Chapter 3 - The Interrogation at Midnight
The private waiting room on the third floor of St. Jude’s was meant for grieving families, but tonight it served as Luca Moretti’s war room. Through the frosted glass panels, I could see the hulking silhouette of Marco pacing back and forth in the hallway, his phone pressed firmly to his ear as he barked orders to unseen subordinates across the city.
Luca stood by the tall, wired window, staring down at the rain-slicked ambulance bay below. He hadn't let go of my arm until we crossed the threshold of this room, and even now, his dark gaze felt like a physical weight pressing against my skin.
“Sit down, Elena,” he said, not turning around. It wasn't a suggestion.
I sank into the edge of a stiff leather sofa, my fingers tightly gripping the strap of my handbag. My phone was burning a hole in my pocket, the second threatening text screaming in my mind like a siren. *TELL LUCA ABOUT THE BLUE FILE, AND YOUR AUNT JUNE GETS A VISIT IN THE MORNING.*
“I’m fine standing,” I replied, keeping my voice level.
Luca finally turned. He walked slowly toward me, stopping just a few feet away. In the dim, shadows of the private room, the angles of his face looked harsh, carved from absolute authority. “You received a message. You went pale. You tried to mask it with a clumsy lie about exhaustion. In my world, Elena, people who lie to protect themselves usually end up getting buried alongside the secrets they’re keeping.”
“Are you threatening me, Mr. Moretti?” I asked, my chin lifting defensively. Despite the fear clawing at my chest, a surge of stubborn anger cut through it. “Because if you forgot, I’m the person who kept your grandmother from suffocating on the floor while your fiancée calmly watched and drank champagne.”
A muscle twitched in Luca’s jaw. A dangerous, humorless smile touched the corner of his mouth. “No. I’m not threatening you. I’m telling you that you are standing in the middle of a war you don't understand, and if you try to fight it alone, you will be crushed.”
“I’m not trying to fight anything,” I said, looking down at my shoes. “I just want to make sure Rosa is safe.”
“Then give me the phone.”
My head snapped up. “What?”
“The text,” Luca said smoothly, holding out his open palm. “You think because you turned your screen away I didn't see the flash of light reflect off your glasses? Give me the phone, Elena. Let my tech team trace it, and let me handle the threat.”
“And what if your team isn't fast enough?” I snapped, standing up to face him eye-to-eye. “What if whoever sent that message decides to act before your men kick down their door? That’s my family they’re talking about!”
Luca froze. His dark eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits. “Family.” It wasn't a question; it was a realization. “Who? Your mother? Your sister?”
“My aunt,” I whispered, instantly regretting letting the words slip out. “She raised me. She lives alone on the north side. And whoever sent that message knows where she is.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. The casual, calculating CEO vanished in an instant, replaced entirely by the head of the Moretti syndicate—a man who viewed threats against allies as a direct declaration of war.
Luca stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. “Nobody touches your family while you are under my roof or in my employ. Do you understand me?”
“Words are cheap, Mr. Moretti,” I muttered, my heart pounding wildly. “Vivienne was under your roof, and she tried to murder your grandmother.”
Instead of exploding in anger, Luca went terrifyingly still. He reached out, his large hand gently cupping the side of my face. His thumb brushed just below my cheekbone, his touch surprisingly soft, contrasting sharply with the terrifying coldness in his eyes.
“Vivienne was an arrangement made by my uncles to solidify shipping lanes in the harbor,” Luca said quietly, his breath warm against my skin. “An alliance of convenience. That arrangement ended the second the police pulled that medical pouch from her bag. She is going away for a very long time, and anyone connected to her will be vetted, stripped, and neutralized.”
I swallowed hard, struggling to maintain my composure under his intense gaze. His hand felt warm, too warm, sending an electric shiver straight down my spine that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with how close we were standing.
“What about the blue file?” I whispered, testing the waters.
Luca’s hand dropped from my face, his expression hardening instantly. “What did you say?”
I took a deep breath, deciding that playing games with a mafia boss was a losing battle. “Rosa has been talking about it all week. Before the dinner, before she collapsed. She muttered about a blue file, a closed children's clinic on the south side, and a promise her late husband made to someone named Miriam. I thought she was just confused. But the text message... it mentioned the blue file specifically.”
Luca stared at me, the wheels turning rapidly behind his dark eyes. “My grandfather died twelve years ago. He was a ruthless man, but he kept his secrets buried deep. A children's clinic... Miriam... I’ve never heard those names.”
“Well, someone else has,” I said firmly. “And they’re willing to kill an eighty-five-year-old woman to keep whatever is inside that file buried.”
Before Luca could answer, the door swung open and Marco stepped into the room, holding a encrypted tablet. His face was grim.
“Boss,” Marco said, nodding briefly in my direction. “We ran the trace on the text message. It bounced through three different proxy servers in Eastern Europe before hitting a burner phone active in downtown Chicago.”
“Can we find the physical device?” Luca asked, stepping away from me and instantly shifting back into commander mode.
“We’re tracking the ping now,” Marco replied, holding out the tablet. “And Boss... there’s something else. We pulled Vivienne’s phone records from the last forty-eight hours. She didn't plan this alone. She was receiving detailed instructions on how to tamper with the medical pouch from a very specific burner account.”
Luca leaned over the tablet, his eyes scanning the data. When his gaze flicked back up, it was darker than midnight.
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“Whose account?” Luca demanded.
Marco hesitated, exchanging a brief, heavy look with his boss. “It belongs to someone inside this family, Mr. Moretti. Someone who stands to inherit a very large stake in the shipping empire if Rosa passes away before the new corporate restructuring next month.”
