Chapter 2 LUCA
LUCA
I pull my coat off the second I step inside the foyer.
It is past two in the morning, and the scent of rain, motor exhaust, and fresh copper hangs heavy in the drafty air.
The heavy iron doors slam shut behind me.
Ten minutes ago, my men dragged a kicking captive through these gates.
Now, Sal sits slumped against the bottom stair with a bloody rag pressed to his crushed nose, while Franco grips his ruined knee on the floor and curses under his breath.
Matteo stands in the middle of the room, shoulders squared despite the blood smeared across his collar. The skin under his left eye is already swollen into a dark purple lump under the chandelier light. He touches his split lip with his cuff, wincing as he takes a cautious step toward me.
"Don't start," Matteo mutters, holding up a palm before I can even open my mouth.
"I haven't said a word," I tell him, tossing my wet coat onto the back of an armchair.
"Your eyebrows are doing the shouting for you," he grumbles, dabbing at his mouth with the back of his hand.
Then I see her.
So this is the crisis manager.
She stands with her weight balanced evenly over both feet, eyes tracking every person in the hall with cool, sharp precision. There is no tremor in her fingers, no frantic glance toward the ceiling, just a woman assessing the structural weak points of the room.
She turns her head toward me. "You're late." Her British accent cuts cleanly through the damp air.
I stop near the archway, looking over the mess. "I had business down by the water. Looks like you started a war right here instead."
She crosses her arms over her chest. "You hire complete idiots."
Nora Elizabeth Blake paces by the far archway.
She is not tied up in the west wing. Broken plastic zip ties lie on the floor behind her.
Her blonde hair is messy around her shoulders, and her blazer sleeve is torn to the elbow.
Her jaw is tight as she looks at Sal, the tall windows, and the side exit, counting steps in silence.
Matteo points right at his cheek. "She hit me. She bit me right through my jacket, Luca. Broke the skin. Then she kicked Sal so hard between the legs he went blind for a minute."
"I can still barely see," Sal groans from the stairs, wiping his nose.
"See?" Matteo folds his arms, then groans and drops them when his ribs hurt. "I tried to lock her in the guest room upstairs, but she dragged three of us down the steps. She caught my eye with her elbow. Who the hell fights like that?"
"People who don't want to get dragged into another country by clowns," Nora cuts in, keeping her eyes fixed on me.
I look at the purple lump on his face and stare directly at him. "You let a woman from London beat the shit out of you."
Matteo winces hard as he touches his cheek. "She is a monster in a nice blazer. I was polite! I said welcome to Italy and showed her the couch. She told me where to stick Italy, slammed the bedroom door, and punched me in the teeth when I opened it."
Franco groans from the floor and holds his knee. "I told you to leave her alone there. She had already picked up a heavy metal lamp to hit us with."
"I was trying to be nice!" Matteo yells. He throws his hands up, then grabs his sore jaw. "She threw a priceless bowl at my head, ran for the stairs, and slammed Sal's face into the railing."
"That ugly bowl was already cracked," Nora points out, knuckles checked with a casual shrug. "You should thank me for breaking it."
Matteo barks, "That bowl cost thousands of euros!" He shakes a finger right at her face.
"Then you got ripped off because it looked cheap," she shoots back without missing a beat. "And you shouldn't have tried to grab me."
"She stomped my shoulder too," Franco mutters into the floor, wincing in pain. "Right after she kicked my knee out."
"Thanks, Franco," Nora calls out, glancing down at him. "Glad somebody here knows how to take a hit."
Nora turns to face me directly, lifting her chin. Her posture stays rigid, no flicker of a flinch or a backward step, her eyes narrow and fixed on mine.
"Are you in charge of these morons?" she demands, her voice ringing clear across the tiles. "Because I want someone to pay for my ruined clothes, an apology, and a flight back to London right now."
Matteo chuckles under his breath, then snaps his mouth shut when I snap my head toward him.
"You also need to teach your men how to fight," she adds, waving a hand toward Sal on the stairs. "Three grown men grab the wrong girl and still end up crying on the floor. It's pathetic."
Matteo smooths his jacket with bruised pride. "Hey, we caught you off guard!"
She glares daggers at him. "You had an SUV and no brains."
Sal groans louder and presses the rag harder against his face.
Matteo snorts, then chokes it back when I glare in his direction. "See? Demon."
I cross the remaining marble floor without rushing, letting my leather soles heel-strike softly. She holds her ground, chin angled high, watching my every move.
I take two slow steps closer. "You're inside my house. The guys bleeding on the floor work for me. That makes this mess your problem too."
"Your problem started when your goons kidnapped the wrong woman," she fires right back, hands clenched into tight fists. "I warned them on the street. I offered them cash to walk away. I offered to let them walk off with all their teeth."
"I didn't think she was really going to kick me," Sal mumbles into his bloody cloth.
"Did it feel like a joke when I caught you in the throat?" Nora asks, glaring down at him.
"She did offer," Matteo admits, backing up a step to give her space.
Nora glares at Matteo. "They shoved me in a truck and put me on a plane. So I broke his nose."
Matteo holds up a hand. "She actually hit him with her forehead first, Luca. Look at the blood. She called him a fucking idiot and slammed her head right into his face."
"Matteo," I warn, my voice dropping an octave.
He shuts up. Mostly. "Just saying. She has a vocabulary."
Nora turns on Matteo, her gaze like ice. "Your face looks like raw meat. Open your mouth again and I'll break the other side too."
Matteo wipes a bit of blood from his cheek with his thumb and grins. "She has fire. I like her."
I watch her closely. "Do not like her. You failed at the grab. Do not fail at standing still."
"I am standing still," Matteo says, hands raised in defense. "I am a picture of stillness."
He mimes zipping his mouth. The bruise makes the expression ridiculous. I almost feel bad for him. Almost.
I stop three feet from Nora. Close enough that she has to tilt her head. And she does it without flinching. Her eyes are darker than the photo. Sharper too.
Her pulse beats fast at the base of her throat, but her skin is flush with anger rather than pale with fear.
"My name is Luca Moretti," I tell her, dropping my voice low so the room goes dead silent. "You are still breathing because I haven't decided what to do with you yet. No calls. No running. No more hitting my men."
She steps closer instead of backing down. "Or what? You're going to scowl me to death? Because your little helper tried to get rough and now he can't breathe through his nose."
"It was a tactical retreat," Sal mutters from the bottom step.
"You're sitting in your own blood, Sal," Franco says without turning around. "Shut up."
Matteo mutters, "It worked out poorly. For me. Mostly."
I step right into her space and look straight down into her eyes. "Or you find out what happens when you push me too far."
She gives a sharp, angry laugh and shakes her head. "You dragged me into a black car and put me on a plane! I run a company in London. I had meetings today. Now my jacket is ruined and your cousin's blood is all over my sleeve."
"Hey, that blood came from an ancient noble lineage," Matteo interjects, tapping his cheekbone.
"It looks like garbage on a bad shirt," Nora snaps back at him.
"Keep your voice down and listen to me," I order, stepping right up to her.
"I'm not doing anything you say, Moretti," she fires right back, staring straight into my face.
"Doing what I say keeps you out of handcuffs," I tell her quietly, eyes fixed on the pulse jumping in her neck. "Your heart is beating like crazy. Don't forget who holds the lock on that door."
She steps right into my face, not backing down an inch. "Try putting cuffs on me and see what happens. I fix huge messes for billionaires every single day. I can tear your life apart ten times faster. Try me and see how bad this gets for you."
"She talks a lot," Franco whispers from the floor, clutching his leg.
"It's because she's from England," Matteo whispers back with a nod. "They talk fast while they insult your whole life."
Matteo leans over to Franco and whispers, "I think she means it."
Franco just nods slowly, staring at the floor. "I know she means it. My knee is the size of a melon now."
Matteo whispers to the limping Sal, "I believe her."
Sal nods. Blood still drips from his nose onto the marble. Nonna is going to murder all of us for the stains.
I lock eyes with her, testing her reach. She doesn't blink or lower her stare. Her breathing stays steady, even with the frayed silk of her blouse shifting over her chest. The file sitting on my desk back in the study described her as highly capable, but it left out the teeth.
I look down at her, meeting that steady, furious glare. She wants an argument. She wants a standard corporate counter-offer so she can tear it apart clause by clause.
I study the fight in her eyes. "You talk big for someone standing alone in a strange house."
She keeps her chin up high. "You look pretty calm for a guy who just kidnapped a CEO with powerful friends."
I glance at my cousin. "Matteo makes poor life choices. It's a family tradition."
"I heard that!" Matteo calls out from beside the stairs.
"You're not leaving here tonight," I tell her flatly. "You're going to a bedroom upstairs. You're going to stay inside it. And you're not going to break anything else in this house."
"Does that cover your cousin's face?" she asks, tilting her head toward Matteo.
"Especially those," Matteo says. "I have a date next week. Sort of."
"Shut the fuck up, Matteo."
He grins through the bruise. "Yes, boss. Shutting up. Looking competent. Practicing my serious face."
Nora looks from Matteo to me and scoffs. "This whole place is a joke and your men are clowns. I don't care what you say, I'm not staying here."
Matteo tugs at his lapels. "The suits are custom. Italian wool."
"They look like garbage on you," she says simply.
I reach out and offer an open hand between us. It is a calculated gesture. The illusion of safety wrapped around an absolute command.
I point toward the wide staircase. "Take my hand and walk upstairs. I will take you up myself. Behave, and no one gets hurt. Fight me, and I throw you in the basement and lock the door."
Franco clears his throat. "Can someone help me up first?"
"No," Matteo says without looking at him. "Stay there and reflect on your poor defense choices."
She looks at my hand like it is a trap. Or a joke. Or both.
She takes a deliberate step back, chin lifting higher instead.
"Not a fucking chance," she says.
I drop my hand back down to my side. "Let's make this simple. You can sleep down here on the cold floor with the three guys you beat up, or you can go upstairs. Big bed, warm shower, and a lock on your side of the door. I'll even have someone bring you hot food."
Nora narrows her eyes, thinking it through. "And what do you get if I go upstairs?"
"Some peace and quiet so I can clean up the blood on my floor," I answer, gaze fixed on her face. "In the morning, we talk about what happens next. Right now, you take the warm room with the lock, or you sleep outside in the dirt. Pick one."
"Is there pasta?" Nora asks, her expression unreadable.
Matteo raises a hand. "Nonna made gnocchi before she went to sleep."
"Shut up, Matteo," Nora and I say at the exact same time.
Sal groans again from the stairs. "The floor is really cold, miss. Take the room."
"Nobody asked you, Sal," she says, though her eyes flicker toward the staircase.
She holds my gaze for three long seconds, weighing the illusion of choice I've just handed her. She knows it's a trap, but it's the only trap in the room with a bed and a lock.
Predictable. Give an arrogant negotiator the illusion of autonomy, and she walks straight into the cage herself.
She walks right past me with her head held high. "I'm taking the bedroom. And if anyone tries to turn that doorknob tonight, Moretti, I won't just break their nose. I'll smash their entire face in."