Chapter 4 - A Seat at the Table
I froze. "Sir? I'm on duty. The house manager—"
"The house manager works for me," Luca interrupted smoothly. "And right now, I am telling you to sit down. You stood up to Vanessa Bellini when every other employee in this house was terrified of her. You brought Rosa into this room when you knew it could cost you your job. Sit down, Emma."
I looked at Rosa, who smiled warmly and patted the plush leather chair on Luca's other side. I swallowed hard, wiped my hands on my apron, and walked over to the grand head table.
For the next two hours, the grand ballroom of the Moretti estate witnessed a scene that no one in Chicago society would ever have believed. The feared mafia boss, a man worth hundreds of millions of dollars, sat at the front of his opulent dining room, slicing open a warm homemade apple pie with a silver desert knife.
He gave the first slice to Rosa, the second to me, and kept the third for himself.
As the other guests quietly ate their catered meals or drifted out toward their waiting limousines, Luca listened intently as Rosa talked about her life over the past six years. She spoke about her small apartment on 47th Street, her church choir, her neighbors, and the two buses she had taken through the rain to get here tonight.
"Why didn't you call my office, Rosa?" Luca asked, his forehead creasing with genuine pain. "I told my staff years ago that if you ever needed anything—a driver, medical care, money—it was to be taken care of instantly."
"Because you were building your empire, Luca," Rosa answered softly, reaching across the white tablecloth to pat his hand. "And because I don't need charity. I have my pension, my health, and my memories of your mother. I only came tonight because Mary appeared in my dreams three weeks ago. She told me, 'Rosa, the boy is about to make a deal that will lock his heart in a cage. Take the letter.'"
Luca looked down at the yellowed sheet of paper sitting beside his plate. The ink was faded, written in his mother's elegant, slanted handwriting just weeks before she lost her battle with cancer.
"What else does it say, Mr. Moretti?" I asked softly before I could stop myself.
Luca picked up the paper. His fingers brushed the edge with a reverence I had never seen him display toward anything else.
"She wrote about what makes a true home," Luca said, reading quietly aloud so only Rosa and I could hear. "'Luca, our family business was built on power and respect. But respect built on fear is an illusion that disappears the moment you show weakness. True respect is built on loyalty to the people who serve you, protect you, and love you when the lights are off and the money is gone. Do not choose a queen who only loves the crown. Choose a woman who sees the people in the shadows.'"
Luca folded the paper carefully and slipped it into his inner jacket pocket, right next to his heart.
He looked at me, his sharp gray eyes searching my face with a sudden, intense focus that made my cheeks flush.
"You saw the people in the shadows tonight, Emma," Luca said.
"I just saw a sweet lady who deserved better than being hidden in a kitchen, sir," I replied quietly.
May you like
Luca nodded slowly. "Tomorrow morning, things are going to get dangerous. The Bellinis are going to react. They have political power, they control the docks, and old man Bellini is ruthless."
He stood up, looking at both of us. "Tonight, Mama Rosa stays in the master guest suite on the second floor. And Emma... you aren't going back to your apartment tonight. My drivers will fetch your father and bring him here under armed escort."
