Chapter 9
The first month in the Moretti mansion felt like waking up from a long, confusing dream.
I no longer wore the black-and-white maid’s uniform. My closet was now filled with silk dresses and cashmere sweaters that Luca had ordered from Milan.
But luxury didn’t erase trauma.
Every time someone knocked on the heavy bedroom doors, I flinched. Every time Grace ran out of my line of sight in the sprawling gardens, my heart leaped into my throat.
Luca noticed. He noticed everything.
One Tuesday afternoon, I was in the library, staring blankly at a book I hadn’t turned a page of in an hour. Grace was drawing at a small table nearby.
Luca walked in, wearing a casual grey sweater instead of his usual intimidating suits. He sat next to me and gently took the book from my hands.
“You’re still waiting for the other shoe to drop,” he said softly.
I sighed, leaning my head against his shoulder. “Arthur is in prison. Vanessa is facing twenty years for attempted murder. Isabella is in Italy. I know logically we are safe. But my brain hasn’t caught up.”
Luca wrapped his arm around me. “You spent five years in survival mode, Emily. You can’t turn that off overnight.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out two plane tickets.
“What are these?” I asked, sitting up.
“Tickets to Hawaii,” Luca smiled. “Just the three of us. No security details breathing down our necks. No business meetings. Just a beach, a house, and time to be a normal family.”
Grace perked up from her coloring book. “A beach? Can I build a sandcastle?”
“The biggest one on the island, piccola,” Luca promised, scooping her up and spinning her around until she shrieked with laughter.
Seeing them together—the feared Mafia boss playing airplane with a four-year-old—healed a piece of my broken heart.
But the peace didn’t last.
That evening, Marco asked to speak with Luca privately in his study.
I tried to ignore it, focusing on packing our suitcases, but the tension radiating from the study down the hall was palpable.
I walked quietly down the corridor and pushed the heavy oak door open just a crack.
“…found it in her holding cell,” Marco was saying, his voice grave.
Luca was staring at a piece of paper on his desk, his face dark with fury. “How did she get this out?”
“She bribed a guard,” Marco replied. “Boss, Vanessa’s accounts were frozen, but Arthur had a slush fund in the Caymans. She put out a hit.”
My blood ran cold.
I pushed the door open. “A hit on who?”
Luca looked up, startled. He quickly tried to cover the paper on his desk, but he was too late.
I walked over and looked at the crudely drawn map on the paper.
It was a floor plan of the Moretti estate.
And circled in red ink was the master bedroom.
“Vanessa put a bounty on us from inside a federal prison,” Luca said, his voice dangerously low. “Two million dollars to whoever can finish the job she started.”
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