Chapter 2 - The Standoff in the Boutique
The air inside the luxury boutique felt as though it had been drained of oxygen.
Every eye in the room was fixed on the space between us. The boutique manager had retreated behind the counter, pressing a trembling hand to her mouth, while half a dozen armed bodyguards in immaculate black suits shifted their weight, their hands hovering dangerously close to the concealed holsters beneath their jackets. One wrong move—a sudden breath, a twitch of a finger—and the store would erupt into gunfire.
Luca hadn't taken his eyes off my stomach.
The initial shock on his face had hardened into something far more terrifying: cold, absolute possession. The way a predator looks when it realizes something that belongs to it has tried to wander off into the dark.
“Bella,” he repeated, his voice cutting through the heavy silence like a razor blade. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, ignoring the racks of cashmere baby sweaters and silver rattles. “Eight months. You were gone for thirty-two weeks. And you expected me never to find out?”
I instinctively stepped back, my spine hitting a display shelf filled with plush white teddy bears. I kept my chin up, refusing to let him see the terror clawing at my throat.
“I didn't expect you to care, Luca,” I said, my voice shaking only slightly. “You had your empire. You had your meetings, your blood feuds, your ruthless little games. I was just another piece of furniture in your mansion. Until I wasn't useful anymore.”
Before Luca could answer, Vanessa Sinclair stepped up beside him. Her perfectly manicured hand slid smoothly into the crook of his arm, though her eyes were darting between us with a sharp, calculating gleam. She clearly hadn't anticipated sharing center stage with a ghost from Luca's past—let one carrying a very visible, very undeniable piece of evidence.
“Luca, darling,” Vanessa purred, tilting her head with a saccharine smile that didn't reach her eyes. “I thought you said your wife died in that tragic car accident upstate. Or did she just misplace her memory along with her wedding ring?”
Luca didn't look at Vanessa. He didn't even blink. He raised a single hand, and Vanessa instantly fell silent, though her lips pressed into a thin, angry line.
“Quiet, Vanessa,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
He took another step closer. I could smell his cologne—sandalwood and expensive leather—the exact scent that used to make me feel safe in the dead of winter, and now made my stomach churn with dread.
“You think this is about usefulness, Isabella?” Luca murmured, his gray eyes burning into mine. “You think I let you walk out of my life because I got bored? No one leaves a Moretti. And no one carries my blood out of my city without my permission.”
“This isn't your child, Luca,” I lied, my voice cracking on the syllables. It was a desperate, foolish lie, and we both knew it.
Luca let out a dark, humorless chuckle. It was a sound that used to make rival bosses shake in their custom-tailored shoes.
“Is that so?” he stepped right up to me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his broad shoulders. He didn't touch me, but his shadow enveloped me completely. “Then why are your hands shaking? Why are you hiding in a dusty little Brooklyn nook? And why does every instinct in my body tell me that beneath that oversized coat is a piece of my soul?”
He reached out slowly, his long fingers hovering just inches from my swollen belly.
Panic surged through me like a tidal wave. I slapped his hand away with a sharp crack that echoed across the quiet boutique.
“Don't you dare touch me!” I cried, tears of fury finally spilling over my lashes. “You don't get to play the grieving, loving father now! You destroyed everything, Luca! You killed whatever was left of us the night you turned your living room into an execution chamber!”
At my movement, all six bodyguards whipped their weapons out, six black barrels leveling directly at my chest in unison.
“Lower your weapons!” Luca roared, spinning around with a fury so violent the nearest bodyguard nearly dropped his gun. “If any of you so much as point a finger at her, I’ll feed you to the harbor before midnight!”
The guards instantly holstered their weapons, stepping back into the shadows.
When Luca turned back to me, the window of opportunity was closing. He reached out again, his hand moving toward my arm to pull me against him.
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed a heavy glass display jar filled with decorative river stones from the nearby table and hurled it directly at the floor between us.
CRASH!
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The heavy glass shattered into a thousand glittering shards, sending stones skittering across the polished wood and startling everyone in the room.
Before the smoke could clear, I turned on my heel, shoved past a paralyzed shop assistant, and bolted out the glass doors into the rainy New York afternoon, leaving the most feared man in the city standing amidst broken glass and shattered illusions.
