Chapter 7 - The Commission's VerdictThe blow sent Victor crashing backward against the mahogany bookshelf, sending a dozen leather-bound volumes tumbling onto the floor with a series of heavy thuds.
Victor spat a mouthful of blood onto the Persian rug, wiping his lip with the back of his hand, a wild, manic grin spreading across his bruised face.
“Is that right?” Victor wheezed, laughing softly. “You can punch me all you want, boy. But by Friday, the Commission will vote. And when they do, your little house of cards—and everyone inside it—will burn to the ground.”
Luca grabbed his uncle by the lapels of his expensive wool coat, hauling him up effortlessly until Victor’s toes barely touched the floor.
“Daniel,” Luca said, his voice shaking with a cold, terrifying fury. “Take him down to the sub-basement holding cell. Chain him to the wall. And if anyone from the Commission asks, tell them Victor Moretti died in a skiing accident in the Alps ten years ago and his body just decided to turn up today.”
“Right away, boss,” Daniel said, stepping forward and clamping heavy steel zip-ties around Victor’s wrists with brutal efficiency.
As they dragged Victor kicking and swearing out of the room, the heavy oak doors slammed shut behind them once more, plunging the third-floor suite back into a tense, heavy silence.
I stood frozen by the desk, my breathing shallow.
Luca turned around, running a large hand over his face, pressing his fingers against his eyes as if he were trying to physically wipe away the exhaustion of a war that had been brewing for a decade.
“Are you alright?” I asked quietly, taking a step toward him.
Luca dropped his hand. His dark eyes met mine, looking more vulnerable in that single moment than I had ever seen him before.
“He’s right about one thing,” Luca said, his voice rough. “The Commission meets on Friday. They’re the old guard—men who believe family loyalty means covering up murder, drug trafficking, and betrayal. If they decide I’m a liability because I’d rather protect my daughter than expand my territory... they won't just come after me.”
He looked past me, toward Lily, who was still sitting safely behind the desk, watching us with wide, frightened eyes.
“They’ll come after both of you.”
I walked over to him, stopping just inches away. I reached out, my fingers gently brushing against the bruised knuckles of his right hand where he had struck his uncle.
“Then we fight them,” I said.
Luca looked down at my hand touching his. A slow, profound change came over his features—the last remaining walls of the iron fortress around his heart finally crumbling away.
“You don't know what you're asking, Claire,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “This world... it eats people like you. It swallows kindness and spits out bone.”
“I’m not fragile, Luca,” I said, using his first name for the very first time.
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The sound of my voice saying his name without a title seemed to hit him harder than any punch. He didn't pull away. Instead, he reached out, his large, warm hand cupping the side of my face, his thumb gently tracing my cheekbone.
“Friday,” Luca murmured against the quiet air of the room. “We end this on Friday. Once and for all.”
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