Chapter 6 - THE MIDNIGHT CONFESSION
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The hot water in the master bathroom’s marble shower felt like a baptism of steam and lavender soap.
I watched the pale red swirls of vintage wine wash down the drain, taking eleven months of humiliation and invisibility with them.
When I stepped out, wrapped in the thick Egyptian cotton towel, I looked at myself in the gilded vanity mirror.
My cheeks were flushed with heat, my dark hair damp and curling over my shoulders.
I pulled Luca’s oversized cashmere sweater over my head.
The fabric was impossibly soft, smelling faintly of his expensive sandalwood cologne, hanging halfway down my thighs.
I rolled the cuffs of the flannel trousers and walked barefoot back into the warm, firelit bedroom.
Luca sat in a deep leather armchair beside the hearth, a crystal glass of amber bourbon resting on the side table.
He had removed his suit jacket, unbuttoning his black dress shirt to reveal the dark wings of an eagle tattooed across his collarbone.
When he looked up and saw me standing in his clothes, his breath caught visibly in his broad chest.
His dark eyes darkened with an intensity that made the room feel suddenly airless.
“Sit down, Emily,” he said softly, gesturing toward the leather settee opposite him.
I walked over, curling my legs beneath me on the plush leather cushion, pulling the long sleeves of the sweater over my hands.
Luca reached forward, picking up a hot mug of chamomile tea he had prepared on the mantel, and handed it to me.
“Drink this,” he murmured.
“Your hands are still shaking.”
I took the warm mug, letting the steam warm my face, and took a small sip of the sweet, honeyed tea.
“How is Michael?” I asked quietly.
“He’s asleep in the guest suite downstairs,” Luca replied, his gaze never leaving my face.
“Marco is stationed outside his door with four men.”
“Nobody is touching my brother tonight.”
Luca leaned back in his armchair, taking a slow sip of bourbon, studying me in the dancing light of the flames.
“Where did a girl from Bridgeport learn to speak fluent Neapolitan Italian, Emily?”
A faint, tender smile touched my lips as the memory of my childhood warmed my heart.
“My grandmother, Nonna Rosa,” I explained softly.
“She came to Chicago through Ellis Island when she was nineteen years old.”
“My mother worked two jobs at the laundry plant, so Nonna raised me in our little kitchen on 31st Street.”
“She refused to let me speak English inside her house until I was eight years old.”
“She said that a woman who forgets the language of her ancestors forgets how to pray.”
Luca’s sharp features softened into an expression of profound, quiet reverence.
“Your grandmother gave you a priceless gift, Emily.”
“Tonight, her voice saved this entire family from destruction.”
I lowered my eyes to the rim of my mug, feeling the weight of reality returning to my shoulders.
“Vanessa told me I was fired before you stopped her, Luca.”
“She said I would never work in this city again.”
“My mother had surgery on her spine two months ago... her physical therapy bills are four thousand dollars a month.”
“I don't know how I’m going to pay the rent on our apartment next week.”
Luca set his glass down on the side table with a sharp, decisive clink.
He stood up from the armchair, crossing the small distance between us in two long, deliberate strides.
He knelt down on the Persian rug directly in front of the settee, placing himself at eye level with the maid who had served his dinner.
He reached out, his large, warm hands gently taking the mug from my fingers and setting it on the hearth.
Then he took both of my hands into his palms, his thumbs gently smoothing over my work-roughened knuckles.
“Listen to me, Emily Carter,” Luca said, his voice vibrating with absolute, unbreakable certainty.
“Your mother’s medical debts were cleared forty minutes ago.”
I stared at him, my breath hitching in my throat.
“What did you say?”
“I had my private accountant wire forty-eight thousand dollars to Rush University Medical Center while you were in the shower,” Luca stated calmly.
“The hospital account is settled in full.”
“And the mortgage on your mother’s house in Bridgeport was transferred to the Moretti Family Trust.”
“She will never pay another dollar of rent for as long as she draws breath.”
Tears flooded my vision, spilling hot and fast down my cheeks, splashing onto our joined hands.
“Luca, no... that’s impossible,” I sobbed, shaking my head in sheer, overwhelming disbelief.
“That is a fortune! I can't accept that!”
“You can, and you will,” Luca whispered, leaning in closer until his forehead rested gently against mine.
“You threw yourself into the fire for my family tonight, Emily.”
“You stood in front of fifty powerful people and took red wine down your chest to protect a boy you barely knew.”
His hands moved up to cup both sides of my face, his thumbs wiping away my falling tears with breathtaking tenderness.
“In my world, men kill each other for five percent of a shipping dock,” Luca murmured against my lips.
“Loyalty like yours cannot be bought with all the gold in Chicago.”
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“You are not going back to Bridgeport, Emily.”
“You are staying here with me.”
