Chapter 2 - The Silent Interrogation
The air inside Luca Moretti’s private study felt thick, heavy with the sharp scent of old leather, expensive bourbon, and impending violence. Luca stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the manicured grounds of his estate. Rain had begun to fall, slicking the black driveway below.
The door behind him opened silently. Dr. Harris, a trusted physician who had served the Moretti family for thirty years, stepped into the room, pulling off his surgical gloves.
“How is she?” Luca asked without turning around.
“Three fractured carpals in her left hand,” Dr. Harris reported quietly. “Severe soft-tissue contusions around the wrist. Someone placed her hand flat against a wooden shelf and used the edge of the heavy linen door to crush it. It was deliberate, Luca. And extremely painful.”
Luca’s reflection in the dark window glass didn't flinch, but his eyes narrowed. “Will she regain full use of it?”
“With time and physical therapy, yes. I’ve set the bones, administered an anti-inflammatory, and given her something for the pain. She’s resting in the quarters upstairs.” Dr. Harris paused, stepping closer. “She’s terrified, Luca. Not of her injury. Of you.”
Luca finally turned, his dark eyes hollow. “She shouldn't be. Bring her down here.”
“Luca, she’s exhausted—”
“Bring her down, Edward. Safely. Secretly. Make sure none of Vanessa’s staff sees you.”
Ten minutes later, the side door of the study opened. I walked in slowly, my left arm held securely in a black sling, my face pale beneath the warm yellow light of the desk lamps. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. I knew what was in this room. I knew what happened to people who were brought to Luca Moretti’s private office late at night.
“Sit down, Claire,” Luca said softly, gesturing toward the leather armchair across from his desk.
I didn't move. “Mr. Moretti, if I made a mistake with the dinner service, I can pack my things and leave tonight. You don't have to fire Mrs. Gable. She didn't know about my hand—”
“Sit down.” His voice was not angry, but it carried an absolute weight that left no room for refusal.
I sat on the edge of the leather chair, keeping my right hand buried in my cardigan pocket.
Luca walked over to his desk, picked up the small silver MicroSD card, and dropped it onto the glass blotter between us. The soft clink sounded like a gunshot in the silent room.
I felt the blood drain completely from my face.
“You’re a clever woman, Claire,” Luca began, leaning against the front of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “A housemaid who works forty hours a week, keeps her head down, never speaks unless spoken to, and somehow manages to plant a microscopic pinhole camera inside my personal study.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the cold reality of my situation. “I didn't sell them to anyone,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “I swear to God, Mr. Moretti, I didn't give those pictures to the police. I didn't give them to the rival families.”
“I know,” Luca said calmly. “If you had, my estate would already be surrounded by federal agents or hitmen. The card was still in your possession. You kept it hidden in your locker.” He leaned forward, his face inches from mine. “Why were you spying on my house, Claire?”
I swallowed hard, looking down at my lap. The pain medication Dr. Harris had given me was making my head swim, but the fear kept me razor-sharp. “Six months ago, my brother, Danny, went missing.”
Luca’s eyes flickered with a faint spark of recognition. “Danny Dawson. He worked at the riverfront docks.”
“He was an accountant for your logistics company,” I corrected him quietly, looking up to meet his dark gaze. “One night he called me, frantic. He said he found a second set of books. He said someone was using the Moretti name to smuggle illegal weapons through Dock 42, and that if Mr. Moretti found out, everyone involved would be killed. Two days later, Danny vanished. His car was found near the river. The police called it a suicide.”
“It wasn't,” Luca said flatly.
“I knew it wasn't,” tears finally spilled over my eyelashes, tracing warm paths down my cold cheeks. “Danny didn't want money. He was terrified. I applied for a housekeeping job here four months ago because I wanted to find proof that he didn't steal from you. I wanted to find the real person who ordered him killed.”
Luca remained silent for a long moment, processing my words. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place with terrifying precision. “And yesterday afternoon, you set your camera to record my study while I was out of town.”
“I thought you were the one who killed him,” I admitted, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I thought if I found the hidden ledger in your desk, I’d find Danny’s name. But when I retrieved the memory card this afternoon, I didn't see you. I saw Miss Bellini. And Marco.”
Luca took a deep, quiet breath. He turned to his desk, picked up a glass of bourbon, and took a slow sip. “Tell me about the linen closet.”
I touched my injured left wrist through the fabric of the sling. “I was coming out of your bedroom after changing the linens. Miss Bellini saw me stepping out of the hallway alcove where the camera was concealed. She must have suspected I was watching her. She followed me into the linen room, locked the door, and demanded to know what I was doing.”
“And you didn't give her the card?”
“I hid it inside the seam of my apron before she grabbed me,” I said, remembering the terrifying coldness in Vanessa’s eyes as she backed me against the wooden shelves. “She asked if I had seen anyone in your study yesterday. I lied and said no. She didn't believe me. She told me that if I ever looked at her or Marco again, she would make sure I ended up in the river just like my brother.” I looked down at my hand. “Then she grabbed my wrist, pushed my fingers into the frame of the door, and slammed it shut.”
Luca’s face didn't change, but a terrifying dark energy seemed to radiate from him. The silence in the room became unbearable.
“She thought if she broke your hand, you’d be too afraid to speak,” Luca said softly. “She thought you were just a weak girl who could be crushed without consequence.”
He walked behind his desk, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a small black leather book. He flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for.
“Your brother, Danny,” Luca said, his voice deep and steady. “He didn't steal from me. Three months ago, fifteen million dollars went missing from the riverfront accounts. Marco told me Danny took the money and fled to Mexico. I ordered my men to find him. I didn't know Marco had already put a bullet in his head and dumped him in the lake.”
I let out a ragged sob, pressing my good hand against my mouth. Hearing it confirmed cut through me like a blade, but at least the truth was finally out in the open.
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Luca stood up, walking back over to where I sat. He didn't offer empty words of comfort—he was a mafia boss, not a counselor. But he reached out and gently touched the black sling supporting my hand.
“You came into my house looking for justice for your brother,” Luca said, his eyes burning with a dark, ruthless promise. “Tomorrow, Claire, you’re going to help me execute it.”
