Chapter 6 - THE PROTECTOR'S SHADOW
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Two hours after the Bellinis were expelled from the estate, Luca took action to ensure Alberto’s threats remained empty words.
I sat in the passenger seat of Luca’s reinforced, bulletproof Maybach as we glided through the bustling streets of downtown Chicago.
Two black SUVs followed closely behind, carrying eight of Luca’s most trusted personal bodyguards.
We pulled up in front of an upscale, modern high-rise in Lincoln Park overlooking the botanical gardens.
“Where are we, Luca?” I asked, looking up at the gleaming glass tower.
“This is the Belden Residences,” Luca explained, unbuckling his seatbelt.
“My family owns the top four floors.”
“Your mother arrived here forty-five minutes ago.”
My eyes widened in disbelief.
“What? How?”
“I had Marco escort her personally in an ambulance with two orthopedic nurses,” Luca said gently.
“Her belongings from Ashland Avenue have already been moved into the penthouse on the thirty-second floor.”
“The building has biometric security, private elevators, and armed sentries on the ground floor twenty-four hours a day.”
I covered my mouth with both hands, tears of overwhelming gratitude blurring my vision.
My mother had lived in drafty, roach-infested apartments for thirty years, scrubbing office floors until her joints gave out.
Now, she was sitting in a luxury penthouse with a view of Lake Michigan.
Luca stepped out of the car, walked around to my side, and opened the door, offering his hand to help me up.
His grip was warm, strong, and reassuring.
We rode the private elevator up to the thirty-second floor in comfortable silence.
When the brass doors slid open, the scent of lavender and fresh-baked cinnamon rolls drifted into the marble foyer.
My mother, Clara Sullivan, was sitting in a plush motorized recliner near the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Her silver hair was neatly pinned, and she was wrapped in a soft cashmere blanket, sipping tea from a delicate porcelain cup.
A private physical therapist was organizing resistance bands on a low table nearby.
“Mom!” I cried, rushing across the hardwood floor and dropping to my knees beside her chair.
“Emma! Oh, my sweet girl!” my mother gasped, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck.
“Look at this place! I thought I was dreaming when those polite young men in suits showed up at my door!”
She pulled back, looking past me toward the tall, commanding figure standing near the entrance.
“You must be Mr. Moretti,” my mother said, her voice filled with deep reverence.
Luca walked forward, his posture remarkably humble as he bowed his head slightly toward the frail woman.
“Please, Mrs. Sullivan, call me Luca,” he said with a warm, genuine smile.
“I can never thank you enough for what you've done for my family,” Clara said, tears glistening in her faded blue eyes.
“Emma told me everything on the phone—about little Lily, and that awful woman, and how you stood up for them.”
Luca knelt down beside my mother’s chair, resting his hands on his knees so he was at eye level with her.
“It is I who owe your family a debt, Mrs. Sullivan,” Luca said softly.
“Your daughter taught my little girl that her kindness was worth fighting for.”
“In my world, loyalty and genuine goodness are rarer than diamonds.”
“Emma has given my home its heart back.”
He reached out, gently patting my mother’s hand.
“You will never worry about medical bills, rent, or safety ever again.”
“The Moretti family protects its own.”
My mother looked between Luca and me, a wise, knowing smile touching her lips.
She saw the way Luca’s eyes lingered on my face, the subtle softening of his hardened jaw whenever I spoke.
May you like
She saw what I was only beginning to realize myself:
The terrifying Don of Chicago was falling hopelessly in love with the maid who had pulled his daughter's braid from the trash.
