Chapter 6 - The Blue Ink
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Luca’s expression shifted, a dangerous storm brewing behind his eyes. He reached out and snatched the comb from Vanessa’s palm.
He turned the delicate gold wire over in his large hands. He stared intently at the ivory pieces.
His thumb stopped over one tiny, faint blue mark near the edge of the third piece.
“My fountain pen,” Luca whispered, the realization hitting him like a physical blow.
Vanessa took a step back, her chest heaving.
Luca looked slowly from the comb to the piano.
“When I was eight,” his voice softened, lost in a memory nobody else in the room could see. “My mother told me never to bring that pen near her piano again because it leaked.”
For the first time that entire night, something almost like a smile appeared on his hardened face. It was a fleeting, heartbreaking ghost of a boy remembering his mother.
Then, it vanished entirely. The ruthless syndicate boss returned.
He looked at Vanessa.
“You cut apart my mother’s piano,” Luca stated.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Luca,” Vanessa scoffed, trying to regain her aristocratic superiority. “It was six keys. Six.”
“Six.”
“It’s not as if I took an axe to the whole thing!” she argued defensively.
“You had it hauled away,” Luca said, his voice dropping an octave.
“It’s furniture, Luca!” Vanessa yelled, losing her temper. “It was taking up space!”
That sentence changed him. The air in the room grew icy cold. He looked at the massive black piano, then back at the woman he was supposed to marry in two days.
“No,” Luca said quietly. “It was the last thing in this house that still sounded like her.”
Vanessa folded her arms, rolling her eyes. “This is becoming absolutely absurd. Are you going to cancel a multi-million dollar wedding over a piece of wood?”
Luca didn't answer her. He slowly sat down on the worn leather piano bench.
Nobody moved. The thirty-four guests watched in stunned fascination.
Luca raised his hands. He pressed one of the remaining white keys. A clear, beautiful note rang out in the silent dining room.
Then he pressed another.
A simple, delicate melody began to fill the room. It was slow. It was painfully uneven because of the missing notes, the silence hanging heavy where the ivory used to be. But the song was undeniable.
One of the older housekeepers standing near the kitchen doors covered her mouth with both hands, tears springing to her eyes.
Luca continued to play. He stopped abruptly when his fingers reached the first missing key in the center of the board. His hand remained suspended above the raw, damaged wood.
“My mother taught me this song the week my sister was born,” Luca whispered to the empty air.
Vanessa glanced nervously toward the dining room doors, clearly calculating an exit strategy.
May you like
Luca noticed the movement. He turned his head slowly.
“Where are the rest?” Luca asked.
