Chapter 8 – THE TRUTH UNVEILED
I scrambled to pick up the old letter, shoving it back into the velvet box just as the door creaked open.
Luca stood in the doorway.
He had taken off his suit jacket and unbuttoned the collar of his white shirt. He looked exhausted, but there was a profound peace in his eyes that hadn’t been there for years.
“The police are gone,” Luca said softly. “Bellini is locked away. It’s over.”
I stood up, my heart hammering against my ribs. The heavy sapphire necklace felt warm against my skin.
“Isabella?” he asked.
“Fast asleep,” I smiled. “She’s safe, Luca.”
He stepped into the small servant’s room. It was the first time he had ever been in here. He looked around at the meager furnishings, his jaw tightening.
“You’re packing this up tomorrow,” he said firmly. “You’re moving to the suite next to Isabella’s.”
He walked toward me. He stopped only inches away.
“I owe you everything, Emily.”
I looked up into his dark eyes. “You don’t owe me anything. I just wanted to protect her.”
Luca reached out and gently traced the line of my cheek with his thumb. The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to my heart.
“When Vincent pointed that gun at me, and you threw yourself in front of it…” Luca’s voice cracked with emotion. “I realized something.”
“What?” I whispered.
“That I have been entirely blind for the last eleven months,” he confessed. “I let a woman who hated my child into my life, while the woman who truly loved her was polishing the floors.”
He stepped closer, wrapping his strong arms around my waist, pulling me against his chest.
“I want you, Emily. Not just as a tutor. Not just as a guardian. I want you to be part of this family.”
Tears welled in my eyes. This was the happy ending I never thought I deserved.
I reached up and gently kissed him.
His lips were warm and demanding. He pulled me closer, deepening the kiss, sweeping away all the fear and terror of the night.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathless.
“There’s just one thing,” I said, a nervous laugh escaping my lips.
I reached over to the bed and picked up the velvet box. I pulled out the yellowed letter.
“What is that?” Luca asked.
“I found it hidden in the necklace box,” I explained. “It’s from your father.”
Luca frowned. He took the letter and read it.
As his eyes scanned the Italian words, his expression went through shock, confusion, and finally, a slow, brilliant smile.
He looked up at me and started to laugh. A deep, genuine laugh that echoed through the small room.
“A marriage contract,” Luca chuckled, shaking his head. “My father arranged for us to be married thirty years ago.”
“I know,” I blushed. “It’s crazy. We don’t have to follow it, obviously.”
Luca’s smile faded into something fiercely serious.
He dropped to one knee right there on the thin carpet of my bedroom.
He took my hand in his.
“My father was a very smart man,” Luca said softly. “Emily Carter, will you marry me? Not because of a thirty-year-old piece of paper, but because I am completely in love with you?”
I burst into happy tears.
“Yes,” I sobbed, pulling him up into another kiss. “Yes, I will.”
The next morning, the mansion felt entirely different. Sunlight poured through the massive windows. The dark, brooding atmosphere of the Moretti estate was gone.
Isabella came running down the stairs and launched herself into my arms when Luca told her the news.
“You’re going to be my real mommy?!” she squealed, hugging me so tight I couldn’t breathe.
“I am, sweetheart,” I promised, kissing her forehead.
Later that afternoon, Luca kept his promise. We drove to the hospital and moved my sick mother into the best private facility in Chicago, entirely paid for. When she saw the sapphire necklace on my chest and Luca holding my hand, she wept with joy.
Everything was perfect.
Until three weeks later.
I was in the kitchen, helping Isabella bake cookies, when Roberto walked in.
He looked pale.
“Luca,” Roberto said, his voice tense. “We have a problem.”
Luca walked over from the counter, wiping flour off his hands. “What is it?”
Roberto handed him a thick, legal document.
“Vanessa’s lawyers just filed this in federal court,” Roberto said grimly. “She claims that because you signed an engagement contract with her, she owns fifty percent of the Moretti estate. And she’s demanding custody of Isabella.”
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