Chapter 5 - THE MAID’S DIGNITY
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Michael sank heavily into one of the velvet dining chairs, burying his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving with silent, ragged sobs.
The reality of how close he had come to being bound with duct tape and dumped into Lake Michigan was finally crushing his spirit.
Luca walked over to his younger brother, placing a heavy, protective hand on Michael’s back.
He didn't speak words of false comfort; he simply stood there, an immovable mountain of family loyalty, letting his brother breathe.
After several long minutes, Michael lifted his head, wiping his wet face with his sleeve.
“I almost walked out that door, Luca,” Michael whispered, his voice cracking with raw shame.
“Vanessa told me at six o'clock that you were tired of me questioning your business decisions.”
“She said you thought I was a liability to the syndicate.”
“She said you were paying for my fresh start in California so you wouldn't have to look at me across this table anymore.”
Luca’s dark eyes filled with a deep, aching sorrow that made my own heart squeeze in my chest.
“Michael,” Luca said, his voice thick with unvarnished love.
“Our father made me swear on his deathbed that I would protect you with my life.”
“You are my blood.”
“There is no territory, no woman, and no fortune in this world that could ever make me turn my back on you.”
He pulled Michael to his feet, embracing him in a fierce, bone-crushing hug that sealed their bond against the storm.
Michael held onto his older brother, nodding against Luca’s shoulder, the poison of Vanessa’s lies finally washing away from his mind.
When they parted, Luca turned his attention entirely to me.
I was still standing beside the credenza, shivering slightly as the damp wine soaked through my cotton uniform against my ribs.
Luca’s gaze swept over the ruined fabric, the anger returning to his sharp features, but this time it was directed at the indignity I had suffered.
He walked across the Persian rug, stopping inches from where I stood.
His presence was overwhelming—tall, broad, smelling of expensive tobacco, dark cedar, and the clean rain outside.
“Emily,” he said softly, his voice dropping into that intimate, velvet rumble that made my pulse race.
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Take off that apron.”
I hesitated, my fingers clutching the stained white lace.
“Sir, I need to clean the tablecloths and clear the crystal before I go to bed—”
“You are not cleaning another glass in this house tonight, Emily,” Luca interrupted, his tone gentle but leaving zero room for refusal.
He reached out with both hands, his large, warm fingers moving behind my waist to untie the soaked knot of the apron strings.
His knuckles brushed against the small of my back, sending a sudden, intoxicating wave of heat straight down my spine.
He pulled the soiled apron free and tossed it onto an empty chair as if it were worthless rag.
“Follow me upstairs,” Luca commanded softly.
“Mr. Moretti, the staff quarters are in the basement,” I stammered, my cheeks burning with heat.
“You are not sleeping in the basement,” Luca replied, taking my cold, trembling hand into his large palm.
His grip was warm, rough with scars, and utterly protective.
He led me past his brother, past the grand portraits of his ancestors, and up the sweeping marble staircase toward the private master wing.
We reached the double doors of the eastern suite—the private quarters that no domestic employee was ever permitted to enter.
Luca pressed his thumb against the biometric scanner, and the heavy mahogany doors clicked open.
Inside, the room was vast, timbered, and warmed by a roaring stone hearth that smelled of sweet birch logs.
A massive king-sized bed was dressed in dark charcoal silk, and tall French doors looked out over the stormy black waters of Lake Michigan.
Luca walked over to his massive walk-in wardrobe, pulling out a soft, oversized black cashmere sweater and a pair of clean flannel lounge trousers.
He walked back, placing the luxurious clothes into my trembling hands.
“Use the master bath,” Luca instructed gently.
“Take a hot shower, wash the wine from your skin, and put these on.”
“Luca, this is cashmere... this costs more than my monthly paycheck,” I whispered, looking up into his dark gray eyes.
Luca leaned down until his lips were inches from my ear, his breath warm against my chilled skin.
“You saved my brother’s life tonight, Emily,” he murmured.
May you like
“You deserve the world.”
“Now go get warm.”
