Chapter 18 - The Kitchen Council
The warmth of the kitchen was an unbearable contrast to Vanessa’s shivering disgrace.
She sat on a plain wooden chair, wrapped in a coarse wool blanket Mrs. Moretti had tossed over her shoulders. Before her sat a steaming bowl of hot broth—not in fine bone china, but in the exact chipped ceramic bowl she had once ordered me to throw in the garbage.
Her trembling hands held the spoon, but she couldn't bring herself to eat. She stared into the bowl, tears dripping silently into the broth.
"Eat," Mrs. Moretti said gently, sitting across from her. "Pride doesn't fill an empty belly, child. You spent your whole life thinking the gold on your plate made the food taste better. Now you see what it really buys you."
Vanessa choked back a sob, taking a single, shaky sip. She closed her eyes as the warmth hit her throat. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I'm so sorry."
"You're not sorry for what you did," Luca said from the doorway, his voice icy and unforgiving. "You're sorry because the ground gave way beneath you. Tell us where Torrisi is keeping his main ledger."
Vanessa wiped her nose with the edge of the blanket, completely broken. "He has an estate in Lake Geneva. But he isn't there right now. He's at the old meatpacking plant near the rail yards. He brought in two dozen mercenaries from Detroit. He’s going to strike the estate tonight. He wants your mother, Luca. He said if he takes Rosa, you'll hand over the entire empire without firing a shot."
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I looked at Luca. The mention of his mother's name in Torrisi’s mouth had made the air in the room drop ten degrees.
"He won't make it to nightfall," Luca said.
