Chapter 6 - Blood on the Ivory Bench
We returned to the Chicago mansion at dawn.
The rain had stopped, replaced by a pale, golden sunrise over the lake.
The grand dining room was a ruin of shattered crystal and spilled wine.
The banquet guests had fled hours ago.
Sitting in the center of the room, untouched by the chaos, was the battered
grand piano.
In the private sitting room, Dr. Rossi wrapped Isabella in thermal blankets and
treated her hypothermia.
She was bruised, but safe.
She refused to let go of the small wooden bench her mother had carved for her.
In the library, a medic stitched a four-inch gash along Luca’s ribs.
He didn't make a sound.
His jaw remained set in stone.
I stood near the door, clutching a warm mug of black tea, still wearing my
ruined, blood-stained apron.
“Sit down, Emma,” Luca said, waving the medic away.
“I’m fine, Mr. Moretti. I should help clear the dining room—”
“I didn't ask you to work,” he said softly.
He stood up, pulling on a fresh black cotton shirt.
He walked over to where I stood.
He reached out, his warm, scarred fingers gently brushing a lock of damp hair
from my forehead.
My breath caught in my throat.
His touch was unexpectedly gentle for a man who had drowned an enemy hours
earlier.
“You saved my sister’s life,” Luca said.
“You saved the only thing my mother left behind.”
He looked down at my hands.
“Your mother taught you well.”
“She was a craftsman,” I murmured, looking at the floor.
“She believed that instruments have souls. When you tear one apart, you kill the
memory of everyone who played it.”
Luca looked back toward the dining room where the piano stood.
“Can it be restored?”
“The soundboard is intact,” I said.
“The action needs regulation. And the keys... they need proper ivory and bone.”
A faint, tender smile touched Luca’s lips.
“Then you will restore it. Not as a servant.”
May you like
He stepped closer, his chest inches from mine.
“As the honored guest of this house.”
