Chapter 6 - THE MIDNIGHT CONFESSION
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By one in the morning, the grand mansion had settled into a quiet, protective fortress.
Six armed guards patrolled the limestone perimeter with German shepherds, their flashlights cutting through the autumn mist.
I had helped Teresa into her soft flannel nightgown, tucked her into her feather bed, and stayed beside her until her breathing turned slow and even.
The old woman had fallen asleep holding my hand, finally free from the terror that had haunted her for months.
I quietly pulled the bedroom door closed and walked down the dimly lit hallway toward the service stairs.
I still wore my black maid’s uniform, though my white apron was crumpled in my hand.
As I reached the landing outside the library, a low, deep voice called out from the shadows.
“Hannah.”
I stopped, turning toward the open doorway of the study.
Luca sat in a leather wingback chair beside the dying embers of the hearth, a crystal glass of amber bourbon resting on the side table.
He had removed his suit jacket and tie, unbuttoning the collar of his black dress shirt to reveal the edge of a tattoo on his collarbone.
He looked exhausted, the weight of his father’s murder and his brother’s betrayal written in the sharp hollows of his face.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said, hesitating at the threshold.
“Should I bring you some water?”
“Come in, Hannah,” he said, gesturing toward the leather sofa opposite him.
“And stop standing by the door like you’re waiting for an order.”
I walked into the warm, cedar-scented room and sat on the edge of the leather cushion.
Luca reached forward, picking up a thick manila folder from his desk and setting it on the low table between us.
“What is that, sir?” I asked.
“It’s your mother’s medical file from Rush University Medical Center,” Luca replied quietly.
My breath caught in my throat with sudden panic.
“How do you have that?”
“I had Dr. Rossi contact the hospital administrator an hour ago,” Luca explained.
“Her total outstanding debt for the spinal surgery and rehabilitation is forty-two thousand dollars.”
I lowered my eyes, my cheeks burning with the shame of my family’s poverty.
“I’m paying it, Mr. Moretti,” I whispered defensively.
“I send half my paycheck every Friday.”
“The hospital agreed to a monthly plan as long as I don't miss a date.”
Luca leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes holding mine with an intensity that took my breath away.
“The account balance is zero, Hannah.”
I blinked, unable to comprehend the words.
“What?”
“I wired fifty thousand dollars from my personal checking account thirty minutes ago,” Luca said calmly.
“The medical debt is settled in full.”
“And tomorrow morning, a private physical therapist will arrive at your mother’s home in Oak Park to manage her recovery.”
Tears instantly blurred my vision, spilling over my eyelashes before I could stop them.
“Mr. Moretti... I can’t accept that,” I choked out, pressing my hands against my mouth.
“That’s more money than I make in two years.”
“I can’t repay you.”
Luca stood up from his chair, crossing the small distance between us in three long strides.
He knelt down on the Persian rug directly in front of me, placing himself at eye level with the maid who had served his dinner.
He reached out, his warm, calloused fingers gently taking my trembling hands away from my face.
“You repaid that debt four years ago, Hannah,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a low, emotional rumble.
“Your mother stood by my father for twenty-five years with absolute loyalty.”
“And tonight, you stood by my mother when my own blood was trying to destroy her.”
He looked down at my hands, his thumbs gently smoothing over my red, work-roughened knuckles.
“You gave my mother back her voice tonight.”
“There is no amount of money in the Moretti vaults that could ever balance that ledger.”
I looked into his dark, luminous eyes, seeing the raw vulnerability behind the mafia boss’s armor.
For eleven months, I had watched him from across crowded ballrooms, terrified of his power and his lethal reputation.
Now, looking at him kneeling on the floor before me, I saw only a grieving son who had been starved of genuine loyalty.
“Luca,” I whispered, using his first name for the first time.
A faint, beautiful smile touched the corner of his lips.
“You have a lovely voice when you say my name, Hannah,” he murmured softly.
Before I could answer, the red emergency phone on the mahogany desk began to ring with shrill, piercing urgency.
Luca rose instantly, the softness vanishing from his features as his warrior instincts took over.
He picked up the receiver on the second ring.
“Speak.”
Matteo’s frantic voice cut through the earpiece loud enough for me to hear across the quiet room.
“Boss! We have a breach at the south river terminal!”
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