Chapter 4 - The Language of the Piano
Luca saw the gesture. His gaze snapped back up to Naomi, and then over to Vivian, who was now sweating profusely under her silk gown.
“Ma,” Luca repeated gently, ignoring Vivian’s frantic gasps. “Did Naomi hurt you?”
Isabella let out a harsh, rattling breath. She turned her palm upward—the universal gesture she used when she wanted to play the piano, the motion that meant speak for me.
Naomi didn't hesitate. She dropped to her knees beside mother and son, ignoring the glass shards on the floor. “Mr. Moretti, listen to me,” Naomi said rapidly, her heart racing. “Your mother cannot speak, but she communicates through rhythm. One low note on the piano means yes. One high note means no.”
Vivian shrieked, jumping to her feet. “Luca, don’t listen to this madwoman! She’s inventing a crazy code to cover her tracks! Security, drag her out of here!”
“Shut up, Vivian,” Luca said without turning around. His voice was a lethal whip. He looked at Naomi, his eyes narrowing in intense, analytical focus. “Prove it.”
Naomi turned to Isabella, taking the elderly woman’s cold, ink-stained hand in her own. “Isabella. Look at me. Did Vivian strike your face?”
Isabella stared into Naomi’s eyes. With a tremendous, painful effort, the old woman raised her left hand, hovering it over the low keys of the grand piano that sat right beside them, and struck a single, resonant, heavy bass note.
Thud.
Yes.
The color completely drained from Vivian’s face. She staggered backward, her manicured nails digging into her palms. “It’s a trick! They rehearsed this! They’re both conspiring against me!”
“And did Vivian force your thumb onto those legal papers?” Naomi asked, her voice steady and clear.
Isabella raised her hand again, hovering over the low keyboard.
Thud.
Yes.
Luca stood up slowly. The air in the room grew so dense it felt like lead. He towered over Vivian, his shadow completely swallowing her trembling form. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't pull a weapon.
“Vivian,” Luca said, his tone smooth as glass. “My family’s shipping lines have a contract with your father's corporation. A very profitable contract.”
“L-Luca...” Vivian stammered, backing away until her spine hit the mahogany bookcase. “We’re getting married in two months... you can't believe a maid over your own fiancée—”
“That contract,” Luca continued, cutting her off completely, “is officially terminated. Effective twenty seconds ago.”
Vivian let out a choked scream. “My father will ruin you! The Vance family will—!”
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“Your father is currently three million dollars in debt to my syndicate,” Luca interrupted, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. “If you or your father ever step foot within five miles of this estate again, I won't just ruin your business. I’ll make sure you vanish from this city so completely that people will think the Vances were just a myth.”
He turned to his chief security guard, Marcus. “Escort Miss Vance off my property. Throw her belongings into the street. And make sure she never breathes the air of this neighborhood again.”
