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Within fifteen minutes, the dining room had been cleared of every outside witness.
Only Luca, Michael, Dante, the two bound mercenaries, the Bellinis, and I remained.
I was still standing near the kitchen entrance, unsure whether I was permitted to leave.
My hands were still stained with the wine Vanessa had dumped over my chest.
Luca noticed me hovering in the doorway.
“Emily,” he said, his tone softening in a way that surprised everyone in the room.
“Stay where you are.”
“You earned the right to watch this.”
Vanessa slowly pushed herself up from the chair, her fear transforming into bitter, cornered spite.
“So what if I did it, Luca?” she sneered, dropping all pretense of innocence.
“Your little pizza parlor on Grand Avenue makes pocket change compared to what that land is actually worth!”
“A commercial developer offered fifty million dollars for that single corner block!”
“And you and your pathetic brother refused to sell because of sentimental garbage about your dead father!”
Michael looked at her as if she were a monster he had never seen before.
“Our father built that kitchen with his bare hands after arriving from Naples with twenty dollars in his pocket,” Michael said, his voice trembling.
“He fed this neighborhood during the winter when people had no heat.”
“You couldn’t understand that kind of honor if you lived a thousand years.”
Antonio Bellini stepped in front of his daughter, attempting to barter with the syndicate boss.
“Be practical, Luca,” Antonio urged, holding his palms out in an appeal to greed.
“The Bellini family controls the municipal permits for the entire West Loop.”
“Break this engagement, and we will revoke every commercial license the Moretti syndicate operates under.”
“You will be fighting a war on two fronts against the city and the Casale family.”
Luca took two slow, measured steps toward Antonio.
He towered over the older man, exuding an aura of cold, absolute dominion.
“You think you have leverage over me, Antonio?” Luca asked in a quiet, deadly whisper.
“You forgot who put your corrupt family on the municipal board ten years ago.”
“You forgot whose money funded your political campaigns and cleared your gambling debts in Atlantic City.”
Luca reached out, took the heavy diamond engagement ring from Vanessa’s left hand, and tore it from her finger.
The force snapped the band, drawing a sharp cry of pain from her lips.
Luca dropped the shattered diamond onto the wine-soaked tablecloth without looking at it.
“The engagement is void,” Luca pronounced.
“Every contract between Bellini Logistics and Moretti Harbor Services is terminated effective immediately.”
Antonio’s eyes widened with genuine terror.
“Luca, that will bankrupt us within ninety days!”
“Then you had better start liquidating your penthouses tonight,” Luca answered cold-bloodedly.
“Dante, escort Mr. Bellini and his daughter to their car.”
“If either of them steps foot inside this estate or near my family again, bury them under the docks.”
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The front gates of the Moretti estate locked shut with a definitive, heavy clank.
The mansion fell into an eerie, echoing quiet that felt heavier than the storm of shouting that preceded it.
Michael sat at the head of the ruined table, his head buried in his hands.
Luca walked over to his younger brother, placing a heavy, protective hand on his shoulder.
“It’s over, Michael,” Luca said gently.
“She won’t touch you ever again.”
Michael looked up, his eyes red with unshed tears of betrayal.
“I almost believed her, Luca.”
“She came to me yesterday with forged ledgers bearing my signature.”
“She swore that you were going to have me eliminated because you thought I was skimming off the top.”
“I was so terrified that I actually packed a bag.”
Luca’s jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped beneath his skin.
“I would burn this entire city to ash before I ever harmed a single hair on your head, brother.”
“Remember that the next time someone tries to put poison in your ear.”
Michael nodded slowly, letting out a long, shuddering breath.
Then both brothers turned their attention toward me.
I immediately looked down at the floor, suddenly acutely aware of how disheveled and stained I looked.
The cheap cotton of my maid uniform was soaked in crimson wine, clinging cold and damp against my skin.
My dark hair had come loose from its neat bun during the chaos, spilling over my shoulders.
“Emily,” Luca called out softly.
I took two cautious steps forward, keeping my eyes fixed on the intricate patterns of the Persian rug.
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Look at me,” he instructed.
I lifted my head and met his dark, intense gaze.
There was no anger in his eyes now; instead, there was an intensity of focus that made my heart flutter against my ribs.
