Chapter 2 - The Silent Testimony
The silence in the music room was heavier than a vault door slamming shut.
The four estate guards stood frozen, their hands resting on their sidearms, waiting for a single nod from Luca to drag Naomi out to the soundproof basement beneath the garage.
Vivian was still kneeling beside the piano bench, dabbing at her scratched neck with a silk handkerchief, her eyes fixed on Naomi with pure hatred. "Get her out of this house, Luca. Call the police! Have her locked away forever!"
Naomi did not look at Vivian. She did not look at the armed guards.
She looked directly into Luca Moretti’s cold, terrifying eyes.
"She isn't pointing at me to accuse me," Naomi said quietly. Her voice was remarkably steady, despite the pulse thumping wildly in her throat. "She's pointing at me because she wants me to lift her up."
"You arrogant liar!" Vivian cried out. "She can't speak! She points at who hurt her!"
"Silence," Luca commanded. He didn't raise his voice, but the word hit the room like a physical blow. Vivian immediately fell quiet, though her jaw clenched in frustration.
Luca dropped to one knee in front of his mother. The terrifying mob boss who had spent his morning managing multi-million-dollar smuggling operations softly reached down and took Isabella’s cold, ink-stained hand in his own.
"Ma," Luca murmured softly in Italian, his harsh voice softening into something tender. "Who did this to you?"
Isabella’s eyes were wet with tears. She didn't look at Luca. Instead, her eyes fixed on Naomi, and her trembling hand tapped twice against Naomi’s knee.
Naomi looked down at the older woman, understanding instantly.
"Mr. Moretti," Naomi said, keeping her eyes locked on Luca. "Ask your mother to answer you using the piano."
Luca’s dark brows pulled together. "What?"
"She cannot speak with her voice, but she speaks through music," Naomi explained, her voice ringing clear through the tense room. "She has been using a note system for five months. Low notes for truth, high notes for falsehood. Ask her if I attacked her."
Vivian stood up quickly, her voice high and panicked. "This is absurd! Luca, don't listen to this crazy maid! She’s trying to distract you with ridiculous stories!"
"I said silence," Luca growled without looking back at his fiancée. He turned back to Naomi, his dark eyes analyzing every line of her face. "Is this true, Naomi?"
"Put her on the bench," Naomi requested softly. "Test her yourself."
Luca paused for two agonizing seconds. Then, with surprising gentleness, he slid his arms under his mother’s frail frame and lifted her from the floor. He set her down carefully on the leather piano bench, supporting her back with his broad chest.
Isabella’s breath hitched. She reached out her right hand—the index finger still stained with black ink—and let it hover over the keys.
Luca looked down at his mother. "Ma... did the nurse hurt you?"
Isabella’s finger dropped onto the highest key on the far right of the keyboard—a sharp, piercing CLINK that echoed off the high walls.
A high note. No.
Vivian’s face went completely pale. "She... she hit the wrong key! She's confused! She’s had another stroke!"
Luca’s expression did not change, but his jaw muscles flexed tightly. He looked at his mother again. "Did Vivian bring those legal papers into this room?"
Isabella reached out her trembling finger again.
THUM.
A deep, low, reverberating C-minor chord near the left bass side of the instrument vibrated through the floorboards.
A low note. Yes.
Luca’s eyes slowly turned from his mother toward the far corner of the room where Vivian stood.
"Luca, wait!" Vivian gasped, taking a panicked step backward against the wall. "She doesn't know what she’s doing! The maid manipulated her! The maid taught her to play those notes to set me up!"
"Is that so?" Naomi spoke up, reaching down to pick up the scattered pages of the document from the floor. She held up the final signature page, pointing at the messy black smudge on the line marked Grantor Consent. "Then explain why the ink on Mrs. Moretti's thumb is from a fresh notary pad, Miss Vance. And explain why the notary seal on page four belongs to your father's private law firm."
Luca reached out his hand. Naomi placed the legal document into his palm.
He read the title: DECLARATION OF PERMANENT MEDICAL INCAPACITY AND TRANSFER OF CONSERVATORSHIP TO VIVIAN VANCE.
Below it was a clause transferring eighty percent of the Moretti estate’s commercial real estate holdings into a private trust controlled exclusively by the Vance family upon Isabella’s legal incompetence.
Luca’s eyes slowly scanned the paper. When he looked up, the tenderness he had shown his mother was completely gone, replaced by a cold, murderous darkness that made even his own armed guards take a nervous step back.
"You brought my father's old enemies into my mother's sanctuary," Luca said, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet whisper. "You put your hands on my mother."
"Luca... please!" Vivian whimpered, tears of actual terror bursting from her eyes as she backed toward the doorway. "My father said we needed to secure the estate before the city board meeting! I did it for us! I did it for our future!"
"There is no future for you, Vivian," Luca said softly.
He didn't yell. He didn't raise his hand. He simply turned his head toward his head of security, a towering man named Marco standing near the door.
"Take her," Luca ordered flatly. "Hold her in the east cellar until her father arrives. Tell Judge Vance that if he wants his daughter back alive, he will sign over every deed his family owns in the harbor district by midnight."
"NO! LUCA! PLEASE!" Vivian screamed as Marco and two heavy-set guards grabbed her by the arms, dragging her kicking and screaming down the grand hallway, her nails scraping uselessly against the mahogany paneling until the heavy oak doors slammed shut, cutting off her voice entirely.
The room returned to silence.
Luca stood beside the piano, his massive hand resting on his mother’s trembling shoulder. He looked down at the bruised mark on Isabella’s cheek, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fist.
Then, he turned his gaze toward Naomi.
Naomi was still kneeling on the floor, her white nurse’s apron torn at the seam where Vivian had yanked it during the struggle, her hair slightly disheveled, but her posture completely straight and unyielding.
Luca stepped forward and extended his right hand toward her.
"Get up, Naomi," he said.
Naomi looked at his hand—a hand that carried the power to control half the city—and then looked up into his dark eyes. She reached out and placed her palm in his.
His grip was warm, solid, and overwhelmingly strong as he lifted her effortlessly to her feet.
"You defended my mother when everyone else in this house failed," Luca said, his dark eyes searching hers with a intense, burning curiosity that sent a strange shiver down her spine. "You spoke for her when she had no voice."
"I did my job, Mr. Moretti," Naomi replied quietly, smoothing down her apron. "She is my patient. I protect her."
Luca stared at her for a long, silent moment. "No one does 'just their job' against the Vance family, Naomi. You risked your life today."
He turned back to his mother, who reached out and pressed the low C-minor key once more—a soft, comforting tone.
May you like
Luca smiled faintly—a rare, dangerous expression that transformed his sharp features.
"My mother likes you," Luca said smoothly, his eyes flashing with an unreadable emotion as he looked back at Naomi. "And in this city, Naomi... what my mother wants, I protect at all costs."
