Chapter 9 – THE MORNING AFTER
The morning sun broke through the tall windows of the DeLuca estate, illuminating the dust motes dancing over the shattered glass in the foyer. A crew of quiet, efficient men in overalls was already at work, replacing the front doors and sweeping away the remnants of the night’s violence.
I sat at the kitchen island, nursing a fresh cup of coffee. Maya was asleep in one of the guest rooms, safe and exhausted.
Vincent walked in, carrying a stack of files. He dropped them onto the marble counter and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“The police are satisfied with the home invasion story,” he said, pouring himself a cup of black coffee. “Caroline is refusing to speak without a lawyer, but the fraud charges will stick. She’ll be away for a long time.”
I nodded slowly. “And her brother?”
“Thomas won’t be bothering anyone ever again,” Vincent said flatly. The tone of his voice made it very clear I shouldn’t ask for details.
“What about the Morettis?” I asked.
Vincent leaned against the counter. “They lost a lot of men last night. And they didn’t get the watch. They’ll retreat and lick their wounds. We have time.”
He tapped the thick files on the counter. “Thanks to the microfiche in the watch, I’ve unlocked my father’s offshore accounts. The DeLuca family is fully capitalized again. We’re stronger today than we’ve been in a decade.”
I looked at him. The young, slightly arrogant man who had been planning a wedding yesterday was gone. In his place was the true head of a crime family—calculating, wealthy, and untouchable.
“And you?” he asked, looking at me. “Are you going to take the house my mother offered?”
“I am,” I said honestly. “It changes my daughter’s entire life. I’d be a fool to say no.”
Vincent smiled slightly. “Good. Because Leo asked for you when he woke up.”
I felt a pang in my chest. “How is he?”
“Confused. Scared,” Vincent admitted. “He knows his mother is gone. He knows Mark isn’t his real dad. That’s a lot for a seven-year-old to process.”
Before I could answer, the kitchen door swung open. Helen wheeled herself in, looking surprisingly refreshed in a crisp morning dress, her pearls back in place.
“He’s awake,” Helen announced. “And he’s hungry.”
Right behind her, little Leo padded into the kitchen wearing an oversized t-shirt that used to belong to Vincent. He looked small, vulnerable, and completely out of place in the massive mansion.
He looked around the room until his eyes found me.
He didn’t go to Vincent. He didn’t go to his grandmother. He walked straight over to my stool, climbed up onto the one next to it, and rested his head against my arm.
“Hi, Nora,” he murmured.
I smoothed his messy hair. “Hi, sweetheart. Are you hungry?”
He nodded.
Helen watched the interaction, a strange, calculating look in her eyes. She turned to Vincent.
“He needs stability, Vincent,” she said quietly. “He needs a mother figure. Not a procession of nannies.”
Vincent looked at me, then at his mother. “Mom, Nora has her own family. She’s already taken the job as household manager.”
“I’m just saying,” Helen continued, her eyes never leaving me. “Some bonds are formed in fire. We owe her a great debt. And Leo clearly trusts her.”
I felt a sudden, cold prickle at the back of my neck. I looked at Helen. She was smiling, but it was the same smile she had when she shot a man in the study last night.
“Helen,” I said carefully. “What are you suggesting?”
Helen reached into the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a small, velvet box. It looked exactly like the one that had held Leo’s birth certificate.
“I was going through Caroline’s things upstairs before the police took them,” Helen said smoothly. “I found something else. Something she stole from this house years ago.”
She opened the box and placed it on the counter.
Inside was a heavy, diamond engagement ring. The DeLuca family heirloom. The one Vincent was supposed to give to Caroline.
“I think,” Helen said, looking directly into my eyes, “that this family needs a matriarch who knows how to protect it.”
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