Chapter 3 - The Verdict of Silence
The air in the music room evaporated.
Vivian inhaled shakily, letting out a soft, masterfully disguised sob of relief. She looked up at Luca, her eyes swimming with manufactured tears. “You see?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “She knows who did this. Even your mother is terrified of her.”
Naomi felt the blood drain entirely from her face. She looked down at Isabella, her heart shattering into a thousand jagged pieces. No, Naomi thought frantically. Isabella, no. Why are you pointing at me?
For five months, they had shared an unspoken bond. Naomi had fed her, bathed her, listened to her silent music, and protected her when the rest of the world treated Isabella like a fragile piece of old furniture. How could Isabella look at her and point the finger of blame?
Luca Moretti slowly turned his eyes toward Naomi.
The silence stretched on for an eternity. In the underworld, Luca was known as Il Silenzioso—the Silent One—because he didn't yell before he executed a sentence. He just watched, calculated, and struck.
“Naomi,” Luca said. His voice was dangerously low, vibrating through the quiet room like a low bass note on the piano. “Is this true?”
“No,” Naomi said, her voice remarkably steady despite the terror gripping her throat. She refused to cower. She looked right back into his dark, fathomless eyes. “Look at the documents, Mr. Moretti. Look at your mother's thumb. It’s covered in black ink because Vivian was forcing her to sign away her medical power of attorney.”
Vivian gasped, scrambling to her knees. “Luca, she’s lying! She’s a criminal! She’s been stealing small items from the estate for weeks, and when I caught her today, she went into a rage!”
Luca raised a single, gloved hand. The entire room went dead silent instantly. Not a single guard dared to breathe.
He walked past Vivian as if she were invisible. He walked past the scattered papers. He knelt down beside his mother on the Persian rug, his massive frame shielding Isabella from the rest of the room. His hands, usually so steady when holding a weapon or signing multi-million-dollar contracts, trembled slightly as he brushed a white lock of hair from his mother’s bruised cheek.
“Ma,” Luca murmured, his voice softening into a register only she could hear. “Look at me. Who did this?”
Isabella’s chest heaved. Her eyes, filled with a deep, sorrowful fatigue, flickered from Luca to Vivian, and then back to Naomi.
May you like
Then, slowly, Isabella lowered her pointing hand. She reached out, her fingers catching the edge of Naomi’s torn sleeve, and gave it a soft, unmistakable tug.
One low note.
