Chapter 14 - Bloodline Secrets
Torrisi didn't flinch, but his eyes narrowed. He recognized genuine lethal intent when he saw it. With a dry, humorless chuckle, he tapped his cane against the marble floor.
"We have a meeting of the Commission on Friday, boy," Torrisi said quietly. "Let's see if your little bookkeeper can audit her way out of an eviction notice."
He turned and walked away, Vanessa trailing after him with a haughty toss of her dark curls, basking in the illusion of borrowed power.
The drive back to the estate was silent. Rain pelted the armored windows of the Maybach, smearing the amber city lights into streaks of gold and red. Luca’s jaw remained rigid, his fingers laced tightly with mine on the leather seat between us.
When we stepped through the front doors of the manor, Mrs. Moretti was waiting in the small sitting room off the foyer. A silver tray sat on the coffee table, bearing three small cups of chamomile tea. She took one look at our faces and sighed.
"He showed himself, didn't he?" she asked softly.
"He brought Vanessa with him," I said, setting my clutch aside and unfastening the concealed holster. "He claims he owns the titles to the northern docks."
Mrs. Moretti walked over to an antique roll-top desk tucked into the corner of the room. She turned a brass key in the third drawer down and pulled out a faded leather folder bound with yellowed cord.
"Marco doesn't own those docks," Mrs. Moretti said, handing the file directly to me, completely bypassing Luca. "My father did. Long before I married Luca’s father, the land belonged to the Cavallaro family. My family."
Luca stared at his mother in disbelief. "You told me the northern ports were acquired through municipal auctions in the seventies."
"Because I didn't want you growing up knowing the blood that bought them," Mrs. Moretti said, her eyes softening as she reached out to touch her son's cheek. "Your father made a deal with Marco back then. Marco surrendered the physical deeds in exchange for twenty percent of the gross shipping. But there was a clause—handwritten by my father."
May you like
I untied the ribbon and opened the brittle parchment. My eyes scanned the elegant, cursive Italian script.
"A purity clause," I murmured, reading the English translation beneath it. "If the claimant ever partners with a disgraced house, all rights immediately revert to the maternal line."
