Chapter 13 - The Widow’s Gambit
The Moretti estate was locked down tighter than a federal penitentiary.
Concrete barriers had been erected at the front gates, manned by guards carrying heavy machine guns. Spotlights swept the manicured lawns where, just days before, Luna had quietly walked in her apron carrying fresh linens.
Inside the grand dining hall, the atmosphere was suffocating.
Luna sat at the head of the long mahogany table, to the right of the master chair. Luca had commanded the household staff to treat her as the Donna, but the tension among the remaining loyal capos was palpable. They eyed her like a dangerous anomaly—an unpredictable element that had upended decades of underworld tradition.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the hall were pushed open.
Enzo appeared, looking grim. "Boss. She’s here. She brought an escort of twelve men, all disarmed at the perimeter gate as per your orders."
"Let her in," Luca said, casually cutting into a rare steak.
A woman walked into the dining hall, the sharp clacking of her Louboutin heels echoing off the marble floor like small detonations.
Gianna Bellini was stunning in the way a venomous viper was stunning. She wore a tailored crimson dress that clung to every curve, her dark hair swept up in an intricate, arrogant style. Her diamond earrings caught the chandelier light, but her eyes—dark, hateful, and lethal—were locked entirely on Luna.
"Look at this," Gianna sneered, stopping at the foot of the table. "The king playing house with the kitchen help."
Several capos shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Luca didn't even look up from his plate.
"Gianna," Luca said mildly. "You have five minutes to explain why your father sent a sniper to kill me this morning before I have you thrown into the Hudson River."
Gianna laughed, a cold, mocking sound. "My father didn't send that sniper, you arrogant bastard. My father is currently meeting with Dante Vance in Chicago. But whoever took that shot was doing this city a favor."
She turned her venomous glare back onto Luna, walking slowly down the length of the table.
"Tell me, little girl," Gianna mocked, resting her manicured hands on the back of an empty chair opposite Luna. "Do you honestly think he loves you? Do you think this is a fairy tale? Luca Moretti doesn't love anything. He chose you to insult my family. He chose you to prove to the Commission that he could spit on the rules and get away with it."
Luna felt a knot tighten in her stomach, but she refused to blink. She straightened her spine, channeling every ounce of cold pride she had learned to cultivate to survive in this house.
"If he chose me just to insult you, Gianna," Luna said, her voice smooth and venomous, "then why are you the one standing there begging for his attention while I'm sitting in the chair your father promised you?"
A dead silence descended over the room. One of the older capos let out a muffled snort of amusement.
Gianna’s face twisted in blind rage. She lunged forward, her hand flying out to slap Luna across the face.
She never made contact.
Luca’s hand shot out like an iron vise, catching Gianna by the throat mid-motion. The force of his grip lifted her off her feet until her designer shoes were barely brushing the floor. The dining room chairs scraped back as Gianna’s personal bodyguards at the door reached for weapons they didn't have.
Luca’s expression was terrifyingly dead.
"Touch her," Luca whispered, his voice vibrating through the room, "and I will skin you alive in front of your father."
Gianna gasped for air, her fingers clawing desperately at Luca’s impenetrable grip, her arrogance instantly replaced by pure, suffocating terror.
"Luca," Luna said softly, placing her hand gently on Luca’s tensed forearm. "Don't get your hands dirty with trash. Let her speak her message."
Luca held Gianna for three more agonizing seconds, letting her choke on her own helplessness, before dropping her carelessly to the floor.
Gianna collapsed onto her knees, coughing violently, clutching her bruised neck. She looked up at Luca, her eyes burning with pure hatred.
"Chicago... is coming," Gianna wheezed, her voice raspy. "Dante Vance signed the pact with my father an hour ago. They aren't massing at the border anymore, Luca. They're already inside the city. And Dante made one thing very clear..."
She turned her watering eyes toward Luna, smiling through the pain.
May you like
"He doesn't want the docks. He doesn't want the gambling rings. Dante Vance wants the maid. He wants to hang your little trophy from the Brooklyn Bridge to show the world that the Moretti dynasty is dead."
***
