Chapter 10 - A Dance in the Center of the Viper's Nest
Luca led me onto the polished marble dance floor. The surrounding crowd parted instantly, forming a wide circle around the Don of Lombardy and his American bride.
When his massive hand settled against the small of my back, it was warm, steady, and completely grounding.
Despite his fears of being clumsy, Luca moved with the natural, sweeping grace of a man who possessed total control over his lethal strength. He guided me across the marble floor in long, effortless strides, spinning me beneath his arm and pulling me flush against his broad chest as the string orchestra reached a soaring crescendo.
The room faded away into a blur of chandeliers, black velvet, and envious stares. There was only the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my palm, and the fierce, burning adoration in his stormy grey eyes.
"You look breathtaking tonight, Sophia," Luca whispered, dipping me slightly as the waltz shifted into a minor key. "When you walked into my foyer three days ago, I thought you were a hallucination sent to torment me. Now I know you are the only real thing in my life."
"I told you on the altar, Luca," I murmured, my eyes locking with his. "In blood and peace. We are in this together."
As the song ended to polite, resounding applause from the surrounding syndicate elders, an older gentleman with a silver beard and a heavy gold signet ring approached us.
Don Antonio Falcone—the head of the High Commission.
"Don Moretti," Falcone said, bowing his head with deep respect before turning to me with a warm, approving smile. "And Donna Sophia. In forty years on this council, I have rarely seen a union that commands such undeniable strength. Your father in Chicago chose well, Signora."
"Thank you, Don Falcone," I replied in fluent, polished Italian that made Luca’s eyes flare with surprised delight. "A strong house requires a solid foundation."
"Indeed," Falcone nodded grimly, casting a sharp, disapproving glance across the room toward Dante Rossi. "And it seems certain rotten beams in your house need to be removed before they infect the structure."
Before Falcone could elaborate, a waiter approached me with a silver tray. "Donna Moretti, Signorina Elena requests your presence in the private gallery. A matter regarding the lakeside logistics."
Luca’s grip on my waist tightened instantly. His protective instincts flared. "I will come with you."
"Stay, Luca," Falcone interjected smoothly. "We need to finalize the signatures on the shipping treaty before the stroke of midnight. Your wife will be within the private security corridor."
I touched Luca’s lapel reassuringly. "I'll be five minutes, darling. Elena is just down the hall."
Luca hesitated, his dark eyes searching the crowd before he kissed my hand. "Take two guards at the door. Do not leave the gallery."
"I promise."
I walked toward the arched gallery corridor, flanked by two armed Moretti guards.
The corridor was quiet, lined with classical Renaissance sculptures and dimly lit by frosted wall sconces. I pushed open the double doors of the private parlor where Elena was supposed to be waiting.
The room was empty.
Before I could turn around to alert the guards, a heavy cloth soaked in chloroform clamped down violently over my mouth and nose from behind.
I struggled fiercely, driving my elbow back into my attacker's ribs, but two more pairs of hands grabbed my arms, pinning me against the wall. The sickening, sweet fumes filled my lungs.
Through the darkening fog of my consciousness, a voice hissed in my ear:
May you like
"Let us see how tall Don Moretti stands when he finds his little baker floating in the canal."
The world went pitch-black.
