Chapter 2 - THE DROPPED FORK
The grand hallway of the Moretti estate was lined with white imported lilies, polished silver candelabras, and twenty-foot portraits of ancestors who had ruled the city with iron fists.
Every step we took on the white marble sounded like a gunshot in the silent corridor.
Behind us, the furious clicking of Vanessa’s stilettos pursued us like a predator closing in on its prey.
“Claire, turn around this instant!” Vanessa hissed under her breath, terrified of raising her voice within earshot of the guests.
“I will have Marco throw you into the Chicago River before sunrise!”
I didn't slow down.
Emily’s hand was ice-cold inside mine, but her grip was desperate, anchoring her entire existence to my stride.
She clutched the silver gift bag against her chest like a shield.
We reached the double doors of the grand dining hall, where two armed guards in tailored Italian suits stood post.
They recognized Emily instantly and hesitated, their hands dropping away from the brass handles.
“Let her through, Tommy,” I said to the elder guard, looking him dead in the eye.
“Unless you want to explain to the boss tomorrow why you locked his blood out in the snow.”
Tommy glanced at Vanessa, then at Emily’s rounded stomach, and slowly pulled the mahogany doors wide.
The warmth of eighty scented candles and the rich aroma of roasted veal and vintage Barolo washed over us.
At the center of the room sat a banquet table crafted from thirty feet of solid cherry wood.
Seated around it were thirty-five of the most feared and influential figures in the metropolitan area.
Aldermen, federal judges, shipping magnates, and senior capos in silk ties were laughing over crystal flutes of champagne.
At the absolute head of the table sat Luca Moretti.
He looked magnificent and formidable in his bespoke charcoal tuxedo, his silver-streaked hair swept back, his dark eyes commanding absolute obedience from everyone present.
Beside his plate sat an empty golden goblet waiting for his bride.
Our sudden entry into the hall caused the laughter to die down from the perimeter inward.
Vanessa pushed past us, her face flushed with panic, trying to plaster a radiant, welcoming smile across her lips for the high-society guests.
“Everyone, please, enjoy your dinner!” Vanessa announced, her voice trembling with barely concealed terror.
She spun around to block Emily from view, her crimson skirt flaring out like a curtain.
“A minor domestic emergency with the kitchen staff, nothing to worry about.”
She reached out, grabbing Emily’s arm with bruising force, whispering viciously through her teeth: “Walk back out those doors right now, you miserable stray.”
“Let go of her,” I said loudly, my voice echoing off the high vaulted ceilings of the hall.
A collective gasp rippled through the seated guests.
No maid ever spoke in the Moretti dining hall, let alone shouted at the future lady of the house.
At the head of the table, Luca Moretti froze.
He set down his linen napkin and slowly pushed his heavy oak chair back.
The scrape of the chair legs against the marble sounded like grinding stone in the breathless silence.
His dark eyes swept past Vanessa’s frantic crimson silhouette.
His gaze locked onto Emily.
Then, his eyes dropped lower, fixed squarely on the unmistakable, heavy curve beneath her navy velvet dress.
In his right hand, a heavy sterling silver fork slipped from his fingers.
It struck the edge of his bone china plate with a sharp ring before tumbling onto the marble floor.
The metal clattered in the dead silence, spinning twice before stopping.
“Emily?” Luca’s voice was barely a whisper, yet it carried the weight of an avalanche.
The entire room held its breath; men who commanded hundreds of armed soldiers sat motionless like stone statues.
Emily took one trembling step forward, stepping out from behind Vanessa’s shadow.
Tears spilled freely over her eyelashes, cascading down her cheeks.
“Hi, Dad,” she choked out.
Luca didn't look at his guests, he didn't look at the champagne, and he certainly didn't look at Vanessa.
He walked down the length of the thirty-foot table with slow, heavy strides, his eyes never leaving his daughter.
Every ounce of his legendary intimidation seemed to drain out of his posture with every step he took.
He stopped three feet in front of her, his large, scarred hands hovering in the air as if terrified she was a phantom made of mist.
His gaze dropped to her belly, then rose back to her swollen, weeping eyes.
“You’re having a baby?” he whispered, his deep voice cracking with a raw vulnerability no man in that room had ever witnessed.
Emily nodded, burying her face in her hands as a sob racked her body.
“I am, Dad.”
“I’m having a baby.”
Luca’s chest heaved.
He stepped closer, his hands gently framing her wet face, lifting her chin with infinite gentleness.
“How far along are you, little bird?”
“Twenty-four weeks,” she wept.
“Almost six months.”
Luca’s expression went utterly blank, a look of profound, agonizing betrayal washing over his features.
“Six months?” he repeated, the words tasting like poison on his tongue.
“You’ve been carrying my grandchild for half a year, and I am finding out tonight in the middle of a dinner party?”
“I’m so sorry, Dad,” Emily cried, her knees buckling slightly.
“I tried to call you.”
“I tried twenty times!”
Luca caught her securely by the elbows, holding her upright with effortless strength.
“What do you mean, you tried to call me?”
Vanessa immediately stepped forward, her hands fluttering in frantic appeasement.
“Luca, darling, let’s take this into the study.”
“The guests are watching, the alderman is here, we shouldn't make a scene—”
Luca raised a single, scarred index finger without even turning his head toward her.
“Silence,” he said.
The single word dropped the temperature in the ballroom to absolute zero.
Vanessa clamped her mouth shut, her chest heaving beneath her diamonds.
Luca looked back into Emily’s eyes, his expression agonizingly soft.
“Emily, tell me the truth.”
“Why didn't you come to my office?”
“Why didn't you text my private number?”
“I called your private cell phone every Tuesday and Friday after school,” Emily sobbed.
“Vanessa answered every single time.”
Luca’s jaw clenched so hard the muscles along his temples twitched.
“And what did Vanessa tell you?”
Emily hesitated, glancing fearfully at the crimson-clad woman who stood trembling nearby.
“She told me that you knew about the pregnancy.”
“She said you were ashamed of me for having a child out of wedlock while you were trying to unite the families.”
“She told me that you spent your whole life burying Mom’s mistakes, and you didn't want my bastard child ruining your new beginning.”
A horrifying stillness settled over the grand ballroom.
Several of the older syndicate capos shifted uncomfortably in their seats, their faces darkening with disgust.
Luca looked as though someone had driven a rusted blade through his heart.
He turned his head slowly, excruciatingly toward the woman he had promised to marry in two weeks.
His eyes were no longer those of a father; they were the pitch-black eyes of the most dangerous man in Illinois.
“You told my daughter that my late wife was a mistake?” he asked, his voice deadly quiet.
Vanessa took a step back, her heels wobbling on the slick floor.
“Luca, I was trying to protect your reputation!”
“She was sleeping with an unvetted civilian, a high school history teacher!”
“You know what the papers would say, what the other families would whisper about your bloodline being polluted!”
“I don't give a damn about the other families,” Luca roared, the sound vibrating the crystal chandeliers above our heads.
He turned back to Emily, his hands moving gently to rest against the swell of her stomach.
A profound, sacred reverence smoothed the lines of fury on his face.
“Who is the father, Emily?”
“Michael,” she whispered, sniffling.
“Michael Vance.”
“He’s the head of the history department at Oak Park.”
“He’s a good man, Dad.”
“We’re getting married at the courthouse next month.”
Luca let out a strange, wet sound that was half-laugh and half-sob.
The suffocating tension that had gripped his broad shoulders for two months seemed to shatter completely.
He gathered his daughter into his arms, wrapping his heavy tuxedo jacket around her shivering frame.
“A teacher,” Luca murmured into her hair, closing his eyes as tears escaped down his own cheeks.
“Your mother always said you would marry someone who read books instead of someone who carried guns.”
“She would have been so proud of you, little bird.”
Emily clung to his lapels, burying her face against his neck like she used to do when she was a little girl.
“I missed you so much, Dad.”
Luca kissed her forehead, then looked down at the little silver gift bag she was still clutching.
“What is this?”
With trembling hands, Emily opened the tissue paper and pulled out a tiny, soft white cotton onesie.
Printed across the chest in bold, royal blue letters were the words:
GRANDPA LUCA’S CO-PILOT.
The man who had survived three assassination attempts and built an empire out of concrete and grit stared at the tiny piece of cloth.
He pressed the fabric against his face, inhaling the clean, uncorrupted scent of new cotton.
“I bought a crib three weeks ago,” Luca whispered, his voice shaking.
Emily pulled back, looking at him in total disbelief.
“What?”
Luca wiped a rogue tear from his cheek with the back of his thumb, smiling faintly.
“I walked past a boutique on Michigan Avenue last month.”
“I saw this hand-carved walnut crib in the window and I bought it on the spot.”
“Marco thought I had lost my mind.”
“I didn't even know if you were seeing anyone, but I kept dreaming that Elena was standing in the nursery, telling me to get ready.”
He shot a freezing glance at Vanessa, whose face had completely lost all color.
May you like
“It has been sitting assembled in the east bedroom for twenty days, Emily.”
“Waiting for you.”
