Chapter 4 - AN UNWELCOME GUEST
Two days before the Valenti summit, a commercial delivery truck arrived at the estate’s security gate. Clara was sitting on the stone steps near the stables, teaching Bruno to lie down without putting pressure on his bad hip, when she heard a loud, familiar voice arguing with the main gate guard.
Her blood turned to ice.
“I’m telling you, my ex-wife works here!” the voice shouted through the iron bars. “Clara Hayes! She stole money from me when she ran away to Italy!”
Clara stood up slowly, her knees trembling.
It was Grant.
He stood by the security booth in a cheap leather jacket, looking disheveled, angry, and desperate. After Clara had left him, Grant’s gambling debts had spiraled out of control. He had tracked her passport records through an illegal contact, realizing she had landed a job at one of the wealthiest private estates in Europe.
“Clara!” Grant yelled, spotting her across the driveway. “Get over here! You think you can hide in a mobster’s palace after what you did to me?!”
The gate guards instantly drew their sidearms, their expressions hardening into lethal stone.
Before Grant could take another step, a black Maserati roared up the driveway, coming to a halt with a spray of gravel. The driver’s side door opened, and Matteo Moretti stepped out.
The atmosphere on the driveway plunged below freezing.
Grant swallowed hard, stepping back as Matteo approached him. Matteo didn't draw a weapon. He didn't raise his voice. He simply stood there, six-foot-three of dark, terrifying authority, looking at Grant as if he were an insect crawling across a clean floor.
“Who allowed this garbage to make noise at my gate?” Matteo asked softly.
The head guard bowed his head. “He claims to be the maid’s former husband, Signor. He’s making accusations of theft.”
Matteo turned his head slowly, looking past Grant toward Clara, who stood frozen on the steps, her face pale, her hands clutched against her apron. Bruno stood beside her, his body tense and ready.
“Clara,” Matteo called out. “Is this the weak man who made you feel small?”
Clara took a deep breath, forcing herself to walk down the steps toward the gate. “Yes, Mr. Moretti. That’s Grant.”
Grant tried to put on a confident sneer, though his hands were shaking. “Clara, tell this guy the truth! You owed me fifty thousand dollars when you left! You took my savings!”
“You spent your savings at the casino in Venice, Grant,” Clara said, her voice surprisingly steady. “And then you tried to sell my mother’s ring to pay off your debts. I left with eighty euros and a suitcase.”
Matteo looked back at Grant. “You came to my home to threaten my staff?”
“She’s my wife!” Grant yelled.
“She was your wife,” Matteo corrected, stepping directly into Grant’s personal space. The sheer physical presence of the Don made Grant shrink. “Now she is under my roof. Under my protection. If you ever speak her name again, if you ever come within ten miles of Lake Como, I will ensure that your remaining debts are paid in blood. Do you understand me?”
Grant’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He nodded frantically, stumbling backward into his rental car.
“Get him out of my sight,” Matteo ordered the guards.
As the rental car sped away, Matteo walked over to Clara. He looked down at her pale face, his gray eyes softening just a fraction.
“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.
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“I... I’m sorry,” Clara whispered, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “I brought my mess to your doorstep.”
Matteo reached out, his warm, rough fingers gently catching a stray tear on her cheek. “You brought nothing, Clara. He came here looking for prey. He found out you are no longer defenseless.”
