Chapter 2 - The Truth in the Shadows
The silence that followed the slamming of the front doors was absolute.
Twenty minutes had passed. Bianca’s shrill screaming had echoed through the marble foyer until Luca’s head of private security, Mateo, had physically escorted her and Sophia down the front steps into a waiting black town car. Their luggage had been tossed unceremoniously into the trunk behind them.
Inside the private west wing, the fire crackled in the hearth, throwing long amber shadows across the dark wood paneling.
Emma sat on the edge of the leather sofa. She had refused to sit on the silk chairs, still conscious of her stained uniform. A first-aid kit lay open on the low mahogany table between them.
Luca stepped out of the adjoining washroom carrying a bowl of warm water and a clean linen towel. He had stripped off his suit jacket, rolled his white shirt sleeves up to his forearms, and unbuttoned his collar. The dark ink of an old Sicilian crest peeked above his collarbone.
“Give me your arm,” he said.
Emma pulled back slightly. “Mr. Moretti, please. I can clean it myself. You don’t need to—”
“Emma.” His voice was not loud, but it held the unmistakable weight of a man who did not repeat himself. “Give me your arm.”
Reluctantly, she extended her left arm.
Luca sat on the table opposite her, his knees nearly brushing hers. His large, calloused hands were unexpectedly gentle as he dipped the cloth into the antiseptic water and began to wipe away the dried blood from her wrists. Emma inhaled sharply through her nose, her jaw tightening, but she didn't pull away.
“They used the braided crop from the stables,” Luca muttered, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the deep purple welt across her forearm. “Bianca’s father gave her that. A display piece.”
“Sophia was holding it,” Emma murmured. “Bianca just gave the orders.”
“It makes no difference.” Luca dabbed an antibiotic ointment across the broken skin. “They won't come near you again. That I promise you.”
Emma watched his hands. They were the hands of a man who commanded hundreds of millions of dollars—and a small army of dangerous men. Yet here he was, cleaning wounds on a housemaid who made twenty-two dollars an hour.
“You didn’t seem surprised about Declan Vance,” she said softly.
Luca’s thumbs paused against her wrist. He looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers beneath heavy brows. “I knew someone on the inside was leaking our logistical routes. We lost two freight shipments out of Newark last month. Alberto Romano—Bianca’s father—swore his family was clean. He insisted Bianca and I cement the alliance immediately to present a united front.”
He gave a dry, humorless smirk. “Turns out the leak was sleeping in the guest suite of my own home.”
“I didn't steal the Bennett memorandum,” Emma reiterated, her voice steady.
“I know.”
“You do?”
“The safe in my study isn't keyed to a combination,” Luca said, wrapping a sterile white bandage around her wrist with practiced efficiency. “It’s biometric. The moment someone touches the keypad, a notification hits my phone. Bianca tried to access it at twelve-fifteen today. When the system locked her out, she panicked. She needed a scapegoat before I checked the security logs tonight.”
Emma closed her eyes for a brief moment, exhaling the tension she had carried for hours. “She came into the study while I was vacuuming. She was pacing, speaking Italian on a prepaid flip phone. I don’t speak the language well, but I know numbers. She was reading off shipping container coordinates. When she saw me, she dropped the phone behind the bookcase. I picked it up to hand it to her. The caller ID said *Vance*.”
Luca finished pinning the bandage. His fingers lingered on her wrist just a second longer than necessary before he withdrew them. “What else did she say?”
“She accused me of eavesdropping right there. I told her I hadn't heard anything. I tried to walk out, but Sophia was already outside the door. They locked the study, searched my quarters, planted the memorandum duplicate they must have forged earlier, and dragged me down here.”
Emma looked down at the pristine white wrap on her arm. “If you hadn't come home early...”
“I would have found out tonight anyway,” Luca said darkly. “And what I would have done to Bianca would have been much worse than kicking her out.”
He stood, towering over her, and tossed the bloodied washcloth into the basin. “You’re not staying in the staff quarters tonight. The staff quarters are vulnerable. If Bianca calls her father, Alberto won't take this lying down. The Romanos have pride, and pride makes people stupid.”
“I have an apartment in Stamford,” Emma said, standing up. The movement made her sway slightly—shock and exhaustion catching up to her.
Luca caught her by the upper arms before she could stumble. His grip was firm, electric, steadying her effortlessly. He held her close for a heartbeat; she could smell the cedarwood, rain, and faint trace of tobacco on his coat.
“You’re not going to Stamford,” he said, his gaze dropping to her mouth before rising back to her eyes. “You’re staying on the third floor of this house, in the master guest suite. My personal detail guards that corridor twenty-four hours a day.”
“Mr. Moretti, I am an employee.”
“You’re the star witness to high treason against the Moretti syndicate,” Luca countered, his tone leaving zero room for debate. “And right now, Emma, you are the only person in this entire city whose word I trust.”
Before Emma could respond, the heavy mahogany door swung open.
Mateo stood in the threshold, his tactical vest strapped over his black shirt, a tablet in his hand. His expression was grim.
“Boss,” Mateo said, his voice clipped. “We have a problem.”
Luca let go of Emma’s arms, stepping between her and the door with an instinctive, protective reflex that did not go unnoticed. “What is it?”
“Alberto Romano just called an emergency council meeting of the Five Families for eight o'clock tomorrow morning at the Grand Delancey,” Mateo said. “He claims you assaulted his daughter, broke a blood oath of betrothal without cause, and are harboring a corporate spy.”
Luca didn’t blink. A slow, chilling smile touched the corner of his lips—the kind of smile that made seasoned hitmen check their exits.
May you like
“Tell Alberto I’ll be there,” Luca said calmly. “And tell him to bring his daughter. Because tomorrow morning, I’m not just ending an engagement. I’m ending the Romano family’s seat at the table.”
***
