”
“Y-yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“I am taking you to the safe room beneath the wine cellar,” he said, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. “It is reinforced with twelve inches of ballistic steel. It has its own air supply, water, and surveillance monitors.”
“What about you?” I asked, my voice cracking.
“I am the Don of Chicago,” Luca said, his eyes burning with an ancient, unyielding fire. “I don't hide in basements when dogs come barking at my gates.”
“Please,” I whispered, tears spilling over my eyelashes before I could stop them. “Don't die. Don't leave me alone.”
Luca looked at me for a long, quiet moment.
He reached up and gently wiped a tear from my jaw with the pad of his thumb.
May you like
“I kept you safe when you held that mirror,” he said softly. “I will keep you safe tonight. I swear to you on my sister’s memory.”
He stood up, scooped me into his arms once more, and carried me out into the gathering storm of dawn.
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