Chapter 3 - The Lion's Den
The Moretti estate in Westchester was less of a house and more of an impenetrable fortress nestled deep in fifty acres of private, snow-dusted woodland. High stone walls, wrought-iron gates, and armed security guards in pristine suits gave the illusion of an old-world European castle.
As the black limousine pulled up the long, winding drive, my pulse hammered wildly against my ribs.
"Remember the rules," Luca murmured beside me, his hand resting casually over mine on the leather seat. His touch was warm, solid, and strangely grounding. "My grandmother, Nonna Rosa, sits at the head of the main room. She sees everything. My uncle Julian will try to provoke you to test your bloodline. Sophia Bellandi will be watching your every movement for a slip-up."
"And what is my backstory?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Simple," Luca said, turning to look at me, his face inches from mine. "You met me four years ago. You started as my assistant because you wanted to prove you were valuable for your mind, not your connection to me. We tried to keep it professional, but three months ago, we gave up."
"Three months ago?" I echoed. "Why three months ago?"
"Because that was the night of the charity gala at the Met," Luca murmured, his thumb gently tracing the back of my hand. "The night you wore that dark red lipstick and stayed up until three in the morning helping me rewrite the port acquisition contract. Everyone saw the way I looked at you that night, Emma. They just thought I was being protective."
My breath caught in my throat. I remembered that night vividly. I had assumed he was stressed about the deal. I had no idea he had been looking at me at all.
"Ready?" he asked as the chauffeur opened the limousine door.
"No," I admitted honestly.
Luca smiled—a rare, devastatingly handsome flash of white teeth that took my breath away. He stepped out first, turned around, and extended his hand to me.
"Hold onto me," he instructed gently. "And don't let go."
The grand foyer of the Moretti estate was an explosion of old-world luxury: marble floors, crystal chandeliers, massive oil paintings of stern-faced ancestors, and a twenty-foot Nordmann fir tree dripping in real silver ornaments.
The room was packed with nearly a hundred people—women in haute couture gowns, men in sharp tuxedos with subtle lapel pins signaling syndicate ranks, and armed guards standing discreetly near every exit.
The moment Luca walked through the double doors with his hand wrapped securely around my waist, the chatter in the grand hall died down like a candle being snuffed out.
A hundred pairs of eyes locked onto us.
"Luca," a sharp, aristocratic female voice called out from the main staircase.
A stunning woman in a ice-blue satin gown descended the steps, holding a flute of champagne. She had sleek blonde hair, high cheekbones, and eyes full of calculating malice.
Sophia Bellandi.
She glided toward us, her eyes dropping directly to where Luca’s hand rested comfortably against the bare curve of my waist.
"We were beginning to think you weren't coming," Sophia said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. She turned her cold gaze toward me, scanning the emerald gown with obvious disdain. "And who is this? I don't believe we've been introduced to your... guest."
Luca didn't hesitate. He pulled me slightly closer against his side, his fingers pressing firm and warm against my hip.
"Sophia," Luca said calmly, his tone devoid of any warmth. "This is Emma Vance. My girlfriend."
Sophia’s smile instantly froze. The champagne glass in her hand trembled slightly.
"Your girlfriend?" Sophia chuckled, a hollow sound. "Luca, darling, isn't this the girl who answers your office phones?"
Before I could answer, a deep, booming voice echoed across the marble floor from the fireplace lounge.
"An assistant?"
An older man with graying hair, sharp blue eyes, and a tailored double-breasted suit stepped out of the crowd, flanked by two heavy-set men.
Julian Moretti. Luca’s uncle.
"Have you completely lost your mind, Luca?" Julian scoffed, stepping into our space. "You bring a common secretary to the family Christmas gathering while the Bellandi delegation is sitting in the drawing room waiting to discuss the port alliance?"
The entire room went dead silent. Guests backed away slightly, sensing the immediate shift in power.
I felt a sudden wave of panic, but then I felt Luca’s hand tighten around mine, sending a surge of courage through my veins.
I straightened my spine, tilted my chin up, and looked Julian straight in the eyes.
"It's Senior Executive Vice President of Operations, actually, Mr. Moretti," I said, my voice ringing out clear and sharp across the silent hall. "And if you had spent five minutes reading the quarterly earnings reports instead of managing port favors, you’d know I brought your nephew a forty percent increase in logistics revenue this year."
A sudden, sharp gasp rippled through the gallery of guests.
Sophia’s mouth opened slightly in shock. Julian’s face flushed a deep, dangerous shade of crimson.
For a second, I thought I had gone too far.
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Then, from the center of the room, an old woman sitting in a carved velvet armchair began to laugh—a soft, dry sound that cut through the tension like a silver knife.
Nonna Rosa.
