Chapter 4 - The Cellar’s Judgment
By dawn, the autumn rain had turned into a relentless, icy deluge that hammered against the leaded-glass windows of the Moretti estate.
The mansion was unnervingly silent. The caterers, the musicians, the high-society guests who had come to celebrate an opulent union of two criminal dynasties had all been escorted off the premises under the watchful eyes of armed men. The grand ballroom remained sealed off, the shattered portrait and the blood-stained marble cordoned off like a murder scene.
I tried to sit up, but the fire in my thigh reminded me of my limits. Dr. Rossi had left strict orders: absolute bed rest for seventy-two hours. But when you’ve spent six years working seven days a week to pay off the medical debts your dead mother left behind, lying in bed feels like a crime.
The bedroom door clicked open.
Luca walked in, carrying a silver tray. The sight was so completely incongruous with his reputation that my brain struggled to process it. Luca Moretti—a man who owned shipping docks, high-rise towers, and the loyalties of corrupt judges—was carrying a porcelain teapot, a plate of fresh toast, and a small bowl of sliced strawberries.
Behind him trotted Lily, dressed in yellow overalls, proudly balancing a small plastic cup of orange juice between both hands.
“Room service,” Luca announced, setting the tray carefully across the wooden bedside table.
“You didn't have to do this, Mr. Moretti,” I said, instinctively trying to smooth down my tangled hair.
“Call me Luca,” he corrected, taking the juice from Lily before she could spill it on the sheets. “And yes, I did. Mrs. Higgins offered to prepare it, but I told her I’d handle it myself.” He looked down at me, his eyes softening. “How is the leg?”
“It throbs,” I admitted honestly. “Like a heartbeat behind my knee.”
“That’s the muscle knitting together,” he said, sitting on the edge of the mattress while Lily climbed up beside my pillows, immediately pointing at the strawberries. “Eat. You need the iron.”
As I picked up a piece of toast, the heavy wooden door opened again. Daniel stood in the threshold, his coat soaked with rain, his face grim.
“Boss,” Daniel said, his voice flat. “Old man Bellini has arrived at the front gate. He brought six cars and two city aldermen. He’s demanding to see his daughter.”
The warmth in Luca’s eyes vanished in a split second, replaced by a cold, calculating detachment. He didn't flinch, didn't raise his voice. He simply checked his platinum wristwatch.
“Did he bring the transfer deeds for the Calumet River shipping yard?” Luca asked.
“Yes, sir. He has the paperwork in hand. But he’s threatening to go to the federal prosecutor if Vanessa isn't released within the hour.”
A faint, chilling smirk touched the corner of Luca’s mouth. “Tell him he can meet me in the basement in five minutes. If his aldermen step foot past the foyer, shoot them in the knees.”
“Understood.” Daniel turned and vanished down the hall.
My heart seized. “Luca... what are you going to do to her?”
Luca rose from the bed. He reached out and gently smoothed Lily’s curls before looking down at me. “What she deserves, Hannah. In our world, an attack on a child is an act of war. If someone aimed a gun at Lily on the street, I would put a bullet between their eyes without blinking.”
“She’s a monster,” I said quietly, the memory of her cold smile before she slashed my leg still fresh in my mind. “She told Lily you didn't love her anymore. That’s worse than the knife.”
A dark flame ignited in Luca’s gray eyes. “I know. Which is why dying quickly would be a gift she doesn't deserve.”
He stepped toward the door, then paused, turning back. “Stay with Lily. The guards outside this door answer only to me. You are completely safe.”
Below the mansion, three levels beneath the wine cellar, lay the original reinforced fallout bunker built during the Cold War.
Vanessa Bellini sat handcuffed to a cold metal chair under a solitary hanging bulb. Her once-flawless emerald gown was ripped and smeared with dirt; her elaborate updo had collapsed into oily strings across her face. Across from her, slumped in a wooden chair, was Michael Moretti, his nose broken and his wrists bound behind his back.
The heavy steel hatch swung open with a screech.
Antonio Bellini, a sixty-year-old capo with slicked-back white hair and a custom wool coat, stormed down the concrete stairs, flanked by two nervous bodyguards.
“Luca!” Antonio roared, stopping short as he saw his daughter shackled like a common street thief. “What is the meaning of this outrage? You humiliate my family in front of the entire Commission? You lock my daughter in a dungeon over a maid’s hysteria?”
Luca walked out of the shadows, his hands casually shoved into the pockets of his charcoal trousers. He didn't look angry; he looked bored.
“Papa!” Vanessa shrieked, thrashing against the handcuffs. “He’s crazy! He let his maid attack me! She smashed the wall! Tell him to let me go!”
“Silence!” Luca said.
The word wasn't loud, but it slammed into the concrete room with the force of a detonated grenade. Vanessa choked on her breath, snapping her mouth shut.
Luca walked over to the small wooden table in the center of the room and tossed a clear plastic evidence bag onto the surface. Inside was the utility knife, crusted with dry blood, and the St. Jude’s admission contract.
Antonio narrowed his eyes. “What is that?”
“That is your daughter’s signature on an institutional transfer form for my three-year-old daughter,” Luca said, his voice smooth and deadly. “And that is the blade she used to try and murder the woman who exposed her.”
Antonio’s chest heaved. He looked at the knife, then at Vanessa, whose eyes darted wildly toward the floor. “An internal family matter! Children are difficult, Luca! Vanessa was stressed—she made a mistake! We can renegotiate the dowry! I brought the Calumet port deeds!”
“You think this is about money, Antonio?” Luca took a slow step forward, invading the older man’s personal space until the elder capo had to crane his neck to meet Luca’s freezing gaze. “Your daughter locked my baby in a soundproof tomb without water, without light, in fifty-degree dampness. She told her I didn't want her.”
Luca leaned down until his lips were inches from Antonio’s ear.
“The Calumet ports are already mine. Your bank accounts in Zurich have been flagged by my contacts in the Treasury. By midnight tonight, the Bellini family will not own a single brick, a single vessel, or a single dock in this state.”
Antonio went chalk-white. “You can't do this! The Commission won't allow an unprovoked war!”
“The Commission already saw the security footage,” Luca replied, straightening his posture. “I sent the digital copy to every family boss in New York, Detroit, and Boston at 4:00 AM. In our tradition, Antonio, what is the penalty for attempting to bury a boss’s child alive?”
Antonio’s knees visibly wobbled. In the mafia code, harming an innocent child was the one unforgivable sin—a violation that stripped a family of all protection under syndicate law.
“Please, Luca,” Antonio begged, his arrogant swagger evaporating completely. “She’s my only daughter.”
“Then you should take her,” Luca said coldly. “Take her to the airport. Put her on a commercial flight to Sicily. If Vanessa Bellini ever steps foot on the North American continent again, her body will be delivered to you in a wooden crate. And as for you, Michael...”
May you like
Luca turned his gaze toward his younger brother, who began to sob openly.
“You are no longer a Moretti. Your name is erased. You have one hour to clear your belongings from the city. If I see your face in Chicago again, brother or not, I will pull the trigger myself.”
