Chapter 3 - THE PRIVATE SANCTUARY
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The remaining guests did not need an engraved invitation to leave.
Within ten minutes, the sounds of luxury sedans and town cars speeding down the gravel driveway faded into the night.
Mrs. Carter quietly directed the kitchen staff to clear the untouched roast and silver platters.
I stood in the center of the vast, emptying ballroom, holding Ellie tightly against my side.
My entire body was trembling from the aftershocks of the confrontation.
Luca rose from the floor, wiping a smear of frosting from his hand with a linen napkin.
His eyes moved over my pale face, lingering on the dark circles beneath my eyes.
“Madison,” he said softly.
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?” I whispered, struggling to keep my voice from breaking.
“Stop calling me Mr. Moretti.”
He looked toward Ellie, who was yawning despite the adrenaline still racing through her small body.
“Pack your things from the second-floor staff quarters,” he commanded gently.
My heart jumped into my throat with sudden, suffocating panic.
“Sir? You... you said we didn't have to leave!”
Luca frowned, stepping closer until his tall, broad frame shielded both of us from the draft of the grand windows.
“You aren't leaving the estate, Madison,” he explained, his voice low and reassuring.
“The staff quarters are outside the inner security perimeter.”
“Salvatore Bellini will not take this humiliation quietly.”
“By tomorrow morning, his enforcers will be looking for leverage against me.”
He looked down at Ellie’s tired face, then back up into my eyes.
“You and Ellie are moving into the family wing tonight.”
“The master suites?” I stammered, unable to process his words.
“Only the bloodline stays in the east wing, sir.”
“Then tonight, the rules change,” Luca replied firmly.
He turned to Mrs. Carter, who was waiting respectfully near the arched corridor.
“Have the blue suite prepared for Madison and Ellie immediately.”
“Put two armed men at the corridor entrance.”
“Nobody enters without my personal authorization.”
“Right away, Mr. Moretti,” Mrs. Carter answered with a warm, approving nod before hurrying upstairs.
Luca bent down and effortlessly scooped Ellie up into his arms.
My daughter hesitated for half a second before resting her weary head against his broad shoulder.
She wrapped her small arms around his neck, her sticky fingers leaving pink smudges on his black lapel.
Luca didn't flinch or pull away; he adjusted his hold, supporting her weight with natural ease.
“Come, Madison,” he said, extending his other hand toward me.
I followed him up the grand sweeping staircase, feeling as though I had stepped into an alternate reality.
For eleven months, I had climbed the narrow back stairs reserved for maids and laundry carts.
Now, I was walking along the gilded hallway of the east wing, where original oil paintings hung under soft recessed lighting.
The blue suite was larger than any apartment I had ever seen in my life.
A massive king-sized bed was dressed in plush Egyptian cotton sheets and silk duvets.
A private sitting room featured a crackling marble fireplace and tall French doors opening onto a stone terrace.
Beside the bed was a smaller adjoining room with a daybed, painted in soft ivory and pastel blue.
Luca carried Ellie into the smaller room and gently laid her down onto the soft pillows.
He untied her little white shoes and pulled the light down comforter up to her chin.
Ellie looked up at him through heavy eyelids.
“Are you going to be my friend, Mr. Luca?” she whispered.
Luca paused, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear.
“I am going to protect you, Ellie,” he said softly.
“And that means I will always be your friend.”
Ellie smiled faintly, turned onto her side, and fell fast asleep within seconds.
Luca stood up slowly and walked back into the main sitting room where I was standing nervously near the door.
He closed the bedroom door halfway to give her quiet, then turned to face me.
In the amber glow of the fireplace, the tension in his sharp features seemed to ease.
“Sit down, Madison,” he said, gesturing toward the deep velvet sofa.
“Please, sir, I should go pack our clothes from upstairs,” I offered, my hands clutching my apron.
Luca stepped forward, reaching out with both hands to untie the knot of my white maid’s apron.
His fingers brushed against my lower back, sending an unexpected jolt of electricity racing down my spine.
He pulled the apron free and tossed it onto an armchair.
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“You are not on duty tonight, Madison,” Luca said, his dark eyes holding mine with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.
“And you will never wear that uniform in this house again.”
