Chapter 10 - Bloodlines of the Atlantic City ShoreBy late November, the transformation of their lives was complete.
The private master suite on the top floor of the Moretti estate had become a sanctuary of warmth, laughter, and light.
The floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the sparkling blue waters of the Atlantic, while fresh bouquets of white hydrangeas and fragrant magnolias adorned every table.
Toby had blossomed beyond measure, his days filled with piano lessons, sailing classes, and the boundless joy of having his family whole every morning.
And every Sunday afternoon at 2:00 PM, without fail, the long mahogany dining table was filled with family.
Marcus Falcone would sit at the head of the table, laughing as he carved the prime rib, while Mrs. Gable brought platters of handmade pasta and warm sourdough bread from the kitchen.
One sunny Saturday afternoon in December, the winter air was crisp, carrying the clean scent of ocean water and burning cedar.
Elena walked along the stone terrace overlooking the water, wearing an ivory cashmere sweater and tailored dark trousers, her dark hair dancing in the breeze.
I stood by the stone balustrade, wearing an open-collared navy linen shirt, watching the cargo freighters glide across the harbor channel.
When I heard her footsteps on the flagstones, I turned around.
My face lit up with that rare, breathtaking smile that always made her heart race.
I walked across the terrace to meet her, wrapping my strong arm around her waist, pulling her gently against my solid, warm chest.
I buried my face into the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply.
“Vanilla, ocean salt, and clean winter rain,” I murmured against her skin, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. “The only scent I ever want to come home to.”
Elena leaned back against my arm, smiling up into my soulful gray eyes.
“The foundation approved eighty new educational grants for dockworkers' children this morning, Dante,” she whispered.
“And the new container terminal opened without a single hour of delay,” I smiled against her cheek. “All thanks to our Executive Trustee.”
“All thanks to an Emperor who had the good sense to listen to a piano,” she teased, tracing the rugged line of my jaw.
I chuckled—a rich, deep, joyful sound that echoed across the terrace—and tightened my grip around her waist.
He looked down at her, his expression shifting into a register of profound, breathtaking seriousness that made her pulse jump.
“Elena,” I said softly.
“Yes, Dante?”
May you like
I reached into my coat pocket and produced an antique velvet jeweler’s box lined with white silk.
My heart began to hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird.
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