Chapter 4
The sound of crystal shattering against stone was the only noise on the estate. The summer breeze rustled the torn silk of the floral screen, but not a single guest dared to draw breath.
Luca DeLuca stood frozen near the balustrade, his fair skin draining of all color, staring at the spilled champagne soaking into the leather of his shoes. For twenty-nine years, he had lived under the towering shadow of two titans—his grandfather, who had built the empire with blood, and his mother, who had preserved it with iron discipline. Now, exposed beneath the bright afternoon sun, he looked like a frightened boy caught playing with loaded weapons.
"Luca," Valeria said, her voice dropping into a register that made the nearest bodyguards instinctively look at the grass. "Step forward."
Luca swallowed hard. He adjusted the lapels of his dinner suit, attempting to summon the swagger he had practiced in front of his associates for the past six months. "Mother... let’s not do this out here. We have guests. The council members are watching."
"The council members are watching a treason," Valeria replied smoothly, taking two slow steps toward him. The click of her heels sounded like a metronome counting down an execution. "I asked Camille a simple question. And she looked at you. Why did she look at you, Luca?"
Camille scrambled out from beneath the fallen lattice, spitting crushed petals and dirt from her split lip. Her emerald dress was torn at the shoulder, her expensive hair undone. "Tell her, Luca!" she screamed, her voice cracking with panicked desperation. "Tell her what we signed in Atlantic City! You said she was stepping down after the birthday! You said your grandfather was being retired to the clinic in Vermont!"
"Shut up, Camille!" Luca snarled, his voice breaking into a panicked crack.
"Don't silence your bride, Luca," Arthur’s voice rasped from the bench. The old founder sat straight now, his spine stiffening beneath his wool suit, his gnarled hands resting firmly upon his knees. "Let the girl speak. I want to hear the price my grandson put on my life."
Luca stepped toward his mother, his hands raised in a desperate, placating gesture. "Grandpa, it wasn't like that! The shipping unions in Newark are demanding new leadership. The Rourkes control the freight terminals on the bay. They offered us an exclusive transit corridor—fifty million a year in liquid revenue! All they wanted was a seat at the main table and assurances that the old guard wouldn't veto the expansions!"
"And to give them that seat," Valeria said, stopping two inches from her son’s chest, "you allowed this common whore to tip your grandfather into the mud?"
Luca flinched, his jaw tightening. "He’s eighty-two, Mother! He can't walk! He can't negotiate with the federal prosecutors! The families in Philadelphia and Boston are laughing at us because we’re being run by an invalid and a woman who refuses to wage war!"
Valeria’s right hand moved so fast Luca didn't even see the arc.
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Her palm cracked against his jaw, snapping his head to the side with concussive force. Luca stumbled, his hand flying to his flaming cheek, his eyes wide with shock. He had never been struck by his mother in his entire adult life.
"You speak of war," Valeria whispered, leaning in until her breath brushed his ear, "as if you have ever tasted the copper of your own blood. You are a boy wearing a bespoke suit bought with my money, drinking champagne paid for by my docks. You think the Rourkes made you a king, Luca? They made you a pig waiting for the slaughter."
