Chapter 3 - The Cousin’s Paper TrailMy pulse hammered against my ribs.
I looked at Vanessa, who was staring at me with an expression of pure, cornered malice. If looks could kill, I would have dropped dead onto the parquet floor right then.
Then I looked at Marco.
Twelve years he had guarded Luca’s reputation. Twelve years he had ensured that every plate, every glass, and every dollar in the Moretti restaurants was accounted for down to the penny.
If I stayed quiet, Marco would have been pushed out into the cold, his reputation ruined, while a corrupt family took over the supply lines that kept hundreds of honest workers employed.
“Yes, sir,” I answered clearly, my voice echoing across the silent hall. “She did.”
Vanessa lunged forward, her palms slapping the polished mahogany table with a loud crack.
“She’s lying! She’s an opportunistic little gutter rat making up stories to ingratiate herself with you!”
Luca didn’t flinch. He didn’t raise a finger.
He simply said one word:
“Dante.”
From the shadows of the arched doorway, his chief of personal security—a broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar across his right cheek—stepped forward, his hand resting casually beneath his dark wool overcoat.
“Boss.”
“Take Miss Bellini’s purse,” Luca commanded. “Take her phone. And bring her driver into the library.”
“Luca!” Vanessa shrieked, backing away toward the heavy damask curtains. “You cannot search my private belongings! We are supposed to be married in six weeks! My father is currently meeting with your council in Montreal!”
Dante didn’t ask for permission. In two swift strides, he caught Vanessa by the wrist, gently but firmly pried her designer clutch from her fingers, and handed the leather bag directly to Luca.
Luca unzipped the bag with deliberate, unhurried movements.
He emptied its contents onto the white tablecloth.
Out spilled a diamond compact, lipstick, a keycard for a private marina suite, and a folded sheet of carbon invoice paper stamped with the insignia of Crestline Logistics.
Luca unfolded the carbon slip.
His jaw tightened until the tendons stood out along his throat like steel cables.
“Look at this, Marco,” Luca said, sliding the paper across the linen.
Marco picked it up, his eyes scanning the lines. A low, bitter whistle escaped his lips.
“A kickback voucher,” Marco said, his voice flat with disgust. “Four thousand dollars credited to an account at the LaSalle Private Bank, marked as a ‘finder’s fee’ for the Moretti restaurant supply transition.”
Luca looked up at Vanessa.
“You weren’t just trying to replace my caterer tonight, Vanessa,” Luca whispered, each syllable sharp enough to slice skin. “You were orchestrating Marco’s resignation so your cousin could take over our entire food and beverage logistics chain across forty-two commercial locations.”
The room fell into an icy, suffocating stillness.
The thirty-two guests were no longer looking at an engagement banquet; they were witnessing the total, systematic dismantling of an alliance.
“Marco was the only barrier,” Luca continued, rising from his chair to his full, towering height. “He audits every delivery manifest himself. He checks every seal at the warehouse gates. With Marco gone, your cousin could have run whatever contraband he wanted through my restaurant supply trucks, and my name would have been on the bill of lading when the federal agents showed up.”
Vanessa shook her head frantically, tears finally spilling over her mascara, carving black lines down her cheeks.
“It wasn’t like that, Luca! My cousin needed the capital! He was in debt to the Chicago Commission! My father told me that if we controlled your freight lines, we could protect both families from the state police!”
“Your father lied to you,” Luca said softly.
He turned to Dante.
“Lock the front gates. Tell the guards at the perimeter that nobody leaves this estate until I review every manifest from Pier 14.”
He looked down at me.
“Emma.”
May you like
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“You’re coming with me to the cellar.”
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