Chapter 2 - The Scent of Pine and River Mud
The grandfather clock in the corner of the study chimed eleven, its low brass resonance vibrating through the floorboards.
Outside, the Spanish moss swayed violently beneath an approaching southern gale, rain beginning to pelt the French doors that opened to the veranda.
Luca didn't pull his arm away from my grasp.
His gaze tracked down from my face to my right hand, where my fingers were still clutching the fine, dark wool of his sleeve. His expression remained utterly unreadable, but the subtle shift in the air was unmistakable—the sharp, electric drop in atmospheric pressure that precedes a hurricane.
“Treason charges,” Luca repeated softly. His voice possessed the chilling, quiet calm of an ocean trench.
“Yes, sir,” I breathed, the words tearing dryly against my throat. “Vance had a satchel with him. Inside were three forged carbon manifests bearing your forged initials. They’re claiming your grain barges out of Baton Rouge were carrying military-grade explosive detonators bound for the South American cartels.”
Luca’s fingers lifted, resting over mine where they gripped his sleeve. His touch was warm, surprisingly gentle against my knuckles, yet the muscle beneath the wool was coiled like a steel hawser.
“What is your mother’s name, Elena?”
The question seemed to come from another world. “Clara, sir. Clara Reed. She’s fifty-four.”
“Where is she tonight?”
“In our shotgun house on Annunciation Street,” I whispered, tears blurring the outline of the brass desk lamp. “She has end-stage pulmonary fibrosis. Her concentrator draws eight hundred watts, and the utility company left a shut-off notice on the gate yesterday morning. The sixty dollars was to keep the power running through Tuesday.”
Luca picked up his desk phone, his thumb tapping a three-digit private line.
“Marco.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Take three men and the armored transport to 814 Annunciation Street. Bring Clara Reed to the private medical pavilion at Ochsner. Have Dr. Vance oversee her admission directly. Full respiratory support, private suite, dedicated nursing team around the clock. All charges, past and future, are billed to the Moretti Maritime Trust in perpetuity. If anyone without my signet approaches that house, put them in the swamp.”
My chest hitched. A sob of pure, disbelieving relief broke through my lips, hot tears streaming down my cheeks.
“Mr. Moretti... you can't... that costs thousands of dollars a week—”
“You stood in front of a vault door and took an iron strike to the bone to protect my mother’s legacy, Elena,” Luca murmured, his gray eyes burning into mine with an intensity that took my breath away. “In this house, blood is paid in blood, and loyalty is answered with an empire. Your mother will never struggle to draw breath again.”
He looked down at my splinted left arm resting on the velvet pillow.
May you like
“Now,” he whispered, his jaw setting like solid iron. “Let us go see what my bride has packed in her wedding trunk.”
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