Chapter 6 - The Confrontation at Bay FourThe heavy steel roll-up door of loading bay four was cranked halfway open, spilling a harsh yellow pool of fluorescent light out onto the wet concrete of the salvage yard.
As Luca and I approached, muffled voices drifted out from inside the warehouse.
“...just load the rest of the lathe parts into the van before Moretti figures out what happened,” a sharp, reedy male voice snapped.
“Relax, Marcus,” a second, gruff voice replied. “Sister said the engagement blew up an hour ago. The old man is too distracted dealing with her screaming fit to notice a few pieces of scrap wood disappearing.”
Luca didn't hesitate. He raised his heavy leather boot and kicked the bottom edge of the metal roll-up door with a concussive crash that rattled the entire warehouse structure.
The voices inside instantly cut dead.
With a metallic screech, Luca grabbed the handle of the security door and wrenched it all the way up, flooding the bay with light.
Inside, standing over a massive oak workbench torn apart into modular slabs, were two men. One was a slick-haired man in an expensive designer suit jacket—Marcus Vance. The other was a burly salvage handler holding a crowbar.
Marcus froze, a wrench slipping from his fingers and clattering loudly onto the concrete floor.
“L-Luca?” Marcus stammered, his face draining of all color as he scrambled backward against a stack of wooden pallets. “What... what are you doing here?”
Luca walked into the warehouse, his movements slow, deliberate, and predatory. He didn't look at Marcus. His dark eyes were fixed entirely on the splintered sections of his father’s 1987 workbench resting on the loading dock.
“You’re standing on my property, Marcus,” Luca said quietly.
“Now hold on a second!” Marcus blustered, trying to regain a shred of arrogant posture as he adjusted his designer lapels. “Vanessa legally transferred these assets to me as part of a pre-engagement asset consolidation! You can't just barge in here—”
“She forged my signature on a demolition order, and she stole private family heirlooms from a minor,” Luca cut him off, his voice dropping into a lethal register. He stopped three feet away from Marcus, towering over him. “And you acted as the receiver for stolen property.”
Marcus swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically toward the exit. “This is a civil matter! Call my lawyer—”
Before Marcus could finish the sentence, Luca moved with lightning speed. He grabbed Marcus by the lapels of his designer suit jacket, lifted him off his feet with one hand, and slammed him hard against the side of the metal loading dock.
Marcus let out a sharp, winded gasp, his feet dangling an inch off the ground.
“You listen to me very carefully, Marcus,” Luca snarled, his face inches from the terrified man’s nose. “You and your sister are going to return every single tool, every screw, and every splinter of that workbench to my estate before sunrise. If even one bolt is missing, I won't just ruin your business—I will make sure you spend the next ten years breaking rocks in a federal penitentiary.”
“I-I’ll do it! I swear to God, I’ll return everything!” Marcus choked out, clawing frantically at Luca’s wrists.
Luca dropped him. Marcus hit the concrete with a pathetic thud, coughing and gasping for air.
Luca turned his back on him, walking slowly over to the splintered oak workbench. He reached down, running his calloused fingers across the rough, unfinished grain where Matteo had carved his initials earlier that week.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath.
Then he looked back at me, standing quietly near the entrance.
“Claire,” he said softly.
May you like
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Call the estate manager. Tell him to unlock the garage doors at sunrise. My son and I have work to do.”
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