Chapter 3 - Needles and Secrets
The penthouse master suite on the third floor of the Moretti mansion was off-limits to all staff. That was the first rule Mrs. Higgins had drilled into my head when I was hired three months ago. *You clean the nurseries, you tidy the library, but you never cross the threshold of Mr. Moretti’s private quarters.*
Yet here I was, sitting on the edge of an emerald-velvet armchair inside his sprawling, dimly lit bedroom.
The room smelled of cedarwood, expensive bourbon, and the faint, metallic tang of rain. A massive fireplace roared against the far wall, casting dancing shadows over towering bookshelves and a minimalist mahogany desk.
Dr. Sterling, Luca’s personal physician, packed away his suture kit with quiet efficiency.
“Eight stitches,” the older man said, snapping his leather bag shut. He looked at Luca, who was standing by the tall bay windows, a tumbler of scotch in his hand. “The ceramic shard didn't nick the tendon, thank God. Another millimeter deeper and she would have required reconstructive surgery on the flexor. She was very lucky.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Luca replied without turning around. “She caught a forty-pound child while taking the brunt of the fall on broken stone.”
Dr. Sterling sighed softly and turned back to me, handing me a small bottle of antibiotics and painkillers. “Keep it dry for forty-eight hours, Emma. No heavy lifting. I mean it. If those stitches tear, you’ll have permanent nerve damage.”
“I understand. Thank you, Doctor,” I whispered.
The door clicked shut behind the physician, leaving us alone once again.
The silence returned, but this time it was different. It wasn’t filled with Isabella’s venomous tension; it was thick with something far more complicated.
Luca took a slow sip of his drink, then walked over to the small table beside my chair. He set down the crystal glass and knelt on one knee in front of me.
My breath hitchhiked in my chest. Luca Moretti did not kneel before anyone. Kings, cartel bosses, politicians—they bent the knee to him. Yet here he was, at eye level with an orphaned girl wearing a stained apron.
He reached out, his warm, calloused fingers gently cupping the side of my wrist, inspecting the neat row of black sutures across my palm.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
“A little,” I lied.
The corner of his mouth twitched in a faint, cynical smirk. “You’re a terrible liar, Emma. Your jaw is clenched so hard your teeth are going to crack.”
He reached over, picked up one of the pain pills Dr. Sterling had left, and handed it to me along with a glass of water from the side table.
“Take it.”
I swallowed the pill obediently, the cool water soothing my parched throat.
“You saved my son’s life,” Luca said quietly, his gaze piercing into mine. Up close, I could see the flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes, and the faint silver hairs threading through his temples. He was thirty-six, weathered by a brutal life, but lethally handsome. “If Mateo had tumbled down those steps, he would have struck his head on the fountain base. He could have died.”
“I just reacted, Mr. Moretti,” I said, looking down at my lap. “Anyone would have done the same.”
“No,” he countered, his voice hard. “Isabella was standing right next to him. She didn't reach for him. She watched him fall.”
The raw bitterness in his voice startled me.
“Why did you protect her?” he asked suddenly. “When I walked into that sunroom, you were ready to take the blame. You were going to let me fire you.”
I hesitated, the weight of my reality pressing down on my chest. “Because I can’t afford to lose this job, sir. And in my experience, when rich people make mistakes, poor people pay for them. If I accused your fiancée, I knew you would believe her over me. I thought... if I took the blame, maybe you’d dock my pay instead of throwing me out on the street.”
Luca’s expression darkened. “Is that what you think of me? That I’m blind? That I value wealth over the safety of my son?”
“I don’t know you, Mr. Moretti,” I whispered honestly, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I only know what the city says about you.”
“And what does the city say?”
“That you’re ruthless. That you don’t give second chances.”
Luca stared at me for a long moment. He didn’t deny it. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against a stray strand of chestnut hair that had fallen across my forehead, tucking it behind my ear. The touch was unexpectedly gentle, sending a strange, electric shiver down my spine.
“They’re right,” he said softly. “I don’t give second chances. Which is why Isabella is currently packing her bags.”
My eyes widened in shock. “You... you broke the engagement?”
“Not officially. Not yet,” Luca said, rising to his feet and picking up his glass. “Her father is Senator Vance. A public scandal right now would disrupt several business ventures that protect this family. But her presence in this house has ended. She will stay at the Drake Hotel until I decide how to sever the ties without collateral damage.”
He walked toward his desk, opening a heavy drawer. He pulled out a sleek, black keycard and set it on the desk.
“Starting tonight, your quarters are moved to the second floor, adjacent to Mateo’s suite. Double the salary. Full medical coverage. And you answer only to me. Not to Mrs. Higgins. Not to my associates. Only me.”
“Mr. Moretti, that’s too much—I’m just the nanny—”
May you like
“You are the woman who bled for my son,” Luca interrupted, turning to me with an authority that left no room for argument. “In this house, loyalty is repaid in gold. And betrayal...” He paused, his gaze turning to ice. “Is repaid in blood. Get some rest, Emma. Tomorrow, the wolves come to dinner.”
***
