Chapter 17 - The Broken Vow
Two days passed in a fever of preparation.
The Moretti estate had transformed into an active military fortress. Luna spent her mornings in the underground shooting range beneath the carriage house, her ears ringing from the deafening crack of a 9mm Glock until her palms were blistered and her grouping was tight. Luca stood behind her, his large hands guiding her stance, his voice low and patient in her ear.
She wasn't a maid anymore. The innocence had burned away, replaced by the lethal instinct required to survive at Luca's side.
On the third afternoon, a frantic call came from the private clinic.
Enzo burst into the war room where Luca and his top lieutenants were reviewing port defense plans. "Boss! It’s the old man. Don Salvatore... he woke up."
The room went dead silent.
Luca froze, the marker in his hand hovering over the city map. Without a word, he tossed the marker aside, grabbed his coat, and locked eyes with Luna. "Come."
The clinic was locked down even harder than before. When Luca and Luna stepped into the ICU suite, the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator had been silenced. Don Salvatore was sitting slightly propped up on the pillows, his skin sallow and his eyes sunken, but the lethal intelligence that had governed the underworld for four decades was clearly burning behind his pale blue irises.
Corrado, the consigliere, was already standing by the bedside, clutching a manila folder.
"Father," Luca said, stepping forward.
Salvatore’s gaze shifted to his son. His voice was a dry, rasping wheeze, like dry leaves scraping over concrete. "You... almost lost the docks, boy."
"The docks are secure," Luca replied steadily. "We held the perimeter. Dante Vance is backed into a corner."
Salvatore’s eyes slowly drifted past Luca, locking onto Luna. He stared at her for a long, agonizing moment, his gaze narrowing. He looked at the heavy emerald pendant resting against her collarbone—the necklace that had belonged to his late wife.
"Why is she here?" Salvatore wheezed.
"Luna is my Donna," Luca stated, stepping to the side and taking Luna’s hand in his, interlacing their fingers in a public display of defiance. "I chose her. I rejected Gianna Bellini."
A faint, bitter sound came from the old Don’s chest—a laugh that dissolved into a violent coughing fit. Corrado rushed forward with a cup of water, but Salvatore waved him away with a trembling, spotted hand.
"You chose her..." Salvatore whispered, his gaze burning into Luna with something resembling pity. "You fool. You sentimental, arrogant fool."
Luca’s brow furrowed. "Watch your tongue, old man. She saved my life twice while you were sleeping."
"She saved you... because she doesn't know what you are," Salvatore rasped, his breathing turning shallow. "She doesn't know whose blood paid for that emerald she wears."
Luna felt a sudden, inexplicable coldness seep into the pit of her stomach. She looked from Salvatore to Luca. "What is he talking about?"
"Father, that's enough," Luca warned, his voice suddenly sharp with a tension Luna had never heard before.
"Tell her, Corrado," Salvatore commanded, closing his eyes in exhaustion. "Tell her the girl’s true name. Tell her why she was brought into this house as a child."
Corrado swallowed hard, visibly trembling under Luca’s murderous glare. But the lawyer opened the folder in his hands.
"Her name isn't just Luna," Corrado said quietly, looking at the floor. "Her birth name is Luna Morelli. Daughter of Marco Morelli."
The room seemed to tilt.
Luna’s breath caught in her throat. *Morelli.* The name of the family that once ruled the Brooklyn navy yards before the Morettis took over twenty years ago. The family that was completely eradicated in a single night of fire and blood—a massacre that had left her an orphan, found wandering the streets before being taken in by the Moretti charitable foundation and raised in the servant quarters.
"My... my father died in a factory fire," Luna stammered, her voice shaking violently. "That's what the records said."
"There was no fire, child," Salvatore wheezed from the bed, his voice merciless and cruel. "Marco Morelli refused to kneel to me. So twenty years ago, I sent my enforcers to burn his estate to the ground and execute every living soul inside."
Salvatore opened his pale eyes, staring directly at his son.
May you like
"And do you know who carried the torch into your parents' bedroom, little girl?" Salvatore whispered with a wicked, dying smirk. "The boy standing next to you. Luca’s first kill... was your father."
***
