Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Castelmola
The quiet that followed Luciano’s declaration was so absolute that the rustle of Celeste Romano’s silk dress sounded like a tearing bedsheet.
Celeste took a step backward, her eyes darting frantically between the faded photograph on the yellowed paper and the curvy woman standing in flannel pants next to the most dangerous man on the East Coast.
"No..." Celeste whispered, her voice cracking. "No, that’s impossible! It’s a trick! You’re making this up to cover yourself!"
"Look at the seal, Celeste," Luciano said calmly, tossing the binder onto the coffee table in front of her. "That is the official seal of the Archbishop of Palermo. Look at the handwritten signature of the witness. It belongs to your own grandfather, Don Bernardo Romano."
Celeste dropped to her knees beside the table, her trembling hands scrambling through the pages until her eyes locked onto the bottom line.
There, stamped in dry purple ink beside the signature of a seven-year-younger Luciano Costa, was the name: Claudia-Chloe Lorenzo-Mercer.
"You..." Celeste looked up at Chloe, her eyes wild with a mixture of disbelief and profound horror. "You knew? You’ve been hiding in this house pretending to be a servant while holding the ultimate claim to the Costa empire?"
Chloe felt as if the room were spinning. The air in her lungs tasted thin. She looked at her own hand—the soft fingers wrapped tightly in Luciano’s warm, powerful grip.
"I... I didn't know," Chloe stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "I don't... I don't remember any of this."
Luciano shifted his weight, pulling Chloe slightly behind his back, shielding her once again from Celeste’s burning gaze.
"She was nine years old when the war broke out in Castelmola," Luciano said coldly, addressing Celeste. "Her mother took her out of Italy after an ambush that left her with a severe head injury. She grew up in upstate New York believing her father was a simple merchant who died in a car accident. I kept her here under my roof for eight months to protect her while I dismantled the last of the men who hunted her family."
Celeste stood up slowly, her face contorted into a mask of pure humiliation. The grand trap she had spent twenty-four hours building had not only failed—it had legally and permanently solidified the very union she had set out to destroy.
"My father will not accept this," Celeste hissed, backing toward the library doors where her bodyguards stood paralyzed. "The Romano family will not bow to a girl who doesn't even know her own bloodline!"
"Your father will bow to whoever holds the Commission's registry," Luciano warned, his voice dropping into a register that made the windowpanes vibrate faintly. "And if a single Romano soldier steps onto my land again without an invitation, I will consider it a declaration of total war. Get out of my house."
Rocco and four armed Costa guards stepped forward, instantly surrounding Celeste and her men, forcing them out into the hallway.
The heavy oak doors slammed shut.
The library fell dead silent once again.
Chloe immediately pulled her hand out of Luciano’s grip. She took three steps backward, staring at him as if he had suddenly turned into a complete stranger.
"Chloe—" Luciano began, reaching out.
"Don't," she breathed, her hands shaking so violently she had to curl them into fists. "Don't touch me."
Luciano lowered his hand, his hazel eyes filled with a dark, cautious patience. "I know this is overwhelming—"
"Overwhelming?!" Chloe’s voice spiked into an angry laugh. "Overwhelming is finding out your husband is a mafia boss! This... this is insane! I came here eight months ago to dust your bookshelves! I spent yesterday thinking you made up a stupid lie to save us from getting shot! And now you're telling me I'm some... some lost Italian princess who got married when she was a teenager?!"
"You were sixteen," Luciano corrected quietly. "And it was a legal proxy arrangement to prevent your uncle's enemies from seizing your family's land. You were sent to America for your own safety."
"And my memory?" Chloe demanded, tears of frustration hot against her eyes. "My grandmother... the woman who raised me... she never said a word about Sicily! She never said a word about Don Lorenzo!"
"Your grandmother was hired by my father to raise you in safety," Luciano explained gently, taking one slow, non-threatening step toward her. "Your head injury during the escape from Italy was real, Chloe. You lost your early childhood memories. Your grandmother was under strict orders never to reveal your true identity until the blood feud in Sicily was completely wiped out."
Chloe pressed the palms of her hands against her face, taking deep, shuddering breaths.
Every memory she had of her childhood felt suddenly fragile, like a coat of paint over a wall she had never seen. The diner jobs, the small apartment in Rochester, the constant struggle to pay bills—all of it had been a staged reality designed to keep her invisible to men who wanted her dead.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, dropping her hands and staring at him with raw, hurt eyes. "When I started working here eight months ago... you saw me every day. You watched me scrub your floors! Why didn't you tell me who I was?"
Luciano stopped two feet away from her. For the first time since she had met him, the broad-shouldered, invincible Don looked deeply uncomfortable.
"Because the war was not finished," he said softly. "The men who ordered the hit on your father were still alive six months ago. If I told you the truth, you would have looked at me with fear. You would have felt trapped by a contract signed by people you don't remember."
He reached out, his long fingers gently touching the side of her arm.
"I wanted you safe, Chloe," Luciano whispered, his voice raspy with an emotion he could no longer hide. "I wanted you close to me where my men could guard you twenty-four hours a day. But I wanted you to choose me... not because of a yellowed piece of paper from Sicily, but because you wanted to stay."
Chloe stared at him, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.
Before she could form a sentence, the emergency landline on Luciano's desk began to ring—a sharp, red-light phone that only rang during an active security breach.
Luciano turned, picking up the receiver instantly. "Costa."
May you like
Rocco’s voice came through the speaker, loud enough for Chloe to hear every word.
"Boss! We have a problem. Celeste Romano just left the gates, but three of Don Bellini’s heavy transport vans just rammed through the northern perimeter fence. They’re armed with heavy weapons, boss—they’re coming straight for the main house!"
