Chapter 10 - The Morning Light
Two weeks later.
The morning sun poured through the massive bay windows of the Moretti mansion, turning the marble floors a warm, glowing gold.
The house felt entirely different.
The oppressive, suffocating tension that had hung in the air since Vanessa moved in was gone. In its place was a quiet, profound peace.
My mother was sitting in the sunny breakfast nook, sipping tea. She had undergone her hip surgery three days after the cabin explosion. Luca had hired the best orthopedic surgeon in the state, and she was already walking with a lightweight cane, her pain finally managed.
Teresa Moretti was sitting across from her, holding a crossword puzzle.
And asleep on a plush orthopedic bed between them was Scout.
The old beagle was wearing a brand-new, soft leather collar. He snored loudly, his paws twitching in a dream.
I stood in the doorway, watching them.
“He seems happier,” I said softly.
Teresa looked up and smiled brightly. “He is. Luca had a little wooden ramp installed on the patio steps yesterday. Scout went up and down it three times just to show off.”
I smiled.
Teresa patted the empty chair beside her. “Come sit, sweetheart. You’ve been pacing all morning.”
I walked over and sat down.
I wasn't wearing a black uniform. I was wearing comfortable jeans and a soft cashmere sweater Teresa had insisted on buying me.
But despite the comfort, my mind was restless.
“I don't know what to do with myself,” I admitted, tracing the rim of a coffee mug. “I’m used to working. To moving. Just sitting here… it feels strange.”
My mother reached across the table and covered my hand with hers.
“You’re healing, Emmy,” she said gently. “We all are. You found out your entire life was a secret two weeks ago. You are allowed to just sit.”
Teresa nodded in agreement. She reached into the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a folded, slightly yellowed piece of paper.
“Frank left this for me,” Teresa said, placing it on the table in front of me. “Inside an envelope with his will. He told me to give it to the girl who saved Scout, if I ever found her.”
I frowned, carefully unfolding the paper.
It wasn't a legal document.
It was a crayon drawing.
A stick-figure drawing of a little girl holding hands with an older woman, standing in front of a grocery store. Written at the top in clumsy, childish handwriting was: For Mr. Frank.
Tears pricked my eyes.
I remembered drawing it. I was six years old. My mother had told me it was for a kind man who had sent us a Christmas card.
“Frank loved you like a daughter, Hannah,” Teresa said softly. “He kept that drawing in his desk until the day he died. You aren't a Bellini in this house. You are the child my husband protected. You are family.”
A tear slipped down my cheek and dropped onto the table.
I looked at Teresa, then at my mother. These two incredibly strong women had survived unspeakable heartbreak, and yet here they were, drinking tea and watching a dog sleep.
“Where is Luca?” I asked.
I hadn't seen him since dinner the night before. He had been distant over the last week. Kind, perfectly respectful, but keeping a professional distance. It felt like he was giving me space to process everything, but the space was starting to feel like a canyon.
“He’s in his study,” Teresa said, her smile turning slightly knowing. “He’s been in there all morning.”
I stood up.
“I need to talk to him.”
I walked through the quiet halls of the mansion.
I didn't knock on the study doors. I pushed them open.
Luca was standing behind his desk.
But he wasn't working.
He was zipping up a black leather duffel bag. A passport rested on top of a stack of files on his desk.
My heart dropped to the floor.
“You’re leaving?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Luca looked up, startled. He quickly dropped his hands from the bag.
“Hannah. I didn't hear you come in.”
“Where are you going?” I stepped fully into the room, my eyes locked on the passport.
He ran a hand through his dark hair, looking suddenly exhausted.
“The Commission requires me to go to Rome,” Luca said quietly. “To formally ratify the absorption of the Bellini territory with the European families. It’s a formality, but a necessary one.”
“For how long?”
He looked out the window. “A few months. Maybe longer. It takes time to stabilize the ports.”
A few months.
He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a thick manila envelope. He walked around the desk and held it out to me.
“This is a trust fund,” Luca said, his voice stripped of all emotion, entirely businesslike. “It’s in your name. It’s enough to buy a house wherever you want, pay for your mother’s care, and put you through any college you choose. You will never have to work another day in your life.”
I stared at the envelope.
May you like
I didn't take it.
“I don't want your money, Luca,” I said.
