Chapter 8 - The Safehouse Above the City
Before facing the Commission, Luca took me to a private high-rise penthouse overlooking the dark waters of Lake Michigan—a location known only to him, completely detached from any Moretti syndicate paperwork.
The apartment was sleek, minimal, and fortified with three-inch ballistic glass. The entire skyline of Chicago glittered below us through the rain-streaked windows.
Luca disappeared into the master bathroom and returned with a first-aid kit.
“Sit,” he said gently.
“I’m not hurt,” I protested, though my hands were still trembling from the adrenaline.
“You have a cut on your cheek from the shattered glass at the bank,” Luca said.
He pulled a chair close to mine. He dipped a cotton pad in antiseptic and leaned in. I held my breath as his face came within inches of mine. His scent—cedar, rain, and clean linen—filled my senses. He was remarkably gentle for a man whose hands had ended lives just an hour before.
“Does it sting?” he murmured, dabbing the small scratch beneath my eye.
“Only a little,” I whispered.
Our eyes met. In that quiet room, forty stories above the roaring city, the immense gulf between billionaire mob boss and humble assistant evaporated entirely.
“You didn’t flinch tonight, Claire,” Luca said softly. “Most people would have run. Vanessa would have bargained with my life to save her own skin.”
“Vanessa only loved your power, Luca,” I replied, speaking from the heart. “She didn't care about the boy who wore that navy coat. She didn't care about the man carrying the weight of his father’s legacy.”
Luca set the cotton pad down. His hand remained on my jaw, his thumb softly tracing the curve of my cheekbone.
“And you?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. “What do you care about, Claire?”
My heart pounded against my ribs like a trapped bird. “I care about the man who remembers his mother’s cannoli. The man who protects an eighty-year-old tailor when no one else would.”
Luca leaned in closer, his gaze dropping to my lips. For a suspended, breathless second, the entire world outside ceased to exist. I leaned forward, meeting him halfway.
His lips were warm, commanding yet unbelievably tender. The kiss was deep, filled with the desperate hunger of two people who had found each other in the middle of a warzone. When he pulled back, his hand tangled gently in my hair, his breathing heavy.
“When this night is over,” Luca promised against my lips, “everything changes. No more hiding. No more serving anyone.”
A sharp chime from his secure laptop broke the spell.
Luca straightened up, clearing his throat, though the fire in his eyes remained. He clicked on the screen.
An encrypted email appeared with the official seal of the Five Families Commission.
EMERGENCY TRIBUNAL CONFIRMED.
TIME: 01:00 AM.
LOCATION: ST. MICHAEL’S CRYPT, CICERO.
ATTENDEES: DON MORETTI, DON BELLINI, DON FALCONE, DON MARZIO, DON LOMBARDI.
RULE OF LAW: ABSOLUTE TRUTH UNDER PENALTY OF BLOOD.
May you like
Luca closed the laptop and picked up the steel lockbox.
“It’s time,” he said.
