Chapter 5 - The Trial in the Red Salon
The red salon on the second floor of the Moretti mansion was a room designed for intimidation. Lined with dark mahogany wainscoting, velvet draperies the color of dried blood, and oil portraits of past syndicate bosses scowling down from the walls, it felt less like a drawing room and more like a tribunal.
The crystal chandelier overhead cast a harsh, amber glow across the Persian rug.
Sitting in a high-backed velvet armchair near the unlit fireplace was Vanessa Bellini.
She had managed to fix her hair, and her crimson evening gown still shimmered under the lights, but her hands—resting tightly in her lap—were trembling so violently she had to interlace her fingers to hide the shakes.
The heavy double doors swung open with a slow, echoing creak.
Luca entered first, walking with measured, deliberate strides. He didn't sit down. He stood directly in front of the marble hearth, his dark suit jacket unbuttoned, his hands resting casually in his trouser pockets.
Mateo entered behind him, firmly guiding Vanessa's private attorney—a slick, expensive-looking man named Henderson—into a folding chair near the door.
Finally, I walked in, lingering quietly by the shadows near the doorway, still wearing my dark housemaid’s uniform, my left arm held securely in a fresh sling Mateo had fetched from the estate's medical supplies.
Vanessa looked up, her eyes darting frantically between Luca and her lawyer before forcing a defiant, brittle smile to her lips.
"Really, Luca? This theatrical nonsense?" Vanessa scoffed, her voice echoing in the cavernous room. "You dragged me out of my own engagement party, locked the guests in the ballroom like common criminals, and subjected me to armed thugs, all because an elderly woman with advanced dementia had a confused episode and wandered down to the garage?"
Luca didn't move a muscle. He didn't raise his voice.
"She wasn't confused, Vanessa," Luca said softly.
"Oh, please! Ask Dr. Althaus—"
"Dr. Althaus's medical license was revoked in Wisconsin three years ago under an assumed name," Luca interrupted smoothly, pulling a thin manila folder from his inner coat pocket and tossing it onto the mahogany coffee table in front of her. "Just like the private ambulance service you hired to transport my mother to an unregistered shell corporation in Indiana under your maiden name."
Vanessa’s breath hitched. The brittle smile vanished from her face in a single heartbeat.
"You... you checked my background?" she whispered, her voice losing its defiant edge.
"When I give a woman a ring with a four-carat diamond and my mother’s blessing," Luca replied, his dark eyes narrowing into twin slits of pure ice, "I don't just check her background. I map out her entire life. I know about the debts you accumulated in Milan. I know about the shell companies you set up last November to drain the Moretti shipping trusts. And I know about the phone calls you made to the Russo syndicate last Tuesday."
Henderson, the high-priced attorney, leaped out of his chair, waving his hands frantically.
"Mr. Moretti, my client denies these allegations entirely without the presence of—"
"Sit down, Henderson," Mateo warned quietly, taking two steps forward and casually resting his hand on the butt of his sidearm.
The attorney swallowed hard, looked at Mateo’s scarred face, and sat back down without another word.
Vanessa slowly stood up from the armchair. The defiant mask was completely gone now, replaced by a desperate, calculating panic. She took two steps toward Luca, her voice dropping into a soft, pleading whisper as she reached out a slender, manicured hand.
"Luca... listen to me. We can fix this," she pleaded, tears welling in her eyes with practiced theatricality. "The syndicate is expanding into the eastern ports. You need allies, not enemies. If we marry, our families control Chicago from the lake to the state line. Don't throw all of that away over an old woman who won't even remember our anniversary next year!"
The moment the words left her mouth, the temperature in the room plummeted below freezing.
Luca stared at her. Not with anger. With a profound, chilling disgust.
"My mother built this syndicate alongside my father while you were still wearing school uniforms in Verona," Luca said, his voice dropping an octave into a register that made even Mateo step back. "She remembered every name, every face, and every sacrifice that kept this family alive. And you... you thought you could drug her, lock her away, and steal her legacy while playing hostess at my table."
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them until he was towering directly over her.
"You're not leaving this estate, Vanessa," Luca whispered. "You're not going to trial, and you're not going to prison. Because in our world, family matters don't go to public courtrooms."
Vanessa’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated terror. "What... what are you going to do with me?"
"Mateo," Luca commanded without taking his eyes off her. "Take her to the East Wing suite. Put a twenty-four-hour guard outside the door. Her phone, her jewelry, and her passport stay here. From this moment on, Vanessa Bellini does not exist."
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As Mateo grabbed her arm and began escorting her sobbing, screaming form toward the double doors, Luca didn't even turn around to watch her go.
He stood in the center of the red salon, the amber light of the chandelier catching the sharp angles of his face, before turning his gaze slowly toward me.
