Chapter 6 – The Ticking Box

Panic erupted again.

“Get out of the house!” Luca screamed, shoving me and Elena toward the front doors.

We didn’t ask questions. The sheer terror in Luca’s voice was enough.

Anna grabbed Noah, burying his face in her chest, and sprinted down the marble steps into the cold night air.

I grabbed Elena’s arm, helping the older woman run as fast as she could.

We barely made it past the wrought-iron front gates when Luca burst through the front doors, sprinting across the driveway.

He threw himself onto the grass beside us just as a deafening explosion shattered the night.

The front facade of the Moretti mansion blew outward in a massive fireball.

Glass, wood, and marble rained down across the circular driveway. The shockwave knocked the breath from my lungs and sent a terrifying heat washing over our faces.

Car alarms blared down the street.

The beautiful crystal chandeliers, the grand staircase, the dining room where I had served food for fourteen months—all of it was consumed by roaring, hungry flames.

Noah screamed, clutching his mother tightly.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Anna wept, shielding his body with her own. “I’ve got you.”

Luca sat up, his suit covered in dust and ash.

He looked at the burning wreckage of his home.

Then he looked at his family.

We were all sitting on the grass. Dirty, bruised, terrified, but alive.

Robert hadn’t just come to take Noah. He had planted a bomb to ensure that if he failed, the Moretti bloodline would be wiped out completely.

“Are you hurt?” Luca asked, crawling over to me and Elena.

“We’re okay,” I gasped, coughing through the smoke. “We’re okay, Luca.”

Sirens wailed in the distance. The police cruisers that had just left with Robert were turning back, accompanied by fire trucks.

Luca stood up, his jaw set in a line of pure, unforgiving iron.

He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

He didn’t take his eyes off the burning mansion.

“Antonio,” Luca said into the phone, his voice devoid of all humanity. “Robert is in federal custody. He’s being transported to the downtown precinct right now.”

Luca paused.

“He doesn’t make it to a cell. Understand?”

He hung up the phone.

I shivered, realizing exactly what that order meant. Robert would not survive the night.

Anna walked over to him, holding Noah on her hip.

She placed her free hand on Luca’s arm.

“It’s over, Luca,” Anna whispered. “He’s gone. We’re safe.”

Luca turned and looked at his wife.

The hardness in his eyes melted away, replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion.

He pulled Anna and Noah into his arms, kissing the top of his son’s head.

“I missed you every single day,” Luca whispered to Anna. “I never stopped loving you.”

Anna smiled through her tears. “I know. I never stopped trying to get back to you.”

Elena walked over to me and took my hand.

“You’re coming home with us, Isabella,” Elena said softly.

I looked at her, hearing my real name out loud for the first time.

It felt strange, but it felt right.

“The house is gone, Mrs. Moretti,” I said gently.

Elena smiled, a fierce, resilient spark in her eyes.

“A house is just bricks and glass, my dear,” she said. “Family is what survives the fire.”

Three weeks later.

The morning sun poured through the massive windows of the downtown penthouse Luca had purchased for us.

It was a beautiful, sprawling apartment overlooking Lake Michigan.

There were no formal banquet tables. No crystal chandeliers. No cruel women in red silk gowns.

I walked into the kitchen, wearing a comfortable sweater and jeans.

I wasn’t wearing a maid’s uniform anymore.

Elena was standing at the stove, humming softly as she flipped pancakes on a griddle.

“Good morning, Isabella,” Elena smiled warmly.

“Good morning, Mom,” I replied.

It still brought a lump to my throat every time I said it.

I walked over to the large wooden dining table.

Noah was sitting there, wearing a pair of dinosaur pajamas.

He was carefully drawing a picture with crayons.

He didn’t have a stutter anymore.

The moment his mother had returned, the fear that had locked his jaw for two years had completely vanished.

“Morning, Auntie Bella!” Noah chirped happily.

I leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Morning, sweetheart. What are you drawing?”

He held up the paper proudly.

It was a drawing of a giant table.

Sitting at the table were five stick figures.

A grandma. An aunt. A mommy. A daddy. And a little boy holding a massive pancake.

And there were no empty chairs.

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