Chapter 3 - Whispers in the Executive Suite
The third-floor suite above Luca’s master quarters was unlike anything I had
ever seen.
While the rest of the Moretti estate was decorated in dark, antique Italian
mahogany and heavy velvet drapes, this private wing was modern, sleek, and
reinforced like a fortress.
The windows were made of three-inch ballistic glass that overlooked the dark
canopy of the forest estate. The walls were soundproofed, and the single
entrance was secured by a biometric keypad.
Daniel, Luca’s head of security, handed me a glass of water and a blister pack
of prescription anti-inflammatories.
“Doctor said you need to keep ice on that cheek for twenty minutes every hour,
Miss Hayes,” Daniel said, his rough, scarred face softening with genuine
sympathy. “The swelling should start going down by morning.”
“Thank you, Daniel,” I murmured, sitting on the edge of an oversized gray velvet
sofa. “Is my brother really safe?”
“Two of our best men are already posted outside Julian’s room at the clinic,”
Daniel assured me. “Nobody gets within fifty feet of him without clearance from
Mr. Moretti himself. You have his word. In our world, Luca Moretti’s word is
stronger than a Supreme Court order.”
I leaned back against the cushions, exhausted to my very bones. The adrenaline
that had carried me through the engagement dinner and the confrontation in the
study was finally evaporating, leaving behind a deep, aching exhaustion.
Forty minutes later, the biometric lock on the suite door beeped, and the heavy
door clicked open.
Luca stepped inside.
He had removed his suit jacket and tie, his white shirt sleeves rolled up,
revealing heavy, intricate black ink tattoos running up his forearms—ancient
Sicilian crests, dates, and names of family fallen in long-forgotten wars.
He looked tired, but his eyes were blazing with purpose.
“Mercer is in the basement holding room beneath the garage,” Luca said without
preamble, looking at Daniel.
Daniel stood to attention. “Did he talk?”
“He hasn't stopped talking,” Luca replied darkly. “The moment Vince showed him
the surveillance footage from the hallway, he gave up the entire contract.
Vanessa promised him two hundred thousand dollars to plant the photographs in
Sophia’s home tomorrow morning.”
Luca turned to look at me. “Did Mercer tell you where the original negatives
were stored, Olivia?”
I sat up straight, trying to remember the chaotic struggle in the guest room.
“He had an encrypted external drive in his leather briefcase,” I said. “It was
black with a silver strip down the center. When he shoved me, the briefcase fell
open on the carpet. Vanessa picked it up and locked it in the wall safe behind
the painting of the Madonna in the guest room.”
Luca’s jaw set. “Good. We leave it there for now. If Vanessa notices the drive
is missing, she will notify her father before we can secure Sophia.”
“What are you going to do about Sophia?” I asked.
Luca walked over to the tall ballistic window, staring out into the pitch-black
night.
“Tomorrow morning at dawn, I am going to Lincoln Park,” Luca said. “And you are
coming with me, Olivia.”
I blinked in shock. “Me? Why would you bring me?”
Luca turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine with absolute seriousness.
“Because Sophia does not trust me,” Luca said quietly. “Four years ago, when we
divorced, the lies were already beginning to poison our marriage. Don Bellini
orchestrated rumors that drove a wedge between us that could never be repaired.
If I walk into Sophia’s home alone, she will slam the door in my face. But if
she sees you—if she hears the truth from the woman who took a blow to the head
to protect her name—she will listen.”
I looked down at my hands. A junior housemaid being pulled into the inner
sanctum of mafia warfare.
“And what happens after she listens?” I asked.
Luca walked over, stopping in front of the sofa. He looked down at my swollen,
bruised face, and for a fleeting moment, his fingers twitched as if he wanted to
reach out and touch the scrape near my temple.
“After she listens,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a register of lethal
May you like
promise, “we take the key. We open the vault beneath the glass house. And we
crush the Bellini family until there is nothing left of them but ash.”
