The First Spark

The restaurant at the top of DeLuca Suites was alive with soft music, low voices, and the faint clink of glasses. The place was known for its privacy. No press. No prying eyes. Only those who could afford it sat at its tables.

Lorenzo sat in the corner booth with three of his closest associates. Marco, his head of security. Enzo, a childhood friend who had grown into one of his top lawyers. And Dominic, the only one who dared to tease him without fear of being fired.

They had been talking business, but as the wine flowed, the conversation shifted.

“Hard to believe,” Dominic said, swirling his glass, “that our Lorenzo actually let himself get caught with a woman again.”

Enzo chuckled. “After what happened five years ago? I thought you were done with that kind of thing.”

Even Marco, who rarely spoke, chuckled. “So, who’s the lucky one?”

Lorenzo said nothing. He leaned back, calm on the outside, but his fingers tightened around the stem of his glass. 

His friends knew the rule. His personal life was not for discussion. But they also knew that if rumors had reached them, it meant people were talking about it. 

“I didn’t let myself get caught,” he said flatly, his voice cool. “People see what they want to see.”

Dominic laughed, unbothered by the frost in his tone. “So it’s not true then? You weren’t with anyone from that Vitale dinner?”

The name made Lorenzo’s jaw tighten. Vitale. He remembered Aleira’s eager smile, her quick claim of the necklace. But more than that, he remembered the quiet girl who had said nothing yet somehow filled the room with her silence.

Before he could reply, a waitress appeared at their table with a tray. She was young, no more than twenty, with nervous hands and a pale face. She placed their plates down carefully, then reached for Lorenzo’s cup. Her fingers trembled, then the cup slipped.

Hot coffee spilled across the table, splashing Enzo’s sleeve.

He shot up instantly, cursing. “Are you blind?” He shook his arm, furious. “Do you know how much this suit costs?”

The girl bowed her head quickly. “I’m sorry, sir. It was an accident—”

An accident?” Dominic barked, standing too. “You think you can walk into this restaurant, serve like a fool, and spill drinks on clients? Do you even know who you’re serving?”

“The waitress’s lips trembled. Tears welled in her eyes as she clutched the tray to her chest, backing away.

Before anyone could speak again, another voice cut through the room.

“That’s enough.” All eyes turned.

Chiara Vitale stood a few steps away. She hadn’t planned to walk into this. She had only come looking for a quiet place to think, to get away from her thoughts. But the scene had pulled her forward before she could stop herself.

Her gaze was firm as she stepped closer. “She made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes.”

The waitress looked at her, relief flashing across her face before she hurried off. Chiara turned back, steady, ready to face whoever had a problem with her words.

And then her eyes met his.

Lorenzo DeLuca.

For a moment, the noise of the room faded. His gaze held hers, steady, unreadable. Something flickered there — a question, a pull she couldn’t explain.

“Lorenzo DeLuca,” Chiara breathed, almost to herself.

His brow lifted slightly. Recognition flickered across his face. “Aleira Vitale’s sister.”

The words hit harder than she expected. Not her name. Not who she was. Just Aleira’s shadow again.

Chiara’s lips pressed tight. “I have a name. It’s Chiara. Chiara Vitale.”

Her voice was steady, but her chest rose and fell quickly.

Lorenzo gave a small nod, then stretched out his hand. “Lorenzo DeLuca.”

She placed her hand in his. It was meant to be a simple shake, but his grip stayed firm. His eyes stayed on her, steady and unreadable.

The air grew quiet.

His friends shifted in their seats. Enzo cleared his throat. Dominic gave a short laugh. Marco looked away, pretending not to notice.

Only then did Lorenzo slowly let her hand go.

Chiara dipped her head politely, her voice cool. “I apologize again for the waitress. Please let it go.”

“It’s fine. We’re cool,” Lorenzo said, turning to his friends. They gave quiet nods in agreement.

His assistant leaned in and murmured a reminder. Lorenzo was needed at home. With a small nod, he rose, gave Chiara one last glance, and left the restaurant.

Meanwhile, back at the DeLuca estate, news had already reached Sophie DeLuca. Her son had been  with a woman.

At first, she was shocked. Lorenzo? With someone? It had been years since that night. Years since he had allowed anyone near him. He had grown so cold in the world of women that sometimes she feared he might never marry at all.

But Sophie never left anything to chance. If there was a woman, she needed to know who she was.

The report pleased her. Aleira Vitale.

A woman with noble character, well-connected, and from a respected family. The Vitales had clean records, a good reputation, and most importantly, they were the kind of family who would never shame the DeLucas.

Sophie’s lips curved with quiet satisfaction. This was perfect. Without delay, she arranged a dinner and sent word for Lorenzo to return home.

On the drive back, Lorenzo’s thoughts were far from business. They drifted instead to the woman in the restaurant. Chiara. The way she had stepped in, unafraid, her voice steady when others backed away.

The only other woman who had ever made him feel something that sharp was Alice Robinson, his childhood sweetheart.

Five years ago, he had planned to propose to her. He remembered holding the small box in his hand, rehearsing the words he never got to say. But Alice never made it to their meeting place. She had been struck by a car while waiting for him. By the time Lorenzo reached the hospital, she was gone.

The memory cut deep. The ring box had never been opened. He blamed himself for being late, for not protecting her. Since that day, he had buried his heart and never let another woman close.

When he walked into the estate that evening, the house was set for dinner. Sophie met him in the grand hall, her face calm but firm.

“Aleira Vitale will be joining us tonight,” she said.

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened. “Mother, no. I haven’t made up my mind about marriage. If I ever do, it will not be this way.”

But Sophie only lifted her chin, her eyes steady. “You’ve hidden long enough, Lorenzo. You carry the DeLuca name. This is not only about you. I want to see a grandchild before I leave this world.”

Her voice left no room for argument. The table was already set. The choice, it seemed, was no longer his.