Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary of the East Wing
The silence inside the study hung so thick it felt suffocating.
Luca stood motionless, his knuckles white as he squeezed the edge of his mahogany desk. The firelight danced across his sharp profile, casting deep shadows over eyes that looked suddenly exhausted, haunted by a realization that threatened to tear his world apart.
For three years, Luca had believed his brother’s death was an ambush by their rival syndicate, the Valenti family. He had launched a bloody, merciless war across Chicago, wiping out two Valenti capos in retaliation. But he had never suspected that the order had come from inside his own walls.
"The snake is inside the house..." Luca repeated the words softly, a lethal edge creeping back into his voice.
"Now you know," Mara said, wiping her face with the back of her hand. She stepped toward the sofa and picked up Sophie, wrapping the child’s small coat around her shoulders. "We’re leaving. You can fire me, you can pretend you never saw us, but I am taking my daughter out of this building before your guests even finish their champagne."
She turned toward the double doors, but before her hand could touch the brass handle, Luca’s broad frame blocked her path.
"You’re not going anywhere, Mara."
Mara backed up a step, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Luca, let us go!"
"Look out that window," Luca commanded, pointing toward the estate gates visible through the glass. "There are forty armed men surrounding this perimeter tonight. Half of them belong to my inner council. If you walk out those gates with Matteo’s face stamped on that child, someone will recognize her within twenty-four hours. And if the person who killed my brother realizes his heir is alive, they won't hesitate to finish the job."
Mara felt the cold weight of reality crash over her. "So what are you going to do? Lock us in a cellar?"
"No," Luca said quietly, walking over to his desk and pressing a hidden intercom button beneath the wood. "I’m moving you into the East Wing. My private quarters."
Within two minutes, the private study door opened silently. A tall, gray-haired man in an immaculate black suit stepped inside, his hands folded neatly behind his back. This was Marco—Luca’s personal bodyguard and the only man in Chicago Luca trusted with his life.
"Boss?" Marco asked, his sharp eyes quickly assessing the room, lingering for a fraction of a second on the child in Mara’s arms.
"Marco," Luca said firmly. "Clear the entire third floor of the East Wing. Post four of our most loyal guards at the stairwell. Nobody enters without my personal voice authorization. Not Capo Vincent, not my uncle Enzo, nobody."
Marco’s eyes widened slightly, but he bowed his head instantly. "Understood, boss. And the young lady?"
"She is my niece," Luca announced, his voice ringing across the room like a royal decree. "Her name is Sophie Romano. And from this second onward, her safety is the absolute priority of this family. If a single hair on her head is harmed, I will personally burn this city to ash."
Ten minutes later, Mara found herself standing in a sprawling, luxurious suite on the top floor of the mansion. The East Wing was completely isolated from the rest of the estate, featuring heavy oak doors, bulletproof glass windows, and a plush king-sized bed covered in silk sheets.
Sophie sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her sleepy eyes while holding a silver spoon Marco had brought her alongside a bowl of warm strawberry ice cream.
Luca stepped into the doorway, having shed his suit jacket. He wore only a dark vest and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the dark ink of family tattoos covering his skin.
"She likes strawberry," Luca observed softly, leaning against the door frame.
"Matteo liked strawberry," Mara said quietly, sitting beside her daughter and smoothing her dark curls.
Luca watched them for a long moment. The ruthless, terrifying mafia Don who commanded hundreds of dangerous men seemed entirely out of place in the soft yellow light of the bedroom. He took a hesitant step forward, dropping to one knee beside the bed so he was eye-level with the little girl.
Sophie looked at him, a blob of ice cream on her upper lip. She didn't shrink away. She reached out her small hand and touched the sharp line of his jaw.
"You look like the man in Mommy’s picture," Sophie chirped innocently. "Are you my uncle?"
May you like
Luca’s throat worked as he swallowed down a wave of sudden, fierce emotion. He reached out and gently patted her tiny hand with his massive, calloused palm.
"I am, sweetheart," Luca whispered, his dark eyes shining with an absolute, unbreakable vow. "I’m your Uncle Luca. And nobody is ever going to hurt you again."
