Chapter 16 LUCA
LUCA
Crystal chandeliers rattle overhead, casting cold light over champagne flutes, corrupt magistrates, and Bellini-backed politicians laughing too loud.
I adjust my cuff links, marking four armed guards stationed by the mahogany doors.
Beside me, Nora holds my elbow in black silk that whispers against the marble floor.
After seven days of locked doors and cold silences down the compound halls, she is at my side under a deliberate cover: the elite London crisis consultant hired to audit Moretti Holdings.
It protects her identity, keeps the room guessing, and gives her full license to dismantle Bellini's financial network in plain sight.
Nora tightens her fingers on my arm. "Smile. You look like you're planning a massacre."
"I am," I reply, straightening my watch. "And half this room won't survive the appetizer."
Nora scans the crowd with sharp, assessing eyes. "Stick to the script. I am your high-priced British strategist brought in to clean house. You are the untouchable CEO backing me up. Stop scowling before you blow our cover."
"I can say something nice at their funeral," I answer, keeping my face completely blank.
Nora glides across the polished marble in sharp black tailoring, moving like she owns the room. Men step out of her path before they even realize why.
She tilts her chin slightly toward the buffet. "See that man over there with the sweat stains? He's about to regret coming to work today."
"Who is he?" I lean in just enough to keep our conversation hidden.
"Your problem," she smirks, "until two minutes from now."
"Commissioner Ricci," she calls out, smoothly blocking a graying man with a flushed face before he can escape toward the open bar.
"I read your official statement regarding the port contracts.
Fascinating how the budget numbers shifted three times in six days.
Coincidence, or are your accountants genuinely incompetent? "
Ricci freezes with a pastry halfway to his mouth. "Signora, I don't believe we've been formally introduced."
She steps directly into his line of sight. "Let's skip the pleasantries."
"Nora Blake. Crisis management." She lifts a crystal flute from a passing silver tray, taking a slow sip.
"I clean up colossal disasters created by men who draft statements like yours.
Funny detail, really. The exact same three shell donors appear on every revised draft, and two of them trace right back to a Bellini holding group in Rome. Small world, isn't it?"
His face drains to the exact shade of overcooked veal. I watch him glance around for a graceful escape route and come up completely empty. Nora flashes a bright, razor-sharp grin and steps in closer so his closest allies can hear every syllable.
"You look pale, Commissioner." She studies him like a spreadsheet. "Is the room too warm?"
"I have urgent business elsewhere," he stammers. He tucks a napkin into his pocket.
A cold, razor-thin smile touches her lips. "Scrub those names before a reporter finds them. Or don't. I'm off the clock, and the seafood smells questionable anyway."
Ricci babbles an excuse about fresh air and practically runs toward the terrace. Matteo, lingering near a gilded pillar, catches my stare and silently mouths holy shit with wide eyes. I give him a microscopic nod of agreement.
"One down," Nora mutters, hooking her arm back through mine. "Who's next on your enemies list?"
"Greco," I whisper. "The one laughing too loud by the fountain."
"Oh, he's going to cry in five minutes," she promises happily.
I track her gaze across the crowd. "You're enjoying this entirely too much."
Nora angles her glass toward another huddle of men in tailored suits. "I am simply sanitizing your guest list. There is a massive technical difference."
"You're terrorizing public officials," I point out, amused despite myself.
"Precision," she corrects without missing a beat. "There is an art to ruining corrupt men before dinner."
She navigates us across the parquet floor toward our next victim. "Senator Greco. The one practically choking on his own laugh. He took sixty grand from Bellini's concrete subsidiary last spring. Watch and learn."
"Try to leave him his dignity," I offer dryly.
"Why start now?" she counters with a smirk.
"Senator Greco," Nora cuts in, stepping straight into his circle before the man finishes his punchline. "March fourteenth and April second. Two direct wire transfers from Bellini's concrete subsidiary into your wife's foundation in Lugano."
Greco chokes on his champagne, his laughter dying mid-throat as he clutches his stiff collar. Two associates beside him glance down at their phones and slip away without a word.
"How do you even remember those account numbers?" I ask quietly as we pause by the champagne station.
She takes another delicate sip. "I have a photographic memory for corporate fraud. And sheer spite helps with retention."
"You could do this professionally for our family," I comment, genuinely admiring the trail of psychological casualties behind us.
"I already do this for a living, Luca. Normal people just pay invoices on time instead of kidnapping me." She glances up, her amber eyes sparkling with adrenaline. "Stop staring at me like that."
Before I can reply, heavy jasmine perfume cuts through the air, aggressive and familiar. Sara Bellini steps directly into our path, sliding out from the crowd like she has been calculating the exact moment to strike.
Sara steps close enough that her crimson dress brushes my slacks. "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged into society."
She rests a manicured hand on my forearm, her dark eyes glinting with malice. "I was just telling Father how much I missed little Sofia's screams. Honestly, keeping her tied up in our basement was the most fun I had all year. Such delicate skin."
My jaw locks, fury surging through my veins as I stare down at her. "Careful, Sara. One more word and you won't leave this hall on your own two feet."
Sara laughs softly, running a crimson nail along the lapel of my jacket.
"If you were smart enough to be with me, Luca, your pathetic siblings might actually live longer.
" She turns her sneer toward Nora. "And you must be the little English crisis manager.
Did he bring you as a replacement? You look like you'd break even faster than his sister. "
Nora steps forward without missing a beat, using the base of her champagne glass to knock Sara's fingers off my sleeve. "Nora Blake. And you must be the amateur who relies on cheap cruelty because you fail at basic strategy."
Sara stiffens, her smirk vanishing instantly. "Excuse me? Do you even know whose name I carry? You're a temporary foreign asset in a borrowed dress."
Nora steps right into Sara's space. "I know your father owes forty million to Sicilian banks and your brother runs supply routes through three leaking shell companies I could bankrupt before dessert.
Touch Luca again, and I will destroy your family's line of credit so thoroughly your grandchildren will be filing for bankruptcy. Take your hand off him."
Sara's face flashes red with pure rage. "You arrogant little..."
Before Sara can complete the insult, Matteo suddenly slides into the frame between them, balancing a towering tray of three champagne flutes with terrible coordination. "Pardon me, ladies! Hot appetizers...well, cold vintage, actually!"
Matteo feigns a clumsy stumble, intentionally bumping his shoulder right against Sara's raised elbow. Sara instinctively shoves his chest to push him away.
The moment her manicured palms make contact, Matteo lets out a bloodcurdling, operatic gasp. He throws both arms in the air, flinging the crystal flutes skyward, and collapses backward onto the parquet floor like he has taken a sniper round to the chest.
Crash!
Glass shatters across the polished wood, champagne drenching the hem of a nearby senator's trousers. Matteo clutches his ribs, groaning loudly in agony. "My spleen! She struck me down in cold blood! Don Vincenzo's daughter has gone feral!"
The entire corner of the ballroom goes dead silent. Two prominent venture capitalists and a Supreme Court judge stare down in absolute horror at Sara, who stands frozen with her hands still raised in the air.
"I didn't even push him!" Sara shrieks. She looks around frantically. "He threw himself down!"
An influential shipping magnate steps back, brushing champagne droplets off his sleeve. "Signorina Bellini, attacking innocent guests at a charity gala? Consider our port cooperation completely terminated. Disgraceful behavior."
"Cancel the logistics contract tomorrow morning," another board director mutters loudly to his aide, turning his back on her in disgust.
Sara shoots me a furious, humiliated glare, finds only cold amusement in my eyes, and turns pale under the collective judgment of thirty elite donors.
Clutching her stole, she spins around and flees toward the terrace in utter disgrace.
Matteo opens one eye from the floor, winks at Nora with a broad grin, and groans loudly again for dramatic effect before scrambling to his feet and limped away, still faking the fall.
Nora doesn't even bother watching Sara run.
"Well," Nora breathes out, smoothing down the front of her black dress. "That was completely pathetic."
"You guys humiliated her in under a minute," I point out, stepping closer to guide her past the staring onlookers.
Nora rolls her eyes and smooths her black silk sleeve. "I gave her an opportunity to act like a professional threat. Instead, she went straight for schoolyard malice. And Matteo is an absolute menace with glassware."
Her jaw tightens. She points an accusing finger at my jacket lapel. "Her hands were all over your coat. You just stood there and let that sociopath run her cheap manicure over your chest."