Chapter 6 - Midnight at the Calumet Terminals
By 1:30 AM, the estate had entered a state of complete, silent mobilization.
Thirty armored tactical transports bearing the black viper crest of the Moretti fleet were dispatched across the South Side, securing the commercial terminals along the Calumet River.
In the private master suite on the second floor, a fire of split birch crackled in the limestone hearth, throwing warm golden light across the room.
Katie had fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep in the adjoining guest bedroom beneath a goose-down duvet, her breathing soft and regular, the nightmare of the evening finally washed away.
I sat on the velvet sofa beside the fire, wearing a soft ivory cashmere sweater and dark tailored trousers that Mrs. Carter had brought down from the private wardrobes, holding a mug of warm chamomile tea.
The double mahogany doors opened softly.
Luca walked in.
He had showered and changed into an open-collared navy cashmere sweater and dark slacks, looking relaxed, powerful, and remarkably whole.
He walked straight to where I sat, sitting down on the leather ottoman opposite me.
He reached into his pocket and placed an antique silver pocket watch onto the low table between us—a timepiece that had belonged to his late father, Don Antonio Moretti.
“How is Katie resting, Emma?” he asked softly, his gray eyes searching mine.
“She’s sleeping, Luca,” I whispered, a faint, radiant smile touching my lips. “Dr. Harris said the bruise will heal completely in four days. She asked if she could thank you in the morning.”
Luca leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his large, warm hand gently taking my fingers into his own.
“She doesn't have to thank me, Emma,” he murmured, his deep baritone rumbling pleasantly in the quiet room. “She is your sister. That makes her my blood.”
I looked down at our joined hands, feeling the steady, rhythmic pulse of his thumb against my knuckles.
“Vanessa told Richard I wasn't suited for a sophisticated household, Luca.”
Luca let out a low, deep chuckle—a rare, beautiful sound that sent a delicious shiver down my spine.
“Vanessa Bellini wouldn't know sophistication if it stood in front of her with a crown, Emma,” he whispered, leaning closer until his breath stirred the hair at my temple. “Sophistication isn't an emerald necklace or a finished French accent. It is the courage to stand unbroken when the world tells you to bow.”
He reached into his pocket and produced an antique velvet jeweler’s box lined with white silk.
May you like
My heart began to hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird.
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