Chapter 9 - THE HEIR’S FIRST NIGHT
|
The quiet that settled over the Moretti mansion was deep, sacred, and profound.
The commercial cleaning crew had been dismissed, and the ruined plates and broken glass had been swept clean.
Upstairs in the private family wing, a warm, roaring fire crackled in the massive limestone hearth of the master suite.
The scent of cedarwood, lavender, and fresh sheets filled the air, completely washing away the smell of tension and rain.
Leo sat in the middle of the massive king-sized bed, wearing a pair of soft flannel pajamas Sal had bought from an all-night pharmacy in Lincoln Park.
He had tucked his green plastic dinosaur beneath the pillow and was drinking a warm mug of milk with honey.
His eyes were heavy with sleep, the overwhelming whirlwind of the evening finally catching up to his small body.
I sat on the edge of the mattress, gently holding the mug for him, wiping a small mustache of white milk from his upper lip with a clean napkin.
“Is this big room yours, Miss Emma?” Leo whispered, his voice fading into a sleepy mumble.
I smiled softly, shaking my head as I smoothed the plush down duvet over his chest.
“No, sweetheart,” I said gently.
“This is your father’s room.”
“And from tonight on, it belongs to you, too.”
The heavy oak door opened softly, and Luca walked into the room.
He had showered and changed out of his formal clothes, wearing dark gray sweatpants and a soft black cotton T-shirt.
He looked years younger without the rigid armor of his tailored suits, but the fierce, protective light in his gray eyes was brighter than ever.
He walked across the Persian rug with silent, bare feet, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside his son.
Leo looked up at his father, his little hand reaching out from beneath the blankets to grasp Luca’s tattooed thumb.
“Daddy?” Leo asked softly.
“Yes, buddy?”
“Are you going to go away when I wake up?”
Luca’s throat worked hard as he swallowed down a wave of raw, agonizing emotion.
He leaned down, gathering Leo into his arms, lifting the boy against his broad chest, holding him with a tenderness that brought tears to my eyes.
“I am never going away, Leo,” Luca promised, his voice trembling with a sacred, unbreakable vow.
“I am going to wake you up every morning.”
“I am going to take you to school.”
“And every night, I am going to read you whatever story you want until you fall asleep.”
Leo smiled—a peaceful, contented little smile—and closed his eyes, resting his cheek directly against Luca’s collarbone.
Within three minutes, the boy’s breathing slowed into the deep, rhythmic sleep of a child who finally knew he was safe.
Luca sat motionless for nearly fifteen minutes, just feeling the warmth of his son’s heartbeat against his own.
He gently lowered Leo back onto the silk pillows, pulling the blankets up to the boy’s chin, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.
He stood up quietly, gesturing for me to follow him into the adjoining private library.
We walked into the dimly lit, book-lined study, where tall French doors looked out over the stormy black waters of Lake Michigan.
Luca closed the wooden door halfway to give Leo quiet, then turned to face me.
In the amber glow of the desk lamp, his rugged features were softened by a depth of gratitude I had never seen in any man’s eyes.
“Emma,” he whispered.
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Stop calling me Mr. Moretti.”
He took two slow steps forward, closing the distance between us until I could feel the heat radiating from his chest.
“Tonight, you could have put Sal in a cab and walked away,” Luca said softly.
“You could have kept your head down, saved your job, and let a woman destroy my life.”
I looked down at my hands, twisting the hem of my simple dark dress.
“I couldn't do that, Luca,” I whispered, using his first name for the first time.
“An old man gave thirty-four years of his life to your family.”
“And an innocent little boy was sitting in the cold waiting for his father.”
Luca reached out, his large, warm hands gently cupping both sides of my face.
His thumbs brushed away a stray tear that had escaped onto my cheek, his touch sending a delicious, intoxicating warmth straight to my heart.
“You gave me my son, Emma,” Luca whispered, his voice thick with raw emotion.
May you like
“You gave my father’s house its honor back.”
“And starting tonight, you will never bend your knee or carry a tray for anyone in this city ever again.”
