Chapter 3 - The Brother’s Counsel
That night, the study smelled of old leather and the expensive amber Kentucky bourbon Luca poured into two heavy crystal tumblers.
Marco Bellini sat in his usual leather armchair across the mahogany desk. At forty-two, Marco possessed the broad, intimidating shoulders of a man who had spent his youth clearing rooms for the Moretti family, silver threading cleanly through his temples, and a heavy silver signet ring resting on his right hand—a ring bearing the crest of the inner circle, passed down from his father.
Luca had known that ring since he was ten years old. He trusted Marco with his life, his secrets, and his empire.
Luca set one glass down on the desk in front of Marco, then leaned against the edge of the walnut wood, staring into his drink without taking a sip.
In a low, steady voice, Luca told him everything. He described the toddler’s bold proclamation in the office, the bruise hidden beneath the uniform sleeve, and the vicious, calculated cruelty he had witnessed in the dining room earlier that afternoon.
Marco listened in absolute silence. He turned his heavy glass slowly in his palm, watching the amber liquid swirl against the crystal walls. When Luca finally finished speaking, Marco let out a long, heavy sigh.
“You’re getting married in twelve weeks, Luca,” Marco said, his voice measured and calm.
“I know when my wedding is, Marco,” Luca replied sharply. “That wasn't a calendar question.”
“Isabella is high-society,” Marco continued, taking a slow sip of his bourbon. “She comes from the Romano family. They have expectations, standards, and a certain way of managing staff. You grew up in this world, Luca; you know how these women are raised. They aren't running soup kitchens. They expect perfection in their homes.”
“Perfection is one thing,” Luca snapped, slamming his glass down hard enough to rattle the rim. “Humiliation and cruelty are another. She threatened a mother over a water spot on a crystal glass. And she threatened to throw her out on the street with a three-year-old child.”
Marco looked up, his dark eyes steady and unreadable. “People in our position hire help to keep the estate running smoothly, not to make friends. If the housekeeper can't handle high-pressure standards, maybe she needs to find work elsewhere. There are plenty of agencies in the city.”
Luca stared at his oldest friend, feeling a strange, unfamiliar friction rub against his instincts. For twenty years, Marco had been his shadow, his echo, the one man who always agreed on what needed to be done.
“Is that all she is to you?” Luca asked quietly. “Just staff?”
“What else is she?” Marco countered, raising an eyebrow. “She’s an employee. A temporary fixture. Isabella is your future wife. She’s the mother of your future children. You’re letting a stray domestic drama get under your skin because a kid sat in your chair.”
Luca didn't answer. He picked up his glass, walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked out into the sprawling, manicured gardens of the estate.
Deep in the west wing, past the service corridors and behind the kitchens, there was a small, modest cottage where the resident staff stayed. A single yellow light was burning in the window upstairs.
Mia’s window.
May you like
Nobody can make Mommy cry anymore.
Luca took a slow drink of the burning bourbon, his mind made up. The wedding was twelve weeks away. But before he tied his life to Isabella Romano, he was going to find out why a terrified mother was working twelve-hour shifts in a house of wolves, and who, exactly, had taught her what real fear felt like.
