Chapter 9 – THE SHATTERED WINE GLASS

“Vanessa,” I breathed, instinctively taking a step backward. My high heel caught on the edge of a marble planter, and I stumbled, barely catching myself.

Vanessa’s hands were shaking violently as she gripped the heavy revolver. Her eyes were bloodshot, completely devoid of the polished, arrogant socialite she used to be.

“Don’t move,” she slurred, cocking the hammer of the gun. The metallic click echoed sharply in the quiet conservatory.

“How did you get in here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm. The security at the mansion had been doubled since Marcus’s arrest.

“I used to live here!” Vanessa screamed, her voice shrill and broken. “I know all the codes! I know the blind spots in the cameras! I was going to be the lady of this house!”

She took a step forward, the gun unwavering.

“My father is in federal prison,” Vanessa spat, tears streaming down her ruined makeup. “My bank accounts are frozen. My friends won’t even look at me. I have nothing, Natalie. Because of you.”

“Vanessa, please,” I pleaded, holding my hands up. “Your father brought this on himself. He stole Isabella’s child. He burned down a factory.”

“He did what he had to do to survive!” she shrieked. “And I am going to do what I have to do. I am going to blow a hole in your chest, and then I am going to wait for Luca to find your body.”

Panic surged through my veins like ice water.

I looked frantically around the conservatory. There were no exits nearby. The heavy glass doors leading to the garden were locked from the outside. The only way out was back through the hallway, and Vanessa was blocking it.

“Luca doesn’t love you,” Vanessa sneered, noticing my panic. “He only feels sorry for you. You’re a charity case. A pathetic little maid wearing my expensive clothes.”

“You’re wrong,” a deep, lethal voice boomed from the hallway.

Vanessa jumped, spinning around.

Luca was standing in the doorway, dressed in a sharp black tuxedo. His face was a mask of pure, murderous rage.

In his hand, he held a crystal wine glass. He had been looking for me to share a toast before the gala.

“Put the gun down, Vanessa,” Luca ordered quietly.

“Stay back!” Vanessa screamed, aiming the gun back and forth between me and Luca. “I’ll shoot her! I swear to God, Luca, I’ll kill her!”

Luca didn’t flinch. He slowly stepped into the room, his dark eyes locked onto Vanessa.

“You won’t shoot her,” Luca said smoothly, his voice dangerously calm. “Because if you do, I will ensure you spend the rest of your miserable life in a maximum-security cell, surrounded by women who would love to tear apart a spoiled little rich girl.”

Vanessa’s lower lip trembled. She gripped the gun tighter.

“You ruined my life,” she sobbed. “I loved you, Luca!”

“You loved my money,” Luca corrected coldly. “You loved the power. But you never loved me. And I never loved you.”

That broke her.

Vanessa let out a horrific, guttural scream of pure rage. She swung the gun fully toward me, her finger tightening on the trigger.

“Natalie, get down!” Luca roared.

I threw myself to the floor just as a deafening gunshot shattered the glass roof above us. Shards of glass rained down like jagged hail.

I covered my head, screaming.

But there was no second shot.

I looked up through the falling glass.

Luca had thrown his heavy crystal wine glass directly at Vanessa’s face. It shattered against her forehead with a sickening crunch.

Vanessa stumbled backward, stunned and bleeding, dropping the revolver.

Before she could recover, Luca crossed the room in three massive strides. He kicked the gun into the bushes and grabbed Vanessa by the shoulders, shoving her hard against the brick wall.

“Don’t you ever,” Luca snarled, his face inches from hers, “come near my family again.”

Security guards burst into the conservatory, their weapons drawn.

“Take her to the police,” Luca ordered, shoving Vanessa toward the guards. “Tell the chief of police I want her charged with attempted murder.”

Vanessa didn’t fight back. She was crying hysterically as the guards dragged her away, her pathetic threats echoing down the hallway until they finally faded.

The room fell silent, save for the sound of my ragged breathing.

Luca turned around. He rushed to me, falling to his knees on the glass-covered floor. He didn’t care that the shards were cutting into his expensive tuxedo pants.

He pulled me into his arms, crushing me against his chest.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his hands frantically checking my arms, my back, my face. “Did she hit you?”

“I’m fine,” I gasped, clutching his lapels. “I’m okay, Luca. You saved me.”

He let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead against mine. His heart was hammering wildly against my chest.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he whispered, kissing my forehead, my cheeks, and finally, my lips.

It was a desperate, passionate kiss. A promise of protection, of love, of forever.

When we finally broke apart, the adrenaline was slowly fading, replaced by a deep, beautiful calm.

“Come on,” Luca smiled softly, helping me to my feet. “We have a gala to host. The whole city is waiting to meet the woman who saved the Moretti empire.”

I smiled, brushing the glass off my gown.

But as I looked down at the floor, something caught my eye.

Tucked underneath a broken orchid pot, half-hidden by soil and shattered glass, was a small, dusty leather book.

Vanessa must have dropped it when she fell.

I reached down and picked it up.

It wasn’t a diary. It was an old, weathered pocketbook.

And embossed on the leather cover, in faded gold letters, was a name.

Antonio Moretti.