Chapter 9 NORA
NORA
Dinner at the Moretti estate is less a meal and more a contact sport with cutlery.
I am seated between Matteo and Enzo, which feels like being parked between two unexplored ordinances who share a blood type and half a working brain cell.
Luca sits at the head of the table like he invented silence for a living.
Nonna has already threatened me with second helpings I never requested.
Sofia keeps shooting me soft looks that say she is rooting for total chaos.
Adrian stands near the doorway pretending he is a remarkably armed piece of furniture.
My strategy is simple: play along, keep them entertained, and find out where they put my phone so I can call London and map my way out of this fortress.
Matteo sports a fading yellow bruise along his cheekbone from whatever dumb tactical decision landed him in my orbit. He points his fork at me like a loaded microphone, grinning like an idiot.
Matteo aims his fork between me and the head of the table. "So, Blake. Real question. Are we going to talk about that little moment before dinner, or are we acting like you didn't almost kiss our fearless boss?"
I slice right through a roasted pepper. "I was testing his reflexes. He failed completely."
"And if you value your front teeth, Matteo, you'll go back to eating your pasta."
Enzo snorts on a mouthful of Chianti, coughing so hard his knuckles hit the mahogany. Matteo's jaw hangs slack, his fork freezing mid-air while Sofia muffles a squeal behind her napkin.
Matteo waves his fork between us. "Come on, I really want to know. A week ago you tried to break my ribs back in London, and now you two can barely keep your hands to yourselves."
I take a slow sip of water and set the glass down hard. "I was trying to see if he'd flinch. Next time I might just bite him."
Sofia giggles openly into her palm. Across the table, Luca's lips twitch with quiet amusement, his dark eyes locked onto mine like he's daring me to try it.
"She's got your grave already dug," Enzo laughs, leaning his forearms on the wood with a wide grin. "Just give up, man."
"I'm thinking about what to do next," Matteo mutters, rubbing his nose as he leans closer over his plate. "Come on, be honest. Rate how I grabbed you on a scale from one to ten. Give me the truth."
I set my fork down, letting the silver hit the plate. "Zero. You took the wrong woman, shoved her onto a jet, and stood around looking lost when I started screaming at you in London. It wasn't a kidnapping. It was a total mess from the start."
"Ouch, woman, that really hurt," Matteo groans, holding a hand over his chest like he just got hit.
"You had a soul to pierce?" Enzo asks, reaching over to steal a warm garlic roll straight off his plate.
"She's completely right," Luca cuts in, his quiet voice making the entire table go quiet.
"You're my family, you have to back me up," Matteo whines, staring across at him with big eyes.
Luca takes a slow sip from his glass without breaking eye contact. "Being family doesn't make you less dumb. You proved that when you dragged her onto that plane."
I flash him a sharp grin. "Careful, boss. Agree with me too much and everyone will think you like seeing your men get roasted over pasta."
"I like smart people," Luca murmurs, his dark gaze locking onto mine with steady heat. "And I hate mistakes. Right now, you're both."
The dining room drops into sudden hush. Sofia perks up, leaning on an elbow to watch us. Enzo mouths the word unbelievable toward the ceiling while reaching for more wine. Matteo points a polished spoon between the two of us.
"No way, absolutely not," Matteo protests, shaking his spoon at us. "You two do not get to make eyes at each other over the bread while making fun of me. Pick on someone else."
"I can handle both," I fire back, holding Luca's gaze. "Making fun of your cousin is free. Dealing with you is going to cost a lot of money."
"Name your price," Luca challenges softly, leaning back into his chair.
Enzo howls with laughter, nearly rocking his chair off its back legs. Nonna emerges from the kitchen hallway like a sudden squall, slamming down a heavy platter of braised veal that rattles every water glass.
"Eat your dinner," Nonna commands, tapping the wooden spoon against Enzo's knuckles when he reaches too early. "Arguments can wait until the plates are clean."
Silence falls as everyone falls into line. For two solid minutes, the room contains only scraping silver and Enzo chewing with theatrical vigor. Matteo swallows his pasta, taking a swig of water before trying another angle.
"Alright, change of subject," Matteo declares, leaning forward eagerly. "Worst rich client you ever had to clean up after. Tell us the mess."
I wipe my mouth with the cloth napkin and drop it onto the table.
"A rich kid who set his own boat on fire during a wild party.
He wanted me to tell the news it was an accident.
I told him cops don't care about bad excuses.
The fool broke down and cried. I billed him double just for wasting my afternoon. "
"Cold as ice," Enzo whistles, shaking his head with a wide grin.
I adjust my cuffs and lift my chin. "I call it doing my job. Crying never fixed a mess, and I only get paid to win."
"And yet here you are, bossing everyone around at my table," Luca points out, his fingers resting casually on his wine glass.
"I'm a captive waiting to go home," I snap back with a tight grin. "That makes me the smartest person in the room. Deal with it."
His jaw muscles tighten briefly. The corner of his mouth twitches upward, holding the line before relaxing back into stillness.
"You're out of your mind," Matteo whispers loudly, bumping his shoulder against mine. "I love it. Nobody speaks to him like that and lives to eat dessert."
"Don't get used to having me around," I warn, tapping my knuckles on the table. "I won't feel bad for you when he tosses you off the balcony."
Enzo clinks his heavy glass against Matteo's plate. "Here's to dangerous guests."
Sofia smiles warmly from the end of the table. "I love her. Nobody else can keep Luca looking at them like this."
"I'm just having dinner, Sofia." Luca shoots a dry look toward his younger sister.
Sofia rests her chin in both hands, giggling softly. "Usually you look like you want to kill everyone in the room. Tonight you look like you're waiting for her to yell at you again."
Dinner rolls on, and I keep working the room.
Matteo tries three more times to defend his terrible kidnapping attempt, and I shoot down every single excuse with cold, simple logic until he looks like a scolded kid.
Enzo makes stupid gagging sounds every time Matteo loses another round.
Nonna acts like she is totally deaf to our arguing, but she drops two extra warm rolls onto my plate anyway.
I keep my eyes moving, checking pockets, jacket folds, and the sideboard for wherever they hid my phone.
By the time we finish the veal, even Adrian has loosened his shoulders by a fraction, and their guard is completely down.
When Enzo and Matteo begin clearing the platters under Nonna's sharp supervision, Luca stands and gestures toward the quiet arched corridor. "Step outside with me."
I follow him out without hesitating. Refusing looks like weakness, and giving him leverage is the last thing I need when I'm still hunting for my phone and an unlocked door.
He takes long strides down the corridor away from the dining noise, the stone walls radiating the warm garlic scent from the kitchen.
Halfway down the hall, he stops under an arched sconce, sleeves rolled up to the elbows to show the dark, tangled ink wrapping his forearms, and turns around.
"You had a lot of fun tearing them apart in there," he murmurs, stepping into my path.
"I like putting fools in their place," I counter, crossing my arms over my chest. "Your guys made a huge mistake grabbing me."
He closes the gap, standing right over me until I have to tilt my chin up. "You shut Matteo up in five minutes and had Enzo dying laughing. I can't tell if you're good for us or dangerous."
I challenge him, chin high as my pulse speeds up. "Why can't I be both? You brought me here. Now you have to listen to me."
"I caught every word," Luca whispers, his gaze dropping straight down to my lips.
He closes the distance until his chest nearly brushes mine. His palm comes up, broad and warm against the side of my neck, his thumb pressing into the hollow beneath my jaw where my pulse jumps against his skin. He doesn't squeeze. He just holds me there, fingers splayed, feeling every rapid beat.
"This is a terrible idea," I whisper, my breath catching as his warm fingers press against my skin.
"I know," he admits, his thumb stroking slowly over the flutter in my neck. "Tell me to stop, Nora. Just say it."
I do not. I tip my chin up instead, giving him more access like an idiot with excellent taste.
His other hand finds my hip and pins me lightly to the wall.
The stone is cool through my borrowed dress.
His body heat is not. He leans in until his mouth hovers a breath from mine, close enough that I taste the wine he barely drank.
"Nora," he rumbles, the sound low, strained against the quiet of the hall.
"If you touch me, Moretti," I breathe, meeting his dark eyes, "I'll hit you right in front of your grandmother."
He huffs a sound that might be a laugh if he ever fully allowed one. His thumb presses a fraction harder against my pulse, a silent command to stay still, and the heat that rips through me is unfair and immediate. My fingers curl into his shirt. I pull him the last inch.
Our mouths almost meet. Almost. The air goes electric.
I feel the shape of the kiss before it lands, the heat of his breath skimming my lips, the hard line of his chest pinning mine against the stone wall.
My body arches upward, leaning straight into the heavy grip on my throat until his mouth brushes the edge of mine.
A door slams open down the hall.
"Boss, we have a problem," Adrian calls out, his boots loud on the stone floor.
Luca freezes instantly. His fingers linger against my skin for one rigid second before falling away. He turns his head without fully stepping back. "Report."
"Bellini's right-hand man was found dead by the south gate," Adrian states, his jaw tight. "Throat cut open. Left a note stuck to his chest with your name on it."
The hallway goes cold. Luca's entire posture shifts into something lethal and absolute. He looks at me once, eyes still dark from what we almost did, then at Adrian.
"Take me there," Luca commands, his voice dropping into cold authority.
He walks away without another word. The almost-kiss hangs unfinished in the air like smoke. I stay against the wall, pulse hammering under the ghost of his thumb, and listen to the war arrive.