Chapter 4 - The Rules of Luca MorettiI moved into Luca Moretti’s house that night.
Not because I trusted him.
Because Dominic knew my address.
There is a strange kind of humiliation in packing your entire life into two suitcases while armed men stand outside your apartment.
My possessions looked pathetic once gathered.
Seven shirts.
Three pairs of jeans.
Two decent dresses.
My mother’s recipe box.
A framed photograph.
Nursing textbooks I hadn’t opened in more than a year.
A coffee mug that said I SURVIVED CLINICALS even though technically I hadn’t.
Rafael carried one suitcase downstairs.
I carried the other.
When we reached the building entrance, Mrs. Alvarez opened her door.
She looked at Rafael.
Then his suit.
Then me.
“Claire?”
“I’m taking a temporary job.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“With the CIA?”
Despite everything, I laughed.
“Something like that.”
She hugged me.
That nearly broke me.
By midnight, I was inside a guest suite at the Moretti estate.
Calling it a guest suite felt dishonest.
It had a fireplace.
A dressing room.
A bathroom with a bathtub large enough to drown a modest horse.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at my phone.
Twelve missed calls.
Three reporters.
Two unknown numbers.
One former coworker asking whether I had actually saved “the mafia prince.”
I turned the phone off.
A knock came at my door.
Mateo stood outside holding a blanket.
“Can I stay?”
I looked behind him.
Luca was ten feet away.
“No,” he said.
Mateo crossed his arms.
“You didn’t even ask Claire.”
“You have a bed.”
“So does she.”
I coughed to hide a laugh.
Luca noticed.
“This is not amusing.”
“A little.”
Mateo looked at me hopefully.
I knelt.
“You can stay until you get sleepy.”
“I’m already sleepy.”
“Convenient.”
He climbed onto an armchair.
Luca remained in the doorway.
I looked at him.
“You can go.”
“This is my house.”
“This is currently my room.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You adapt quickly.”
“I’ve been poor. We’re excellent improvisers.”
Something about that comment bothered him.
He entered anyway.
Mateo demanded a story.
I picked one from the shelf.
Halfway through, he fell asleep.
Luca lifted him carefully.
Mateo curled against his chest without waking.
That image did something uncomfortable to my assumptions.
Dangerous men were easier to understand when they remained dangerous every second.
Luca loved his son.
Deeply.
That complicated him.
Before leaving, he looked back at me.
“Breakfast at seven.”
“I start at eight.”
He stared.
“Our agreement says—”
“Two days off every week and scheduled hours.”
His jaw tightened.
“It is midnight.”
“Exactly. Employment law is already winning.”
For half a second, I thought he might argue.
Then he smiled.
Actually smiled.
It changed his face completely.
And that was irritating for an entirely different reason.
“Eight,” he said.
The next morning, I discovered Mateo hated eggs, secretly fed bacon to a dog named Caesar beneath the table, and believed socks were oppressive.
I also discovered Luca took phone calls through breakfast.
After the fourth, I reached across and took his phone.
The room froze.
Rafael stopped drinking coffee.
Rosa stopped walking.
Even Caesar paused.
Luca looked at the empty space where his phone had been.
Then at me.
“Give that back.”
“Breakfast.”
“Claire.”
“Mateo has spoken to you three times.”
Luca’s eyes shifted to his son.
Mateo was studying his cereal.
I slid the phone beneath my leg.
“One meal.”
Luca’s voice became dangerous.
“I conduct business.”
“Congratulations.”
“At all hours.”
“That sounds like poor management.”
Rafael choked.
Luca turned toward him.
Rafael coughed into his fist.
I looked at Mateo.
“Tell your father what you were saying.”
Mateo whispered, “We have a class project.”
Luca’s expression softened.
“What project?”
“I have to make a family tree.”
The room changed.
Mateo’s mother had died.
I knew immediately where this was going.
“Teacher said everybody needs a mom and dad branch.”
Luca stared at his son.
“You have a mom.”
“But she’s dead.”
The bluntness of children could dismantle adults.
Luca swallowed.
“Her being dead doesn’t mean she stops being your mother.”
Mateo thought about that.
“Can Claire be on the tree?”
I nearly inhaled coffee.
“No.”
Luca and I answered together.
Mateo frowned.
“You’re both bossy.”
That morning we built a family tree.
We found photographs of Mateo’s mother, Elena.
She was beautiful.
Dark curls.
Kind smile.
She and Luca looked absurdly young in their wedding photograph.
I watched him hold the picture.
His thumb rested briefly along the edge.
“You loved her.”
His eyes stayed on the photograph.
“Yes.”
The simple answer made me feel strangely guilty for asking.
Later, Mateo went to his tutor.
I found Luca alone on the terrace.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” I said.
“That has never stopped you from asking.”
“Fair.”
He looked over the river.
“Elena was not part of my world.”
“Meaning?”
“She was a teacher.”
That surprised me.
“She thought I imported wine.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
I waited.
“And?”
“And other things.”
“Were you already…?”
I stopped.
“A criminal?”
He sounded amused.
“I was born into the Moretti family. There was never an age when legality was the only consideration.”
“That’s a diplomatic answer.”
“It is the answer you’re getting.”
I leaned against the railing.
“Did she know eventually?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She threatened to leave.”
“Did she?”
“No.”
“Why?”
His jaw tightened.
“She was pregnant.”
That silenced me.
“I promised I would change.”
“Did you?”
“I changed certain things.”
“But not enough.”
His eyes met mine.
“No.”
The grief there felt old and disciplined.
“She died before she could decide whether to forgive me.”
The wind moved between us.
For the first time, I understood something frightening.
Luca’s wealth was enormous.
His power undeniable.
But neither had ever been enough to purchase the one thing he actually wanted.
A different past.
Rafael stepped onto the terrace.
“We found Dominic.”
Luca straightened.
“Where?”
“He’s staying in Manhattan under another name.”
“Get the car.”
I stepped in front of him.
“What are you going to do?”
“Move.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the only one you require.”
“No.”
His eyes cooled.
“Claire.”
“If whatever you do starts a war, Mateo gets hurt.”
“This already is a war.”
“Then stop treating war like it’s inevitable.”
“You think I can talk my brother out of threatening my child?”
“I think you’re angry.”
“I am beyond angry.”
“And angry people confuse revenge with solutions.”
His face hardened.
“You do not know Dominic.”
“No. But I know Mateo.”
Luca stepped closer.
“This has nothing to do with you.”
That hurt more than it should have.
I nodded.
“Fine.”
I walked inside.
Ten minutes later, Luca’s car left.
Mateo and I spent the afternoon building a cardboard volcano.
At six, Luca returned.
No blood.
No visible damage.
I didn’t ask.
At eight, he knocked on my door.
“I met Dominic.”
I waited.
“I didn’t kill him.”
The casualness of the sentence was horrifying.
“Do you expect congratulations?”
“Somewhat.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to.”
I believed him.
He continued.
“I gave him a choice. Leave New York. Never approach Mateo again. In return, I release the shares he claims were stolen from him.”
“You’re giving him money?”
“Approximately twenty-seven million dollars.”
I stared.
“That is a very expensive family therapy session.”
His mouth moved.
Then he became serious.
“He accepted.”
“You believe him?”
“No.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because you were right.”
I blinked.
He seemed almost annoyed by the admission.
“About what?”
“Revenge is not the same as a solution.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Then his phone vibrated.
He checked it.
Every trace of calm vanished.
“What?”
Luca showed me the screen.
A photograph.
Mateo.
Taken through the school gates earlier that day.
A message beneath it.
Twenty-seven million was insulting.
Then another text arrived.
Now I want everything.
May you like
And a final line.
Including the waitress.
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