Chapter 07 - The Alterations Shop on Halsted

Luca ended the dinner at 10:16.

He did it without apology.

The guests were escorted from the dining room in groups of four. Phones were checked. Drivers were called. Men who had arrived as wolves left as quiet, irritated sheep, each pretending he had not witnessed a powerful engagement split open over soup and surveillance.

Vanessa was taken upstairs by two female security officers to change out of her gown.

Not imprisoned, Luca said.

Contained.

There is a difference when rich men say it.

I stayed near the sideboard because nobody told me what to do, and because my legs had not fully forgiven me for dragging Luca Moretti’s chair away from the table.

When the last guest left, the dining room looked abandoned after a storm. White roses sagged in tall arrangements. Candles had burned too low. The transmitter sat in an evidence bag beside Sofia Moretti’s ledger.

My life before 8:47 p.m. already felt like something I had read in a magazine at a dentist’s office.

Luca stood at the head of the table.

“Grace.”

I looked up.

“Yes, sir?”

“Call your mother.”

My stomach tightened.

“It’s late.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

My spine stiffened.

“I understand you’re used to giving orders, Mr. Moretti, but my mother has a bad heart and a worse temper. If I call her after ten and say your family knew my father, she’ll either faint or come here with scissors.”

For one second, Daniel looked like he might smile.

Luca did not.

But his voice softened.

“Then tell her only that you’re safe and that we need to speak with her tomorrow morning.”

“I have work tomorrow.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I can’t afford a day off.”

“You’re still being paid.”

That made me angrier than it should have.

Money offered casually by people who had never counted quarters for bus fare has a way of sounding like pity.

“I’m not one of your debts to settle.”

“No,” Luca said. “You are a witness I intend to protect.”

The words were practical.

The way he said them was not.

I took out my phone.

My mother answered on the fourth ring.

“Grace? Honey?”

There was fear in her voice before I spoke. Mothers hear danger in the space before words.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly.

“You never call this late from work.”

“I know. Something happened.”

“What kind of something?”

I looked at Luca.

He watched me with an expression I could not read.

“Do you remember the Moretti family?”

My mother went silent.

Not confused.

Not curious.

Silent.

“Mom?”

Her voice changed.

“Where are you?”

“At work.”

“Whose house?”

I swallowed.

“Luca Moretti’s.”

The line crackled with her breath.

“You leave right now.”

“Mom—”

“Grace Ellen Parker, you walk out of that house and you do not look back.”

Everyone in the room heard her.

My cheeks heated.

Luca’s expression did not change, but Daniel suddenly became interested in the curtains.

“Mom, I can’t explain on the phone. Mr. Moretti has questions about Dad.”

“No.”

Just that.

No.

Like a door slamming.

“Your father is dead. Leave him there.”

“Did Dad drive for Carlo Moretti?”

A sound came through the phone.

Not a sob.

Worse.

A small, wounded laugh.

“Who told you that?”

“Was it true?”

“Come home.”

“Mom.”

“Come home, and I’ll tell you what I should have told you years ago.”

The call ended.

I stared at the screen.

Luca said, “We go now.”

I looked at him.

“No.”

His eyebrows moved slightly.

“No?”

“My mother told me to come home. Not to bring you and your armed men into her living room.”

“Grace—”

“She’s scared of your name. That matters.”

He held my gaze for several seconds.

Then he turned to Daniel.

“Car outside. No convoy. You stay back.”

Daniel frowned.

“Boss.”

“Back.”

I should have felt relief.

Instead, the thought of being alone in a car with Luca Moretti after midnight made my pulse misbehave in a way fear could not fully explain.

We took his black sedan, not the SUV.

He drove himself.

That surprised me.

Chicago slid past wet and glittering. The mansion disappeared behind us, taking its chandeliers, roses, and poisoned engagement with it. Luca drove without music. His hands were steady on the wheel, tattoos visible below the cuffs of his shirt.

After several blocks, he said, “You were right to pull the chair.”

I looked out the window.

“I know.”

The corner of his mouth moved.

“Most people say thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for praise.”

“Why did you?”

“Because nobody should be recorded without knowing.”

He glanced at me.

“That your rule?”

“It’s what decent people call a minimum.”

A pause.

Then, unexpectedly, he said, “My mother would have liked you.”

I looked at him.

“She bugged her own house.”

“She had complicated methods.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

The almost-smile came again and vanished.

When we reached my mother’s house, the porch light was on.

So was every light in the front room.

Marian Parker stood behind the curtain with a cardigan over her nightgown and a pair of sewing shears in one hand.

I sighed.

“She brought the scissors.”

Luca looked at the house.

For the first time all evening, he seemed almost nervous.

My mother opened the door before we reached the porch.

She looked at me first, checking my face, my hands, my posture.

Then she looked at Luca.

Whatever she saw made her go very still.

“You have your father’s eyes,” she said.

Luca said, “Mrs. Parker.”

“Don’t use manners on me. Your family used up its manners on my husband’s coffin.”

I stopped breathing.

Luca did not defend himself.

“What happened to Thomas?”

My mother’s grip tightened around the scissors.

“He tried to save your life,” she said.

The rain behind us seemed to fall harder.

I turned to her.

“Dad did what?”

She stepped aside, eyes wet and furious.

“Come in, Grace. Before this man learns the truth on my porch.”