Chapter 6 - The Matriarch’s Warning
The air in the library seemed to freeze, heavy and suffocating.
Grace stared at Elena DeLuca. The matriarch’s eyes were cool, devoid of theatrical anger, carrying only the flat, pragmatic gravity of a woman who had spent forty years surviving inside a predatory empire.
“Are you threatening me, Mrs. DeLuca?” Grace asked, her voice surprisingly steady, though her hands were clamped tight behind her back to hide their trembling.
“No, Miss Holloway,” Elena said smoothly. “I am informing you of reality. Threatening you would imply that I want to harm you. I do not. You seem like a quiet, educated young woman who does good work for this neighborhood. But you are a civilian in a war that has been quiet for ten years and is about to become very loud.”
Elena unclasped her leather folder, turning it slightly so Grace could see the single sheet of paper inside. It was a printed surveillance photograph taken from across 5th Street three nights ago.
It showed Matteo standing at the library’s glass entrance door in the rain, his body completely blocking the threshold. In the background, visible through the glass behind his shoulder, was the faint, soft outline of Grace sitting at the desk under the yellow lamp.
“This was taken by Gianni Moretti’s men,” Elena explained, her voice dropping lower. “Franco Moretti wants the Southwark pier development. Matteo refused to surrender our family’s stake yesterday morning. Now, Franco is looking for leverage. He sees this photograph, and he doesn't see a librarian. He sees a vulnerability.”
Grace looked at the photograph. The sight of herself captured in the background of Matteo’s dangerous world made a cold wave of nausea roll through her stomach.
“Matteo told me Gianni didn't see me,” Grace whispered.
“Matteo was protecting you,” Elena replied sharp-edged. “Or rather, he was lying to himself because he wanted to believe he could protect you without changing his life. He is a man accustomed to control, Miss Holloway. But he cannot control Franco Moretti, and he cannot control the men who take orders from him.”
Grace lifted her head, looking directly into the older woman’s dark eyes. “Why are you telling me this? If you wanted me gone, you could have sent those men at the door to scare me off.”
Elena offered a faint, dry smile—the same cold, intelligent curve of the lips Grace had seen on Matteo.
“Because my nephew respects you,” Elena said softly. “In seven weeks, you have given him something nobody else in this city could give him: a place where he is just a man returning a book. If I forced you away with threats, he would hate me, and he would come looking for you anyway, making you even more dangerous to him.”
Elena reached out, closing the folder with a soft snap.
“If you want him to be safe,” Elena added, her voice dropping into an absolute, unyielding decree, “you must be the one to break it. You must tell him that his presence here is a burden. He will listen to you. He will not listen to me.”
“You’re asking me to lie to him,” Grace said, her chest tight, aching with a sharp, blinding pain.
“I am asking you to be realistic,” Elena corrected, picking up her folder and tucking it back beneath her arm. “In our world, love isn't about soft words and birthday gifts, Miss Holloway. It is about who survives the night. Think about what I have said.”
Elena turned on her heel and walked toward the exit. The broad-shouldered man pushed the heavy glass door open for her, and within seconds, both of them vanished into the bright, crisp October sunlight.
Melissa immediately rushed over to Grace, her face pale as paper. “Grace... oh my god. Grace, what was that? What did she say to you?”
Grace didn't answer. She leaned against the oak counter, her lungs struggling to pull in air, staring at the empty space where Elena DeLuca had stood.
May you like
She looked toward the corner of the library—toward the third aisle, where the books on deep-sea creatures sat on the bottom shelf. She thought of Lucia in her oversized red coat. She thought of Matteo, sitting on that small wooden chair, turning his silver pocket watch over in his fingers while he waited thirty minutes for a little girl to feel safe.
He gave me a place where I felt remembered, Grace thought, her eyes burning with hot, silent tears. And now I have to make him forget.
