Chapter 5 - Stepping Stones
Three weeks later, the ground-floor conservatory of the Moretti mansion had been completely transformed.
The exotic orchids and iron patio furniture had been cleared away, replaced by two parallel twenty-foot wooden bars anchored securely into the reinforced floor. Sunlight poured through the glass ceiling, warming the polished bamboo mats below.
Sofia stood between the bars, wearing black athletic leggings and bright pink sneakers.
Her forehead was beaded with sweat. Her small teeth were clamped tightly over her lower lip, her arms trembling as she gripped the smooth wood on either side.
“You’ve got this, Sofia,” I said, kneeling three feet in front of her on the mat, my hands hovering just inches from her waist, ready to catch her the moment her balance wavered. “Remember what Dr. Vance said. Don't look at your feet. Look at me. Find your center.”
Sofia’s breath came in sharp, determined pants. “My knees feel like jelly, Emily.”
“Jelly is fine,” a deep, commanding voice called from the doorway.
Luca walked into the conservatory, having just returned from a morning meeting with his captains. He had discarded his suit jacket, rolling the sleeves of his black linen shirt up to his elbows, revealing the intricate ink tracing up his forearms.
He didn't stand back like an observer. He walked straight onto the mat, kicking off his leather loafers, and knelt right beside me.
“Jelly can be trained, sweetheart,” Luca said, his eyes filled with fierce, paternal pride. “Your grandfather used to tell me that a fighter’s legs aren't made of bone and muscle. They’re made of will. And you have more will in your little finger than the entire Bellini bloodline combined.”
Sofia looked at her father, a tiny spark of determination igniting in her brown eyes—eyes so identical to Luca’s that it made my heart ache. “Will you catch me if I fall, Daddy?”
“Every time,” Luca promised without hesitation. “Until you don't need me to catch you anymore.”
Sofia took a deep, steadying breath.
Slowly, deliberately, she shifted her weight onto her right leg. The muscles in her calf engaged, firing with clean, uninhibited nerve impulses now that the neuro-inhibitors had completely cleared her system.
She lifted her left foot.
It hovered in the air for a terrifying, breathless second.
Then, she set it down six inches forward.
*One step.*
Sofia let out a tiny gasp of pure shock. “I did it!”
“Don't stop,” I whispered, tears immediately blurring my vision. “Keep the momentum, Sofia. Right foot now. Trust your body.”
She squeezed her eyes shut for a microsecond, then opened them, locking her gaze directly onto mine.
She lifted her right foot.
Her left knee buckled slightly under the sudden transfer of weight. She wobbled dangerously to the left.
Luca’s hand shot out, catching her gently by the hip, stabilizing her without taking the weight away. “I’m here. You have it, baby. Push through the heel.”
Sofia grunted, a fierce, primal sound of pure determination, and drove her right foot forward onto the mat.
*Two steps.*
And then, before either of us could tell her to hold the bars, Sofia did something that stopped my heart entirely.
She let go of the wooden rails.
She released both hands into the empty air, wobbling like a newborn fawn on ice, took a third, unassisted, fully independent step forward, and collapsed straight into my open arms.
“I walked!” Sofia shrieked into my chest, her arms wrapping around my neck with crushing strength. “Emily! Daddy! I took three steps without touching the wood!”
I collapsed backward onto the bamboo mat, pulling her tightly against me, laughing through a flood of unstoppable tears. “You did it! You brilliant, beautiful, incredible girl! You took three steps!”
Luca was on his knees beside us.
The ruthless mafia don, the man who had ordered the execution of two hitmen three weeks ago without blinking, buried his face into Sofia’s back, his broad shoulders shaking with silent, uncontrollable sobs. He wrapped his massive arms around both of us, pulling Sofia and me into a single, suffocating, glorious embrace.
“My champion,” Luca choked out, kissing Sofia’s hair over and over again. “My brave, beautiful girl... you did it. You proved them all wrong.”
Sofia giggled through her own tears, squirming between us. “Daddy, your beard tickles! Emily, tell him his beard tickles!”
I looked up, our faces only inches apart in the tangle of our embrace. Luca looked at me, his eyes swimming with an ocean of raw emotion, and for a terrifying, wonderful second, neither of us breathed.
His gaze dropped to my lips. His hand, resting on my shoulder, tightened slightly, his fingers tangling into the loose strands of hair that had escaped my ponytail.
The world outside the glass conservatory—the guards with their rifles, the looming war with New York, the shadows of the syndicate—completely vanished.
There was only the scent of his skin, the warmth of his chest pressed against mine, and the undeniable, magnetic pull that had been building between us with every passing day.
“Thank you,” Luca whispered, his voice rough and intimate against my lips. “Thank you for giving me my family back.”
“You did this, Luca,” I whispered back, my voice barely audible above the rustling palms. “You gave her the strength.”
“No,” he murmured, his gaze holding mine with an intensity that made my toes curl inside my shoes. “You gave us both the strength, Emily. Before you came into this house, I was just a ghost guarding a vault. You taught me how to live again.”
Sofia, still wedged between our chests, looked back and forth between us with an absurdly knowing grin on her eleven-year-old face.
“Are you two going to kiss or what?” she asked casually. “Because in the movies, when the girl helps the hero save the princess, they always kiss.”
My face instantly burst into five different shades of crimson. I scrambled to pull back, laughing nervously. “Sofia! That is... that’s completely inappropriate!”
Luca, however, didn’t pull back.
A slow, dangerously wicked smirk spread across his sculpted lips—a smile of pure, unapologetic masculine confidence. He looked down at his daughter, then back at me, his eyes dancing with amusement.
“Your daughter is very observant, Emily,” Luca said smoothly, his thumb lightly grazing my cheekbone before he finally let me sit up. “And in this family, we have a strict rule about listening to the princess.”
Before my racing heart could explode through my ribs, the heavy glass doors of the conservatory slid open with a sharp rattle.
Dante stood in the entrance, his face as pale as curdled milk.
The warmth in the room vanished instantly, replaced by the bitter, metallic tang of impending violence.
Luca stood up in a single, fluid motion, the father vanishing, the don taking his place. “What is it, Dante?”
“Silvio Bellini has arrived in Chicago,” Dante announced grimly. “He brought four capos from New York, two representatives from the Detroit partnership, and he has invoked the Ancient Accord. He has demanded an open court at the Drake Hotel tonight at eight o’clock. If you do not appear with Vanessa and the financial deeds, the Five Families will declare the Moretti name *sanctioned*—open season on every asset, every soldier, and every family member in this state.”
Sofia’s smile vanished. She shrank back against my side, grabbing my hand.
Luca didn’t flinch. He reached down, picked up his leather loafers, and slipped them on. He buttoned the cuffs of his black shirt with icy, rhythmic precision.
“He wants an open court?” Luca said softly, his voice echoing off the glass panes like a death toll. “Good. Tell Dante to prepare my armored motorcade. And tell the styling team to bring the emerald velvet gown to Emily’s suite.”
I froze, looking up at him in shock. “Luca? What are you talking about? I’m not going to a mafia summit!”
Luca walked over to me, extending his hand to help me up from the mat. When I took it, he didn't let go. He pulled me up until I was standing toe-to-toe with him.
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“You are coming with me, Emily,” Luca declared, his eyes flashing with lethal emerald fire. “Silvio Bellini thinks he’s walking into an execution of a divided house. I want him to see the woman who broke his niece’s schemes. I want the entire American syndicate to understand exactly who stands at my right hand.”
***