Chapter 8 - Scars of the Past
That evening, the Moretti estate was quiet, bathed in the soft amber glow of late autumn.
The heavy tension that had gripped the house for months had completely evaporated, replaced by an atmosphere so light it felt as though someone had thrown open every window after a hundred-year winter.
Upstairs, Sofia had fallen asleep holding a new sketchpad I had bought her—filled with drawings of horses, flowers, and a crude but beautiful portrait of the three of us standing outside a sunny villa.
I slipped out of her room, leaving the door cracked three inches, and walked down the wide oak hallway toward the main terrace.
I found Luca standing by the stone fireplace in the second-floor library.
He wasn't wearing his armor tonight. No tailored suits, no holsters. Just a soft charcoal cashmere sweater, dark jeans, and bare feet. He held a glass of vintage port, watching the flames crackle against the hearth.
On the mantelpiece above the fire sat a silver-framed photograph of a stunning woman with soft, kind eyes and dark hair—Sofia’s late mother, Isabella.
I paused at the threshold, hesitating. “I’m sorry, Luca. I didn't mean to disturb you.”
Luca turned. When he saw me, the faint lines of weariness around his eyes instantly smoothed into a look of profound, gentle warmth. “You could never disturb me, Emily. Come in. Please.”
I walked across the Persian rug and stood beside him near the fire, the heat washing over my skin. I looked up at the photograph on the mantel.
“She was beautiful,” I said softly.
“She was an angel,” Luca agreed, his voice tender, stripped of all grief, holding only fond, distant reverence. “Isabella died of leukemia when Sofia was seven. Before she passed, she made me promise that I would never let our world—the violence, the cynicism, the blood—corrupt Sofia’s spirit.”
He took a slow sip of the port, his gaze tracing the flames. “For three years, I tried to honor that promise by building walls. I built financial empires, I bought armored cars, I surrounded this house with sentries and iron gates. And when I thought Sofia needed a mother figure, I chose Vanessa because she was from an established family. I thought an alliance would create a shield so large that nothing could ever hurt my daughter again.”
He let out a short, self-deprecating laugh.
“I was an arrogant fool,” he whispered. “In trying to build a fortress, I invited the monster right through the front door. I almost destroyed the only thing Isabella left me.”
“You didn't destroy her, Luca,” I said, turning to face him, my heart aching at the lingering guilt in his voice. “Look at Sofia today. She stood in that courtroom. She looked her abuser in the eyes and didn't blink. That’s not a broken child. That’s a child who knows she is fiercely, unconditionally loved by her father.”
Luca set his glass down on the mantelpiece.
He turned toward me, taking a single step closer until the warmth radiating from his body eclipsed the heat from the hearth.
“She knows she is loved by you, too, Emily,” Luca murmured, his voice dropping into that deep, husky register that made my pulse race like wild horses.
I swallowed hard, looking down at my hands. “I love her with all my heart. She’s... she’s the brightest part of my life, Luca.”
“Just Sofia?” he asked softly.
My breath caught in my throat. I looked up, trapped in the dark, molten intensity of his eyes.
“Luca...”
“Before you came here,” Luca stepped closer, his hand rising to cup my jaw, his thumb tracing the soft curve of my lower lip, “this house was a mausoleum. I was a dead man who signed execution orders and balanced ledgers. But the first time I heard your laughter coming from the kitchen while you were baking cookies with Sofia... I felt something break inside my chest.”
His fingers slid into the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling me gently, irresistibly closer.
“You stood in front of me when I smashed that wall,” he whispered, his forehead coming to rest against mine, our breaths mingling in the firelight. “You yelled at a mafia boss because his child was scared. You struck an heiress to protect an eleven-year-old. You are the bravest, fiercest, most beautiful creature I have ever seen in my life.”
“Luca, I’m just a maid from Chicago...” I whimpered, though every cell in my body was screaming for him to pull me closer. “I don't belong in this world of blood and diamonds.”
“You don't belong in this world,” Luca agreed fiercely, his lips hovering a millimeter from mine. “You are above it. You are the light that keeps the darkness from swallowing me whole. I don't want an alliance, Emily. I don't want a bloodline contract. I want you. Only you. For the rest of my days.”
When his lips finally met mine, the universe collapsed into pure fire.
It wasn't a tentative, gentle first kiss. It was an explosive, desperate collision of two souls who had been starving in the dark for years.
Luca’s arms wrapped around my waist like iron bands, lifting me slightly off my feet, pulling me flush against his hard, powerful chest. I gasped into his mouth, my hands tangling into his thick hair, clinging to him as if he were the only solid thing in a spinning world.
He tasted of vintage wine, clean cedar, and raw, untamed passion. He kissed me with a reverence that made my soul weep and a hunger that made my knees completely give way.
When he finally broke the kiss, we were both trembling, our foreheads pressed together, our chests heaving against each other in the quiet library.
“Say you’ll stay, Emily,” Luca breathed against my swollen lips, his hands shaking slightly against the small of my back. “Not as Sofia’s guardian. Not as an employee. Stay as mine.”
I opened my eyes, looking into the raw, unguarded soul of the man who ruled an empire, and smiled through a flood of joyful tears.
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“I’m not going anywhere, Luca,” I whispered. “You’re stuck with me.”
***