Chapter 13 - The Duet in the West Room
Summer arrived in Chicago.
The mansion was no longer a cold, imposing fortress of mob meetings and dark
whispers.
It was filled with music.
Isabella had moved back into the estate, spending her mornings practicing violin
beside the restored grand piano.
She laughed freely now.
The shadows had left her eyes.
Every evening before dinner, Luca and I met in the west sitting room.
He was learning the complex Chopin nocturnes his mother had loved.
His large, powerful hands moved over the keys with surprising delicacy.
Whenever he missed a transition, I would gently adjust his fingers, our skin
brushing against each other, sending shivers down my spine.
One Friday evening, as the rain tapped softly against the French doors, Luca
stopped playing mid-measure.
He turned on the bench to face me.
“Emma.”
“You rushed the tempo again,” I teased, smiling up at him.
He didn't laugh.
His gaze was steady.
Fierce.
Undeniable.
“I’m tired of playing alone,” he murmured.
My heart skipped a beat.
“You have Isabella.”
“I don't mean the piano,” Luca said softly.
He took both of my hands into his, bringing my knuckles to his lips.
“I spent my entire life thinking I was only built for war. For blood, contracts,
and fear.”
May you like
He looked into my eyes with an openness that took my breath away.
“You brought music back into my life, Emma. You brought truth.”
