Chapter 7 - A Maid With a Secret
We pulled into an underground parking structure beneath an abandoned warehouse in the Fulton Market district.
The smell of motor oil and damp concrete surrounded us.
Luca killed the engine.
The heavy steel security gate rolled down behind us, sealing us from the street.
“This is an old transport hub,” Daniel explained, stepping out of the vehicle.
“Off the grid since 2018.”
Luca stepped out of the driver's seat.
He opened the rear door and offered his hand to me.
I took it.
My legs were stiff, and my knees throbbed with a dull, persistent ache.
Luca supported my weight as I stepped down onto the concrete.
“We have one hour before the Founders' Toast,” Luca said, checking his watch.
5:15 a.m.
Isabella walked toward a row of metal lockers against the brick wall.
She pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the main storage bay.
Inside hung garment bags, tactical equipment, and several laptops connected to independent satellite uplinks.
“You planned for this?” I asked Luca.
“A Don who doesn't plan for his own demise doesn't live past thirty,” Luca replied quietly.
Isabella unzipped one of the garment bags and pulled out a floor-length emerald green evening gown.
It was made of heavy silk, with an open back and a slit that ran up the left thigh.
She held it up against me.
“It will fit you,” Isabella said.
Her eyes were filled with respect.
“You need to look like an untouchable heiress, Emma. Not a maid.”
I looked down at my blood-spattered apron and torn trousers.
For five years, I had hidden behind plain cotton uniforms and downcast eyes.
I had hidden because Antonio’s hitmen were hunting anyone connected to my father, Marcus Vance.
Now, I was about to walk directly into the lion's den.
“I don't know how to act like an heiress,” I admitted softly.
Luca walked over to me.
He reached out and gently removed the white maid’s headband from my hair.
He let my dark brown curls tumble down over my shoulders.
His fingers lingered against the nape of my neck.
“You don't need to act, Emma,” Luca said, his voice intoxicatingly deep.
“You are the daughter of Marcus Vance. Your father had more integrity and power in his little finger than all those mobsters combined.”
He looked down into my eyes with breathtaking intensity.
“Walk beside me. Keep your chin high. Let them look at you and wonder why the Don of Chicago chose you over Vanessa Bellini.”
My heart hammered against my ribs.
“Did you choose me, Luca?” the question slipped out before I could stop it.
Luca’s thumb brushed against my cheekbone, wiping away a trace of dried soot.
“I chose you the second you called my fiancée a liar in front of thirty capos,” he whispered.
He stepped back and nodded toward the dressing room.
“Get dressed. We leave in twenty minutes.”
I took the gown and walked into the small office behind the lockers.
I washed the soot and grime from my face in the small sink.
I combed through my tangled hair until it fell in sleek, dark waves down my back.
I slipped out of the ruined uniform and pulled the emerald silk gown over my skin.
The fabric felt cool and luxurious.
It hugged my waist and flowed around my legs like liquid emerald.
I found a pair of black designer heels inside the locker that miraculously fit my feet.
When I stepped out of the dressing room, the room went completely still.
Daniel stopped loading his pistol.
Isabella gasped softly, a proud smile touching her lips.
Luca was standing by the table, fastening the cufflinks on a pristine bespoke black tuxedo.
When he turned and saw me, his hands froze.
His gray eyes swept over me from head to toe.
A dark, possessive heat flared in his gaze.
He walked over to me slowly.
Each step was deliberate.
He reached into an open velvet box on the workbench and pulled out a dazzling diamond choker necklace.
He stepped behind me.
The cold metal of the diamonds touched my skin, followed by the burning warmth of his fingertips.
He fastened the clasp behind my neck.
He leaned down until his breath stirred the curls against my ear.
“Perfection,” he murmured.
I turned around to face him.
“What about the ledger?” I asked, trying to steady my racing pulse.
Luca pointed toward the laptop on the workbench.
The black titanium flash drive was plugged in.
“The override script is compiling,” Luca said.
“The moment we breach the penthouse network at the Drake, it will broadcast the files to Marcone’s private server.”
Daniel walked up to Luca, offering him a compact, pearl-handled .25 caliber pistol.
Luca took it and turned to me.
He reached down to the slit of my emerald gown.
Gently, he slid a black elastic holster around my upper thigh, securing the small weapon against my skin.
“If anything goes wrong,” Luca instructed, his voice dead serious,
“You don't aim for the chest. You aim for the throat.”
I touched the cold grip of the hidden gun through the silk.
“Understood.”
Daniel checked his tactical earpiece.
“The transport is outside, boss. Black Maybach. Tinted plates.”
Luca adjusted the lapels of his tuxedo.
He held his arm out toward me.
“Shall we go reclaim an empire, Miss Vance?”
May you like
I slipped my hand into the crook of his arm.
“Let’s finish it, Mr. Moretti.”
