Chapter 2 - The Truth in the Shadows
The silence inside Luca Moretti’s private study was heavier than the mahogany walls enclosing it. The only sound was the muffled ticking of an antique grandfather clock in the corner and the ragged, shallow cadence of my own breathing.
Luca hadn’t moved from behind his desk. He remained perfectly upright, his towering frame casting a long, commanding shadow across the Persian rug. His dark eyes—the color of roasted espresso beans, usually guarded behind a mask of cold aristocratic indifference—were fixed entirely on me.
"Say that again, Olivia," he said. His voice was dangerously low, smooth like velvet poured over broken glass. "Every single syllable."
My fingers trembled inside the pockets of my black uniform apron. The throbbing across my left cheekbone had settled into a hot, sickening pulse that radiated down to my jaw. "She… Miss Bellini told him that Elena still possessed the collateral. The original estate deeds to the Lake Geneva property, and the family ledgers your father left behind before he died. She told the investigator that if Elena believed you were already unfaithful during your marriage—that you had been sleeping with Vanessa behind her back for five years—Elena’s pride would never allow her to negotiate. She would destroy the records out of spite rather than let you take them back into the syndicate."
Luca’s jaw set into stone. "The ledgers."
"Yes, sir."
"And what did Mercer say?"
"He said he needed another twenty thousand dollars in cash to alter the delivery stamps so it looked like the surveillance photos were taken years ago," I whispered. "He told her that fabricating a timeline takes time, but Miss Bellini said she wanted the package sitting on Elena’s doorstep by sunrise tomorrow."
A knock sounded on the heavy double doors.
Before Luca could answer, Daniel slipped into the room. Luca’s right-hand man was built like a vault door, his face weathered by two decades of surviving Chicago’s underworld. In his hand, he held a leather portfolio.
"Boss," Daniel murmured, glancing briefly at me, noticing the ice pack resting on the side table that Dr. Harris had left behind. His eyes softened with a grim sort of pity before returning to his employer. "Mercer didn't make it past the front gates. We picked him up three blocks south on Lake Shore Drive. He’s down in the sub-cellar."
"Is he talking?" Luca asked, not blinking.
"He started singing before we even took his watch." Daniel stepped forward, dropping a thick manila envelope onto the desk beside the photograph I had given Luca. "Vanessa didn’t just hire him to take pictures. Mercer’s agency was retained four months ago. She’s been tracking every dime moving through your personal shell corporations, Luca. She was preparing an offshore exit strategy before the ring was even on her finger."
I took a step backward, terrified of being present for things that felt entirely too close to the syndicate's core secrets. In the Moretti household, knowing too much was a death sentence. For nine months, I had survived here precisely because I knew how to look at the floor, how to polish silver until my knuckles bled, and how to vanish into the wallpaper whenever Luca or his lieutenants entered a room.
"Sir," I whispered, keeping my gaze respectfully lowered. "May I be excused? If you don't need me anymore tonight—"
"You're not going back to the staff quarters, Olivia," Luca interrupted.
My chest constricted. The staff quarters were located above the detached garages—a modest row of small studio apartments where the maids and groundskeepers slept. "Sir? Have I done something wrong?"
Luca rose from his chair. At six-foot-three, he possessed an effortless, predatory grace that commanded reverence without effort. He walked around the massive desk, stopping barely two feet from where I stood. For the first time since I had walked into his study, he reached out. His fingers, calloused and warm, lightly grazed my chin, lifting my face upward into the glow of the desk lamp.
I held my breath. His touch wasn't rough. In fact, it was shockingly gentle—an impossible contrast to the terrifying power he wielded over this city.
"You took a hit meant for my household," Luca murmured, his thumb brushing a millimeter beneath the purple swelling near my cheekbone. His touch sent a shiver straight down my spine, unexpected and electric. "Vanessa laid hands on you under my roof. Mercer pushed you into a doorframe to keep you quiet. Do you think I allow my people to be battered like stray animals?"
"I'm just a maid, Mr. Moretti," I managed to say, my voice cracking slightly.
"You're my employee," he countered, his eyes burning into mine with an intensity that made the air in the room feel scarce. "And under this roof, that means you are under my protection. You do not sleep in the detached quarters tonight. Daniel, have Mrs. Carter prepare the suite on the east wing. The one directly across from mine."
Daniel blinked, clearly surprised by the command, but recovered instantly. "Yes, boss. Right away."
"No, please," I pleaded softly, desperate not to draw any more of Vanessa's wrath than I already had. "Miss Bellini will see. The other staff will talk. If she finds out you moved me into the family wing—"
"Vanessa won't see anything," Luca said, his hand slowly dropping from my chin, though his gaze never wavered. "Because Vanessa is going to believe everything is proceeding according to her design. She believes Mercer is halfway to Elena’s home right now with that envelope. She believes you are locked in your room, terrified, clutching a bruised face and praying you don't get fired."
A dark, dangerous smile touched the corner of his lips—a smile that made the hairs on my arms stand up.
"She thinks she's playing a game of chess with me," Luca added. "I am going to let her believe she's winning. Right up until I take her king."
He turned back toward Daniel. "Bring Mercer upstairs. Not through the service halls. Bring him through the conservatory. Let’s see how loyal a private investigator stays when he realizes whose money he was actually stealing."
As Daniel turned to leave, Luca stopped him. "And Daniel?"
"Yeah, Luca?"
"Make sure Dr. Harris leaves another prescription for Olivia’s swelling. If she feels any pain tonight, I want to know about it."
I stood there, paralyzed between sheer terror and an overwhelming, unfamiliar sensation of being shielded. For twenty-eight years, no one had ever protected me. My father had disappeared behind unpaid debts when I was sixteen; my former landlords had treated me like an inconvenience; and Vanessa Bellini had treated me like dirt beneath her designer heels.
Yet here was Luca Moretti—the most feared man in Chicago—standing between me and the storm.
May you like
"Go to the east suite, Olivia," Luca said softly, his voice losing its lethal edge as he addressed me again. "Lock the door from the inside. Rest. Tomorrow, this house becomes a battlefield."
***
