Chapter 2 - The Interrogation in the Rose Room
Matteo’s fingers fumbled so violently that he tore the mother-of-pearl buttons from his shirt. The fabric fell open beneath the harsh chandelier light.
On the pale skin of his left ribcage, precisely three inches below the pectoral muscle, sat a jagged, purple-pink keloid scar. It curved like the claw of an eagle—the unmistakable impression of the heavy gold crest ring Sofia had worn for fifty years, the ring that had been reported lost at the scene of the crash.
A collective, barely audible gasp rippled through the guests.
“Everyone out,” Luca ordered. He didn't turn around. “Vincenzo, escort our guests to their vehicles. Take their phones until they reach the perimeter gate. Don Marco... you and I will speak tomorrow morning at six. If you leave the city limits, I will consider it a declaration of total war.”
Don Marco Bellini rose slowly, his aging face pale as ashes. He cast one murderous glance at his weeping daughter and terrified son, gave a stiff nod to Luca, and walked out without uttering a single word in defense of his children. Loyalty in the Outfit was absolute—until stupidity threatened the survival of the empire.
Within five minutes, the dining room cleared, leaving only Luca, Vanessa, Matteo, two stone-faced guards, Sofia, and me.
“Upstairs,” Luca instructed, nodding toward his mother’s wheelchair. “The Rose Room. Claire, you push her.”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered.
The Rose Room was a private sitting room on the second floor, lined with dusty bookshelves, heavy velvet drapes, and an antique fireplace that crackled with dry cedar logs. The air smelled of beeswax and dried lavender. It was Sofia’s favorite room, the sanctuary where she had raised Luca after his father had been assassinated twenty years ago.
Luca closed the double oak doors behind us, locking them with a brass key.
Matteo was forced onto his knees on the rug, weeping openly now. Vanessa sat rigidly on an armchair, her mascara smudging beneath wide, furious eyes, her designer purse clutched like a shield.
Luca dragged a wingback chair across the room, set it directly across from his mother, and sat down. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together.
“Claire,” he said, his eyes shifting to me. “Stand next to her. Translate everything she gives you. Do not soften her words. Do not protect anyone. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Mr. Moretti.”
I knelt beside Sofia, taking her frail, cold fingers into mine. “Mrs. Moretti, Luca is listening. You are safe now.”
Sofia breathed in a ragged, shuddering gasp. Her left hand began to move, fingers signing with a fierce, burning urgency that defied her physical weakness.
*They didn't just want to kill me,* she spelled out, her eyes shining with unshed tears. *They needed my signature on the family trust before the equinox. Vanessa found out Luca amended his will.*
I spoke the words aloud into the firelit room.
Vanessa jumped up. “That’s a lie! I loved you, Sofia! I took care of you when the nurses quit!”
Luca’s hand struck the small tea table beside him with the force of a thunderclap. The porcelain cup rattled and shattered on the hearth.
“Silence,” Luca hissed, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on my arms stand up. “If you interrupt one more time, Vanessa, I will have Vincenzo wire your jaw shut.”
Vanessa shrank back into the cushions, her lips trembling in terror.
Sofia’s fingers moved again, fluid, sharp, precise.
*She brought the papers to the lake house on the thirteenth. She wanted me to sign over the title of the shipping terminals in Gary, Indiana. Those terminals were bequeathed to Luca by his father. If they belong to the trust, and I die without Luca marrying, the assets revert to the alliance bank—controlled by Marco Bellini.*
I translated, feeling the sheer magnitude of the betrayal. This wasn't merely a family squabble; it was an economic decapitation of the Moretti family empire.
“When I refused,” I translated as Sofia’s hands picked up speed, “she called Matteo. They knew Luca was in New York negotiating the labor union contracts. Matteo arrived with the story about Luca being shot. I panicked. A mother does not think when she hears her boy is bleeding in a ditch. I ran to the car without my guard.”
Sofia looked up at Luca, her face contorting with grief. *They wanted it to look like I died in grief-fueled reckless driving. But God was merciful. The car hit the oak tree before it sank into the marsh water. The emergency crew pulled me out before the water filled the cab.*
Luca closed his eyes for a long, terrible moment. When he opened them, the anger in them had vanished, replaced by an icy, absolute void. That was far more terrifying.
He stood and walked over to Matteo. He reached down, grabbed the young man by the collar of his ruined shirt, and hoisted him up until Matteo was on his tiptoes.
“Where is the ring, Matteo?” Luca asked softly.
“I... I don't know, Luca, I swear to God I threw it in the river—”
“Vincenzo,” Luca said without looking back. “Take Matteo down to the cold storage beneath the wine cellar. Check his pockets, his car, and his apartment. If the ring is not found by midnight, start with his fingers. One every fifteen minutes.”
“No! Luca! Please!” Matteo screamed, flailing as the massive guard dragged him backward toward the door. “Vanessa planned it! She said it was the only way we could survive the debts in Macau! She owes twenty million to the triads! Luca!”
The door opened and closed, swallowing Matteo’s desperate shrieks into the cavernous hallway.
The room fell deadly quiet again, save for the crackling of the cedar fire and Vanessa’s ragged, sobbing breaths.
May you like
Luca turned his head slowly toward his bride-to-be.
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