Chapter 3 - The Ledger of Blood
A silence so profound fell over the dining room that the crackle of the fireplace sounded like gunshots.
Donna Helena Moretti did not flinch, but her grip on the crystal glass tightened until the knuckles turned stark white.
Don Carmine Bellini stood up, knocking his chair back with a scrape that made the surrounding guards jump.
"Luca, control your household," Carmine barked, his face flushed with insulted pride.
"My daughter will not be slandered by an illegitimate child in front of my capos."
Luca did not even glance at the head of the Bellini family.
"Speak another word about my daughter, Carmine, and you won't leave this county alive," Luca said without shouting.
The quiet authority in his tone was infinitely more terrifying than a scream.
Carmine’s mouth snapped shut, his bodyguards exchanging nervous glances behind his back.
Luca turned his focus entirely onto his mother.
"Is what my daughter said true?" Luca asked, his voice shaking with restrained violence.
Helena set her glass down with a precise, metallic clink against the silver coaster.
"Don't be ridiculous, Luca," she said smoothly, her aristocratic tone dripping with rehearsed condescension.
"The girl is coached."
"Look at this woman you brought into our lives years ago."
"She is a beggar who saw an opportunity to exploit your foolish sentimentality."
"She taught the child to say those words to save herself from being thrown into the gutter where she belongs."
I stepped forward, the fear that had kept me running for five years burning away under a sudden surge of motherly fury.
"I didn't coach her, Helena," I said, my voice ringing clear across the hall.
"Do you remember the gold cross you wore around your neck when you entered my room on November twelfth?"
"You wore the same navy coat you have on the back of your chair right now."
"You brought two men with silenced pistols and threw five thousand dollars on my kitchen table."
"You told me that if I loved Luca, I would let him become the Don he was born to be."
"And you told me that a waitress's child would never inherit a single penny of Moretti blood."
Helena’s thin lips pressed into a bloodless line, but she maintained her cold composure.
"You are delusional," Helena sneered.
"My son has responsibilities to this syndicate that your tiny mind could never comprehend."
"Marco! Gianni!" Luca roared, his command tearing through the room.
Two enormous men in dark suits stepped out from the shadows near the entrance, their faces grim.
"Boss," Marco answered, bowing his head slightly.
"Clear this room," Luca commanded, his voice cold enough to freeze water.
"Take the guests to the west wing."
"Take Don Carmine and his daughter to their car."
"Their presence in my house is no longer permitted."
Vanessa shrieked, lunging forward.
"Luca! You can't expel my father! We have a treaty!"
"The treaty died the second you insulted my wife and denied my child food," Luca replied without looking at her.
"Marco, if anyone hesitates, remove them by force."
Don Carmine grabbed Vanessa by the wrist, his face dark with suppressed rage.
"This is an act of war, Moretti," Carmine hissed as he dragged his weeping daughter toward the side exits.
"You are throwing away an entire syndicate alliance for a South Side kitchen girl!"
"I am protecting my family," Luca said.
Within two minutes, the grand dining hall was emptied of its thirty elite guests.
The heavy oak doors clicked shut, leaving only five people in the vast, echoing room: Luca, myself, Grace, Helena, and Marco.
Luca carried Grace over to the head of the table, placing her gently in the high-backed leather chair where he usually sat.
He reached down, picked up a fresh silver plate, and piled it with warm rolls, roasted chicken, and fruit from the serving trays.
"Eat whatever you want, baby," Luca told her, his voice softening into pure tenderness.
"Nobody will ever take food from your plate again."
Grace looked up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, then began to eat with a quiet, ravenous hunger that made Luca’s jaw clench in agony.
Luca straightened his jacket, turned toward his mother, and walked toward the head of the table.
"Marco, lock the doors from the outside and guard the perimeter," Luca ordered.
Marco nodded, stepped out into the foyer, and the heavy bolt slid home with a definitive thud.
Luca pulled a small leather-bound notebook from his breast pocket and tossed it onto the table in front of Helena.
"Do you recognize this, Mother?" Luca asked.
Helena cast a dismissive glance at the book.
"It’s your father’s old personal ledger," she replied calmly.
"What of it?"
"I found it in the safe in Palermo three days ago," Luca said, leaning forward until his hands rested on the table on either side of the ledger.
"The safe you told me was emptied by the authorities after his funeral."
"Inside this book, my father recorded every payoff, every bribe, and every unauthorized execution he sanctioned."
"And there is an entry dated five years ago."
"An entry authorizing a payment of two hundred thousand dollars to a private security firm in Indiana."
"For the discreet surveillance and suppression of Emily Vance and her unborn child."
My breath hitched in my chest as I looked from the book to the woman who had terrorized my nightmares for half a decade.
Helena didn't flinch.
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her thin ankles with chilling elegance.
"Your father did what was necessary to protect our empire, Luca," she said coldly.
"You were weak."
"You were running through the streets playing house with a common girl while the Bellinis were preparing to take our shipping docks."
"If your father hadn't intervened, this family would have fallen apart five years ago."
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"My father didn't write this entry, Mother," Luca said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hairs on my arms stand up.
"The handwriting belongs to you."
