Chapter 5 - An Unbreakable Sanctuary
The next morning broke bright and cold over the city, the rain clearing to leave behind a sky the color of polished slate.
By seven o'clock, the news of the broken engagement had spread through the city's elite like wildfire. My phone had been buzzing in my pocket since dawn—texts from other maids, decorators, and caterers who had worked the event, all desperately fishing for gossip. I deleted every message without responding.
Downstairs in the industrial-sized kitchen, the atmosphere was completely transformed.
Under Vanessa's reign, the house staff had lived in a state of perpetual terror. She had a habit of inspecting baseboards with white gloves, docking pay for minor infractions, and forbidding anyone from speaking above a whisper. But this morning, Mrs. Higgins, the head cook who had been with the Moretti family for twenty-five years, was humming as she fried thick cuts of pancetta and baked fresh rosemary focaccia.
"Look at you, Emily," Mrs. Higgins said with a broad, gap-toothed smile as I walked in to fetch the breakfast tray. "The girl who took down the Bellini viper with a pair of hearing aids."
"I didn't take down anyone," I murmured, checking the temperature of the porcelain teapot. "I just told the truth."
"Around here, child, the truth is deadlier than a hollow-point," Mrs. Higgins replied, sliding a plate of warm pastries onto my tray. "Take this up to Miss Teresa. Mr. Luca ordered double cream for her coffee. Said she’s to have whatever she wants, whenever she wants it."
When I carried the tray up to the third floor, I found Teresa already awake, sitting on her private balcony dressed in a warm wool cardigan and a pair of trousers. The crisp autumn air brought color to her cheeks.
Luca was already there.
He had abandoned his three-piece suit for a simple dark charcoal sweater and black jeans. He was sitting on the low stone wall across from her, holding a mug of black coffee, watching her closely so she could read his lips whenever he spoke.
On the small iron table between them sat a silver bowl containing the ashes of the Pine Ridge Manor lease agreement. A wisp of gray smoke was still curling into the morning air.
"Good morning, Emily," Teresa said, her voice sounding brighter, stronger than it had in weeks. She pointed toward the silver bowl. "Luca had a little bonfire before breakfast."
"I see that, ma'am," I smiled, setting down the tray.
"Sit with us," Luca said, gesturing toward an empty wicker chair beside his mother.
I hesitated. "Sir, I have to finish the upstairs linen rotation—"
"The linens can wait," Luca said, his tone leaving no room for argument, though it wasn't unkind. "You’re having breakfast with my mother."
Teresa patted the cushion next to her eagerly. "Please, Emily. Luca tells me that you’re going to be staying close by from now on. I told him you work too hard, but he insisted."
I sat down, feeling the morning sun warm my face. As I poured Teresa’s coffee with the double cream she loved, a commotion from the driveway below shattered the peaceful morning.
Tires screeched against the gravel.
Luca didn't flinch. He slowly set his mug down on the stone wall.
Down below, past the wrought-iron security gates, three black Cadillac Escalades had pulled up to the turnaround. From the lead car stepped Silvio Bellini, flanked by four armed bodyguards.
Even from the third floor, I could see the rage in the old man’s face. He didn't come to negotiate; he came to demand satisfaction.
Teresa frowned, leaning over the stone balustrade to look down. "Who is that, Luca? Is that Silvio?"
Luca stood up smoothly, his hand gently resting on his mother’s shoulder to keep her seated.
"It’s nobody, Mom," Luca said, his lips forming the words with slow, serene calmness. "Just an old business associate who forgot his manners."
He turned to me. "Emily. Keep her out here. Do not let her look over the railing."
"Yes, Mr. Moretti."
Luca turned and walked through the French doors into the bedroom. I heard his heavy, steady footsteps head down the hall toward the staircase.
My hands began to shake as I poured myself a cup of water, but Teresa reached out and gently laid her palm over my fingers.
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"Don't worry, child," Teresa said softly, looking out over the city skyline with eyes that had seen forty years of mafia warfare. "My boy knows how to protect what is his. He learned from his father."
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