Chapter 9

The next two weeks were a whirlwind of change.

I moved my mother into a beautiful ground-floor apartment in a much safer neighborhood, paid for entirely by my new salary. The Moretti private doctors took over her care, and for the first time in years, I saw color return to her cheeks.

The Moretti mansion itself underwent a transformation.

Luca ordered the old pool house demolished. In its place, he commissioned a beautiful memorial garden, planted with white roses in honor of the sister he never got to know.

My role as Director of Operations meant I was no longer serving food or dusting portraits. I managed the staff, coordinated the estate’s security upgrades, and worked directly out of the office next to Luca’s study.

We saw each other constantly.

Without Vanessa’s toxic presence, the house felt lighter. Luca smiled more. He spent his afternoons walking in the garden with Teresa, and he frequently asked for my input on estate matters.

The dynamic between us shifted from employer-employee to something entirely unspoken, yet undeniably electric.

One Tuesday evening, I was in my office, going over the final vendor contracts for the estate’s upcoming charity gala.

The door clicked open, and Luca walked in.

He was wearing a dark navy suit, his tie slightly loosened. The bruise on his cheek had faded to a faint yellow shadow.

“Working late?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Just finishing up the catering approvals,” I said, closing the laptop. “The chefs want to know if we’re serving the branzino or the filet.”

“Filet,” Luca said immediately. “My mother hates branzino.”

I smiled, making a note on the file. “Filet it is.”

Luca didn’t leave. He stepped further into the room, walking around my desk until he was standing right beside my chair.

I looked up at him, my heart picking up a familiar, frantic rhythm.

“Is there something else, Mr. Moretti?”

“Luca,” he corrected softly. “I think we’re past formalities, Hannah.”

“Okay… Luca.” The name felt foreign, yet perfect on my tongue.

He reached down and gently closed the file folder on my desk.

“You’ve been working non-stop for two weeks,” he said, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “You organized the new staff, you handled the police inquiries, and you haven’t taken a single day off.”

“I wanted everything to be perfect.”

“It is perfect,” he said. “But you need a break.”

“I’m fine, really.”

Luca smiled, a slow, devastating expression that made my breath catch.

“I wasn’t asking, Hannah. I’m telling you. Tomorrow night, you are not working. You are coming with me.”

I blinked. “Coming where?”

“To dinner,” he said smoothly. “Just the two of us. At a restaurant where you aren’t in charge of the menu, and I don’t have to worry about anyone pulling a gun on my mother.”

My cheeks flushed. “Are you asking me on a date?”

Luca leaned down, his face inches from mine. I could smell his expensive cologne, a mix of cedar and bergamot.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you for two weeks,” he murmured. “So… yes. I am.”

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face.

“I’d love to,” I whispered.

Luca’s eyes darkened with genuine affection. He reached out, his knuckles lightly grazing my uninjured cheek.

“Good,” he said softly. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”