Chapter 11 - The Safehouse Ledger
The secure suite on the top floor of the Moretti estate was nothing like the grand, ostentatious dining rooms downstairs. It was a sprawling, reinforced wing with thick steel-core doors, security monitors glowing softly in the corner, and heavy velvet drapes that shut out the rest of the world. Teresa was resting comfortably in the adjoining guest room, her wooden spoon resting on the bedside table like an old friend, while I sat at the mahogany desk under a harsh lamp, spreading out the recovered audit files Luca had managed to salvage from Vance's abandoned desk.
Luca stood by the window, a white linen bandage wrapped snugly around his left forearm where a jagged piece of glass had caught him during our sweep of the Fourth Street apartment. I stood up with a small ceramic bowl of antiseptic and a clean cloth, walking over to him in the quiet hum of the electronics.
"Sit down, let me look at that," I said quietly, gesturing toward his arm.
Luca didn't argue. He pulled a heavy leather armchair back from the desk and sat down, his broad shoulders relaxing slightly as I knelt beside him. I unwrapped the stained gauze, wincing internally at the deep, jagged crimson line across his forearm.
"It's nothing," Luca murmured, his dark eyes watching my face rather than the wound. "Just a souvenir from a life I'm trying very hard to leave behind."
"You don't have to pretend with me, Luca," I whispered, gently dabbing the antiseptic along the edge of the cut. "I saw what Vance's men were capable of today. This isn't just about corporate corruption anymore. They're coming after you, too, because you stood between them and my grandmother's home."
"They're coming after me because I broke the code," Luca replied, his voice low and steady. He reached up with his uninjured hand, his warm fingers gently catching my chin to tilt my face up toward his. "In my world, you don't turn on your own partners unless you're ready for total war. But for the first time in my life, I don't care about the war. I care about what's sitting across from me in this room."
"Luca..." I began, my voice catching as his thumb traced the curve of my cheekbone.
"Look at the ledger on the desk, Emma," he said softly, never breaking eye contact. "Vance didn't just forge eviction notices. He used Moretti Logistics to funnel municipal rebuilding funds into offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands. If we hand these files to the federal prosecutor tonight, Vance's entire syndicate goes down before the stock market opens tomorrow. No bail, no corporate board protection, nothing."
May you like
I looked over his shoulder at the papers scattered across the mahogany desk, then back into his intense, unyielding eyes. The fear that had gripped my chest since the moment I walked into that luxury dining room with the silver tray began to dissolve, replaced by a cold, sharp resolve.
"Then let's send them," I said.
