Chapter 4 - THE FAMILY DINNER
The DeLuca estate in Long Island was a fortress surrounded by stone walls and iron gates. Armed guards walked the perimeter with trained attack dogs, while security cameras covered every inch of the estate grounds.
Inside the grand dining room, long mahogany tables were set with sterling silver and crystal. Sitting at the table were the senior lieutenants of the DeLuca syndicate, along with Vittorio and Matteo's cold, calculating aunt, Bianca DeLuca.
Clara sat at Matteo's right hand, wearing a dark green silk dress that Matteo had provided for her. Her foot was tucked comfortably beneath the table, but she felt entirely exposed under the sharp, analytical gazes of the mafia elders.
"She doesn't eat much," Aunt Bianca observed, setting her fork down with a sharp clink. "A girl from the docks should have a larger appetite."
"She's recovering from an injury, Bianca," Matteo said, pouring Clara a glass of sparkling water. "Leave her be."
"An injury caused by our primary shipping partner's daughter," one of the old lieutenants, Marco, grunted. "Matteo, the streets are volatile right now. Moretti is forming an alliance with the Bellini hotel empire. They are cutting off our logistics routes through the harbor."
"Let them try," Matteo said, taking a sip of wine. "The Bellini empire relies on our protection for their casino resorts in Atlantic City. If Sofia Bellini's father thinks he can align with Moretti, I will withdraw our security details tomorrow."
Clara listened to them speak about multi-million-dollar territories as if they were simple chess pieces.
"Miss Bennett," Vittorio suddenly spoke from the head of the table. "Your father, Arthur Bennett. Before he died, he hid a ledger. A ledger that contained the private financial records of every family in New York."
Clara looked up, surprised. "My father was an auto mechanic, Mr. DeLuca. He worked on engines."
"He worked on our engines," Bianca corrected coldly. "And he kept receipts. For ten years, those records have been missing. People thought Arthur took them to his grave."
Bianca leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. "Is that why you were working at the Belladonna Hotel, Clara? Were you waiting for the right moment to sell your father's legacy to the highest bidder?"
Matteo slammed his hand against the table, making the wine glasses rattle. "Enough, Bianca!"
"No," Clara said, her voice rising with quiet strength as she looked directly at Aunt Bianca. "I don't know anything about a ledger. My father left us a small toolbox, a stack of unpaid hospital bills, and a wooden cross that hangs over my brother's bed. If he had millions of dollars worth of secrets, we wouldn't have been eating canned soup for dinner last winter."
The dining room fell silent. The lieutenants looked at each other, impressed by the girl's refusal to back down before Bianca's intimidating presence.
Vittorio smiled slowly—a genuine, amused smile. "She has her father's spine. I like her."
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the dining room burst open. A guard rushed in, his face pale.
"Don Vittorio! There's an explosion at the harbor facility! Three of our supply warehouses are on fire!"
Matteo stood up instantly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Moretti?"
"Yes, sir," the guard reported. "And witnesses say Camille Laurent's father provided the vehicles for the hit squad."
Matteo looked down at Clara. "Stay here. With my father."
May you like
"Matteo, wait—" Clara reached for his sleeve.
He grabbed her hand, kissed her knuckles swiftly, and looked into her eyes with an intensity that burned right through her. "I'll be back by morning. Don't leave this house."
