Chapter 10 - THE TURNING POINT
Spring arrived in Chicago three months later, bringing with it a sharp, clean breeze that swept off Lake Michigan and chased away the lingering winter frost. The Moretti estate looked different. The cold, intimidating marble halls had been redecorated with brighter floral arrangements—supplied entirely by Virgo, the independent online floral business Natalie had finally launched with the financial backing Luca had quietly provided. Natalie sat at her desk in the newly renovated administration wing of the mansion. She was no longer a housemaid. When she tried to hand in her resignation the week after the engagement disaster, Luca had torn her letter up in front of her face, promoted her to Director of Estate Operations, and doubled her salary. "You're overqualified to press linens," he had told her with a straight face. "I need someone with an accountant's brain and a good heart to run my household." Now, Natalie managed forty staff members, balanced multi-million-dollar estate budgets, and still found time to design custom everlasting soap flower bouquets for Virgo’s growing client list.Knock, knock. The heavy oak office door swung open. Luca walked in, holding a steaming cup of black coffee and a small white envelope. "Morning, Natalie," he said, taking a seat in the leather guest chair across from her desk. "Morning, Mr. Moretti," she replied, smiling as she signed off on a catering invoice. "You're up early. Don't tell me another shipment of Italian wine got held up at customs." "No wine issues," Luca smiled, sliding the white envelope across the mahogany desk. "Just mail." Natalie picked it up, raising an eyebrow. "Is this for me?" "Open it." She slid her finger under the flap and pulled out a thick piece of heavy parchment paper. It was an acceptance letter from the University of Chicago Booth School of Business, granting her a full academic scholarship for their Executive MBA program, sponsored by the Moretti Philanthropic Foundation. Natalie stared at the paper, the words blurring before her eyes. "I... I didn't apply for this," she whispered, looking up at him. "I know," Luca said calmly, taking a sip of his coffee. "I submitted your accounting degree transcripts, your resume, and a rather glowing recommendation letter detailing how efficiently you managed my estate's logistics during a hostile corporate takeover." Natalie’s breath caught in her throat. "Luca... I can't accept a full scholarship. It's too much." "It's not charity, Natalie," Luca said, his voice turning serious. "It's an investment. My estate needs someone who understands high-level finance, and frankly, you're the only person I trust not to embezzle from me." She let out a watery laugh, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "You're impossible, you know that?" "I've been told," he grinned. "Also... Liam and Leo sent you something." Luca reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, neatly folded piece of blue construction paper. Natalie unfolded it. Inside was a crayon drawing of a smiling woman with brown hair, holding a little blue paper crown, standing next to a house filled with flowers. At the bottom, in messy, nine-year-old handwriting, it read:To Natalie. Thank you for being our friend. Come visit us in Milwaukee soon! — Leo & Grandpa/Grandma. Natalie pressed the drawing against her chest, a profound warmth spreading through her veins. "They're doing well?" she asked softly. "Very well," Luca replied, leaning forward, resting his elbows on her desk. "Mrs. Ellis has her own little flower shop now, funded by the trust. And Liam got a promotion at the press." The office fell into a comfortable silence. The sunlight poured through the window, catching the golden highlights in Natalie's hair. Luca watched her—really watched her—not as an employee, not as a subordinate, but as a man who had finally found peace in the middle of a warzone. "Natalie," Luca said, his voice dropping into a softer, more hesitant tone. "Yes?" "There's an art gala downtown this Saturday night." She blinked, surprised. "An art gala? Since when do you care about modern paintings?" "I don't," Luca admitted without hesitation. "I care about the woman who designed the floral centerpieces for the grand ballroom. And I was hoping... if my schedule permits... she might let me take her to dinner afterward." Natalie’s heart did a violent, joyful flip in her chest. She looked across the desk at the mafia boss who had brought an entire syndicate to its knees—and who was now nervously waiting for her answer like a schoolboy asking a girl to the prom. "Only if we stop for ice cream first," Natalie smiled, her eyes shining. "The good kind from the parlor down on Michigan Avenue." Luca Moretti smiled back—a real, genuine, unguarded smile that chased away every shadow left in the room. "It's a deal," he said softly.
