Chapter 2 - The Web of Deceit
“Mommy, who is he?” Lily’s voice was small, muffled against my collarbone. Her fingers were twisted into the fabric of my black uniform so tightly that her knuckles were white.
I kept my back turned to Charles, refusing to let my daughter look at the monster who had ripped her from her bed three years ago. “He’s nobody, sweetheart. Just look at me. Look only at Mommy.”
Luca stopped just two feet from Charles Whitmore. The height difference was staggering; Charles, though tall for an attorney, shrank into himself under the sheer physical presence of the mafia boss.
“Hannah,” Charles stammered, his eyes darting frantically toward the heavy double doors. “You can’t let him do this. I made a mistake, okay? Vanessa came to me with cash. Half a million dollars! My firm was going under, the offshore accounts were frozen—I was drowning! I didn't hurt her. Look at Lily! She has private tutors, she has designer clothes, she was safe!”
“Safe?” The word tore from my throat like broken glass. I turned, glaring at him through my tears. “You told our baby I was dead! You let her cry herself to sleep believing her mother threw her away! You changed your number every three months. You had your high-priced lawyer friends file fraudulent restraining orders so the police would turn me away every time I knocked on your gate!”
“I was giving her a better life than a twenty-two-year-old runaway with no high school diploma could ever provide!” Charles shouted, desperation making him reckless. “You were a maid, Hannah! You’re still a maid! What could you have given her? Moldy apartments and food stamps?”
*Crack.*
The sound of Luca’s fist colliding with Charles’s jaw was sickeningly loud.
Charles flew sideways, his shoulder crashing into the mahogany sideboard, sending a crystal decanter of vintage cognac shattering against the floor. He collapsed into the puddle of liquor, clutching his bleeding mouth, groaning in agony.
Lily let out a sharp cry, flinching against me.
Immediately, Luca froze.
He looked at his own closed fist, then slowly turned toward Lily. The sheer brutality that had turned his face into an executioner's mask melted away, replaced by an expression of raw, uncharacteristic panic.
“Vincenzo,” Luca called softly, without looking away from us.
From the shadows near the service pantry, his second-in-command, a scarred man named Vincenzo who had guarded the Moretti estate for two decades, stepped forward silently.
“Take this garbage down to the wine cellar,” Luca instructed, his voice low and dangerous. “Do not break any more bones. Not yet. I want his financial records, his offshore routing numbers, and the names of every judge who signed off on Hannah’s forged custody relinquishment documents on my desk in one hour.”
“Understood, boss,” Vincenzo grunted. He grabbed Charles by the scruff of his expensive tailored collar, dragging him across the floor like a sack of spoiled meat. Charles whimpered, spitting blood, his designer shoes smearing through the spilled cognac before the service door swung shut behind them.
The grand dining room fell into an eerie, suffocating silence.
Only the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner broke the stillness. The heavy scent of spilled alcohol, expensive perfume, and violence hung thick in the air.
I stood there, trembling, holding Lily against my chest. My uniform felt suffocating. My knees were ready to buckle.
Luca stood three feet away. Slowly, he reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a pristine white linen handkerchief, and wiped the speck of Charles's blood from his knuckles. He folded the cloth neatly and slid it back into his pocket.
Then, he knelt down.
The Don of Chicago, the man who had ordered the execution of rival capos without blinking, lowered himself onto the cold marble floor until his eyes were level with my seven-year-old daughter.
“Hello, Lily,” Luca said. His voice was shockingly gentle, entirely stripped of the gravel and ice he used with the rest of the world.
Lily peeked out from behind my shoulder, her tear-stained face wary. “Are you the bad man?”
Luca didn't flinch, though I saw the shadow of pain cross his dark eyes. “No, little one. I am not the bad man. But I made a very big mistake. I allowed bad people to stay under my roof.”
Lily sniffled, clutching her headless rabbit. “Did you buy me?”
Luca shook his head slowly. “No. No one could ever buy you. You are not a toy, and you are not a secret. You belong with your mother.” He looked up at me, his intense, dark gaze searing right through my defenses. “And your mother belongs nowhere near the dirt.”
My breath caught in my throat. For eleven months, Luca Moretti had been a ghost in his own mansion to me. He was the employer who left generous tips on the study desk, the brooding giant who worked until three in the morning surrounded by tactical maps and ledger books, the man who barely spoke two words to the cleaning staff beyond a polite nod.
Now, looking into his eyes, I realized he had been watching me far more closely than I ever dreamed.
“Hannah,” Luca said, rising smoothly to his feet. “You look like you are about to faint.”
“I’m fine,” I lied, though my arms were trembling from the strain of holding Lily. “Mr. Moretti, please… I need to take her. I need to get her out of Chicago before Charles’s lawyers—”
“Charles Whitmore will never practice law again,” Luca interrupted, his tone chillingly absolute. “And his lawyers will be answering federal subpoenas by midnight. You are not going anywhere tonight.”
“I can’t stay here!” I gasped, fear flaring up again. “Vanessa’s family—the Bellinis—they won't let this go! You just humiliated her in front of forty high-society witnesses! If they come here—”
“Let them come,” Luca murmured, stepping closer until I could smell the woodsmoke, cedar, and raw power that clung to him. “This estate is a fortress, Hannah. There are forty armed men on the perimeter and steel shutters on every window. You and your daughter are safer under this roof than anywhere on this earth.”
He reached out, his large, calloused hand hovering near Lily’s back before he hesitated, asking for silent permission. I gave a slight, tearful nod.
Luca placed his hand gently on Lily’s small back, guiding us toward the grand staircase.
“Marco,” Luca called out to another guard waiting in the foyer. “Prepare the master suite on the third floor.”
“The master suite, boss?” Marco blinked in surprise. “Your suite?”
May you like
“Did I stutter?” Luca snapped coldly. “Fresh linens, warm milk, and strawberries. The best we have. Immediately.”
***