Chapter 14 - Luca’s Confession Under The Midnight Rain
Two weeks passed.
The storm that had battered Chicago cleared into a crisp, radiant autumn.
The city’s underworld had undergone an earthquake.
With Antonio Romano dead and the Bellini family exiled in disgrace, the remaining capos of the Chicago commission swore unconditional fealty to Luca Moretti.
The docks were secured.
The Cicero warehouse district was under 24-hour Moretti guard.
And the mansion had been completely restored.
The shattered French doors of the rose garden had been replaced with reinforced crystal glass.
The spent bullet casings had been cleared from the driveway.
New marble tiles had been laid in the dining hall where the heavy Florentine mirror had once stood.
My wounds had healed.
The jagged cuts along my arms and calves had faded into faint, silvery lines under Dr. Evans’ meticulous care.
The purple bruise on my cheek was completely gone, leaving only smooth, fair skin.
I was no longer wearing the black maid uniform.
Tonight, I wore a midnight-blue velvet gown that cascaded to the floor, tailored perfectly to my frame.
At midnight, a light rain began to tap rhythmically against the glass of the second-floor conservatory terrace.
I stood by the open balcony doors, watching the droplets ripple across the surface of the pond where Elena had once drawn her swans.
Footsteps sounded behind me on the parquet floor.
Firm.
Familiar.
Luca walked out onto the covered terrace.
He wore a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, displaying the intricate black ink that coiled around his skin.
He carried two glasses of sparkling cider.
He offered one to me.
“You shouldn't be out in the chilly rain,” he said, leaning against the stone balustrade beside me.
“I like the rain,” I replied, taking a sip from the crystal flute. “It washes away the smoke.”
Luca looked out over the gardens.
For the first time since I had known him, the deep furrow between his brows had smoothed away.
The ghost of his sister’s unsolved death no longer haunted his shoulders.
“Elena’s sketchbook was found in the Cicero safehouse yesterday,” Luca said softly.
I turned to look at him.
“Did they save it?”
“Yes,” Luca said, a genuine, bittersweet smile touching his lips. “The last page had a pencil drawing of you when you were sixteen, sitting by the willow tree with a lemon pastry. She wrote underneath it: *‘Frank’s daughter has the kindest eyes. I hope Luca marries someone like her one day.’*”
My breath caught in my throat.
My heart fluttered violently against my ribs like a trapped sparrow.
Luca set his glass down on the stone railing.
He turned his full body toward me.
The midnight rain drummed on the glass roof above us, enclosing us in a private world of shadows and soft amber light.
“Claire,” he said, his voice deep, gravelly, and stripped of all armor. “For eleven months, I watched you walk through these halls. I watched you clean my father’s portraits with so much care. I saw the bruises Vanessa gave you, and like an idiot blind man, I believed her lies because I was drowned in grief for my sister.”
He reached out and gently took my hands into his.
His fingers were warm, steady, and protective.
“When I saw you holding that mirror,” he continued, looking directly into my eyes, “bleeding onto my floor just to keep this house safe from a wiretap... something inside me broke wide open. I realized that the only person in this entire empire who truly possessed loyalty, courage, and honor was standing right in front of me in a torn uniform.”
“Mr. Moretti...”
“Luca,” he corrected softly. “Call me Luca.”
“Luca,” I whispered.
He stepped closer, closing the distance between us until his chest was inches from mine.
The scent of sandalwood, rain, and clean cotton enveloped me.
“I told you that you could take your father’s trust and leave for Europe,” Luca murmured, his thumb lightly stroking the back of my hand. “I said that because you deserved your freedom. But the truth is... every second you spent in this house made me realize I cannot breathe in these empty rooms without you.”
His eyes searched mine, raw and vulnerable in a way no capo or enemy had ever seen him.
“Don't leave, Claire. Stay with me. Not as a ward. Not as an heir.”
He reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a small black velvet box.
He opened it.
Inside rested a breathtaking platinum ring set with a brilliant, flawless sapphire surrounded by a halo of micro-diamonds.
It was not Vanessa’s vulgar stolen stone.
It was deep blue, like the ocean beneath midnight rain.
“This belonged to my mother,” Luca said softly. “She told my father that sapphire represents truth, because truth can never be burned away by lies.”
He looked at me with an intensity that stole all the air from my lungs.
“Will you be my wife, Claire? Will you be the lady of this house and rule by my side?”
Tears of pure, overwhelming joy spilled over my eyelashes.
I didn't hesitate for a single second.
May you like
“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, Luca. A thousand times yes.”
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