Chapter 2 - THE INTERROGATION
The silence in the dining room was suffocating.
Thirty influential figures—city aldermen, shipping magnates, and senior capos of the Chicago outfit—sat frozen in their high-backed chairs. Nobody reached for their wine. Nobody touched their silver. When Luca Moretti lowered his voice, empires trembled; when his voice turned as gentle and cold as falling snow, people fled.
Vanessa Bellini remained standing for two agonizing seconds, calculating her exits. But she knew better than to turn her back on Luca when he gave a directive. Slowly, the silk of her emerald gown rustling, she sank back into her seat.
Her manicured hands rested on the white tablecloth, but her knuckles were white.
“Luca, please,” she said, her voice trembling with an exquisite, rehearsed vulnerability. “Look around you. We have guests. This is a massive misunderstanding blown completely out of proportion by an insubordinate housemaid.”
Luca didn’t look at the guests. He didn’t look at the city councilman sitting three seats down, who was already discreetly wiping nervous sweat from his brow.
Luca kept his eyes fixed entirely on Vanessa.
“Eat your dinner, Sophie,” he said softly, smoothing his hand over his daughter’s hair.
Sophie sniffled, picking up her silver fork with trembling fingers. She took a tentative bite of roasted potatoes, glancing between her father and the woman across the table.
“You called her a manipulator,” Luca stated. Every syllable was an executioner’s drumbeat. “You told my daughter that remembering her mother was a punishable offense.”
“I did no such thing!” Vanessa gasped, placing a hand against her chest. “I was trying to help her adjust! Sarah has been gone for five years, Luca. Five years! You hold onto her ghost, and Sophie hides behind it every time she refuses to respect me. She uses Sarah’s memory as a weapon to push me away!”
“Sarah built this family,” Luca replied, his voice flat and lethal. “Her memory is not a weapon. It is the foundation of this house. And you knew that before I ever gave you that ring.”
A murmur rippled through the guests. Vanessa’s cheeks flushed a bright, humiliating crimson.
“And what about the Fridays?” Luca asked. “Explain the movie nights.”
Vanessa swallowed hard. “You were busy. You had shipping contracts in Gary, you had the union negotiations—”
“I was in my study, twenty feet from the television room,” Luca cut in. “And every single Friday for the past month, you brought me a bourbon, locked the double doors, and told me that Sophie had gone to bed early because she didn't feel like hanging out with her old man.”
Sophie looked up, her fork pausing mid-air. “You were home?”
Luca looked down at his little girl, and for a fleeting second, the terrifying mob boss vanished, replaced by a father whose heart had just been shattered into a thousand pieces.
“I was home, baby,” Luca whispered, his voice cracking. “I was right downstairs. I thought you outgrew me.”
“I didn't outgrow you, Daddy,” Sophie wept, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “I waited on the rug with the popcorn until the butter got cold. She told me you were tired of pretending.”
A collective gasp echoed across the dining room. Several wives of the syndicate capos glared at Vanessa with unconcealed disgust. In their world, crime was business, but loyalty to children and family was holy law. To starve a child’s heart was an unpardonable sin.
Vanessa slammed her palms onto the table, abandoning all pretense of gentility. “She’s lying! She’s playing you, just like she always does! And Claire is backing her up because she wants to secure her little job! Are you really going to take the word of an orphaned brat and a six-dollar-an-hour maid over your future wife?”
Luca’s expression didn't shift. He slowly turned his gaze toward the far corner of the room, where Marco, his head of personal security, stood dressed in an impeccable black suit.
“Marco,” Luca said calmly.
“Yes, Boss?”
“Escort our guests to their vehicles. Offer them our sincerest apologies and have the kitchen pack them dessert. This dinner is concluded.”
The guests didn’t need to be told twice. Within ninety seconds, thirty people had excused themselves with hurried nods and whispered goodbyes, vacating the dining room like ghosts fleeing a crypt. Only Marco and two armed guards remained by the arched doorway.
The heavy oak doors clicked shut.
Luca stood up from his chair. Standing at six-foot-three with shoulders carved from decades of ruthless survival, he towered over the table.
“Claire,” Luca addressed me without looking away from Vanessa.
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Take Sophie upstairs to her bedroom. Lock the door from the inside. Marco will stand outside the hallway. Do not let anyone in until I come for you.”
“Yes, sir.” I stepped forward, offering my hand to Sophie. The little girl slid out of her seat and threw her arms around my waist, burying her face into my uniform apron.
“Luca, we need to talk about this privately!” Vanessa shouted, rising to her feet as we headed for the door. “You cannot embarrass me like this! My father will hear about how you’ve treated me tonight! The Bellini family will not tolerate—”
Luca didn't shout. He simply raised one hand, and the sheer gravity of his command made Vanessa choke on her own words.
“Marco,” Luca ordered, his eyes locked onto Vanessa like crosshairs. “Go upstairs to the master suite and the guest wing. Strip every drawer, every closet, and every safe. Find out what else this woman has taken from my daughter.”
Vanessa’s face went chalk-white. “Luca, no! You have no right to touch my personal things!”
“Everything in this house belongs to me,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a dark, promised retribution. “Including the peace you stole from my child. Now, Vanessa... tell me about Sarah’s pictures.”
May you like
I led Sophie through the doorway and into the quiet marble hall. Behind us, the heavy mahogany doors clicked shut, muffling the terror in Vanessa’s voice as the real interrogation began.
***
