Chapter 5 - THE BURNED HAND
~1,100 words
Luca slammed Vanessa back against the mahogany wall paneling so hard the framed portraits shook.
He didn’t squeeze her throat enough to kill her, but the pressure was precise, terrifying, and absolute.
Vanessa gasped, her eyes wide with genuine, primal fear, her hands desperately clawing at his iron grip.
“If you ever,” Luca snarled, his voice a guttural growl that belonged to a predator, “come near my son, or his mother’s memory again, I will not bother calling my men to dispose of you. I will do it myself. Do you understand me?”
Vanessa couldn’t speak. She managed a frantic, choking nod.
Luca released her in disgust, letting her crumple to the hardwood floor.
“Get her out of my sight,” Luca ordered Marco without looking back.
Marco hauled the sobbing, ruined woman to her feet and dragged her out of the dining room. The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind them, leaving the room echoing with a sudden, ringing silence.
I was still on the floor, sitting near the leg of the serving cart.
My right hand was on fire.
The skin across my palm and fingers was blistering, a raw, angry red from plunging it directly into the melted wax and open flame of the centerpiece candle. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, refusing to cry out.
Benjamin scrambled under the table and dropped to his knees beside me.
“Miss Claire!” he cried, his small hands hovering over my injured arm, too afraid to touch the burn. “You’re hurt! You’re bleeding!”
“I’m okay, sweetheart,” I gasped, forcing a tight, unconvincing smile. I opened my uninjured left hand and held it out to him.
Resting in my palm was the pink silk ribbon.
The edges were slightly charred, smelling of smoke and melted wax, but the ribbon itself was whole.
Benjamin’s eyes filled with fresh tears. He gently took the ribbon from my hand and clutched it tightly against his chest, as if it were a living, breathing thing.
“You saved it,” he whispered, his voice trembling with profound gratitude.
“I promised your daddy I’d bring you warm potatoes,” I managed a weak laugh, wincing as a fresh wave of pain radiated up my arm. “I couldn’t let her take your mommy’s ribbon.”
Suddenly, a shadow fell over us.
Luca was kneeling on the floor beside us.
This massive, terrifying man, in his impeccably tailored black suit, knelt on the floor covered in spilled candle wax and dropped napkins.
He didn’t look at the mess. He looked at my hand.
“Let me see,” Luca said gently.
I hesitated, my instinct as a servant screaming at me to hide my injury, to apologize for causing a scene, to go back to the kitchen and scrub pots.
But Luca gently took my wrist, supporting my arm with surprising tenderness.
He examined the burn. His jaw tightened.
“It’s second-degree,” he stated, his eyes dark with guilt. “You need a doctor.”
“It’s fine, sir,” I whispered, trying to pull my hand away. “I’ll just put some cold water on it in the kitchen. I still have to clear the plates from the guests—”
“You’re not clearing anything,” Luca interrupted firmly.
He pulled a pristine white silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and carefully, delicately wrapped it around my burned palm to protect the raw skin from the air.
“You bled for my son,” Luca said, his voice thick with an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher. He looked directly into my eyes, and the intensity of his gaze made my breath hitch. “You sacrificed your mother’s medical savings. You put your hand into an open fire. You did more to protect my child in one evening than I have done in three months.”
“I just did what anyone would do,” I deflected, looking down at the Persian rug.
“No,” Luca corrected softly. “You did what a mother would do.”
The word hung in the air, heavy and true.
Benjamin leaned forward and wrapped his small arms around my neck, burying his tear-stained face into my shoulder. I hugged him back with my good arm, resting my chin on top of his head.
For the first time since his mother died, the little boy felt completely safe.
Luca watched us. The cold, unapproachable exterior of the mafia boss had completely melted away, leaving only a deeply remorseful father in its wake.
“I failed him,” Luca whispered, staring at his son. “I was so consumed with running the family, with maintaining the empire… I thought providing him with a new mother would fix the emptiness in this house. I didn’t see what was happening right in front of me.”
“You see it now, Daddy,” Benjamin murmured against my shoulder.
Luca reached out and placed his large hand gently on Benjamin’s back.
“I do, Ben. And I swear to you, I will never let anyone make you feel small in this house ever again.”
Luca stood up, offering his hand to help me off the floor.
I took it, and he pulled me up easily, though I swayed slightly from the adrenaline crashing in my system.
The dining room doors opened again. Marco stepped back inside.
“She’s gone, Boss,” Marco reported gruffly. “Threw her out the front gates. The guards have orders to shoot on sight if she comes within a mile of the estate.”
Luca nodded. “Call Dr. Evans. The corrupt psychiatrist.”
Marco’s eyebrows raised. “You want me to bring him in?”
“No,” Luca said coldly. “I want you to visit him. Explain to him that if he ever practices medicine in this state again, or if he ever speaks my son’s name, I will personally ensure he needs a wheelchair for the rest of his life. And make sure the medical board receives a full anonymous confession regarding his fraudulent practices by tomorrow morning.”
“Understood,” Marco nodded, a grim smile touching his lips. He turned to leave, but then paused. “Boss… there’s one more thing.”
Luca frowned. “What?”
Marco pointed a thick finger at me.
“Before we threw Vanessa out, she was screaming like a banshee. She said to check the maid’s apron pocket. Said she’d planted something in there to make sure she got fired tonight.”
My blood ran cold.
I looked down at the large, white cotton pockets of my serving apron.
I hadn’t noticed anything heavy, but my adrenaline had been running so high I wouldn’t have felt a brick in there.
Luca’s expression darkened. “Check your pocket, Claire.”
My uninjured hand trembled as I reached into the deep right pocket of my apron.
My fingers brushed against something hard and metallic.
I pulled it out.
Resting in my palm, glittering under the chandelier, was a small, velvet jewelry pouch.
I opened the drawstring.
Inside were two massive, flawless diamond earrings.
I gasped, dropping the pouch onto the mahogany table.
“I didn’t take them!” I cried, pure panic seizing my chest. I looked frantically at Luca. “I swear on my mother’s life, Mr. Moretti! I never touched her jewelry! She must have slipped them in there when I brought the potatoes to the table!”
Luca looked at the diamonds.
May you like
Then, he did something I never expected.
He smiled.
