Chapter 10 - The Quiet Aftermath
Two months passed.
The winter snow melted, giving way to a vibrant, blooming spring across the Moretti estate.
The mansion felt entirely different. The dark, heavy velvet curtains had been replaced with sheer white linen, allowing the sunlight to pour into the grand hallways. The staff no longer walked on eggshells; laughter often echoed from the kitchen.
My mother’s surgery in New York had been a complete success. She was currently undergoing physical therapy, and Luca had already purchased a beautiful, accessible cottage on the estate grounds for her to live in once she was discharged.
I was sitting in the parlor on a Tuesday afternoon, trying to read a book, but my mind was wandering.
I wasn't wearing a black uniform. I was wearing a soft cream sweater and jeans.
I was officially Luca’s partner. We lived together in the master suite. We ate dinner together every night. He treated me like a queen.
But a quiet, insidious doubt still whispered in the back of my mind.
I was a former maid. I didn't have a college degree. I didn't know how to host charity galas or navigate the complex, dangerous politics of the syndicate world Luca still partially operated in.
Whenever his captains came to the house for meetings, I felt entirely out of place, hiding in the library until they left.
“You’re frowning at a romance novel, sweetheart. That’s usually a bad sign.”
I looked up.
Teresa was walking into the parlor, leaning lightly on her cane. Her health had improved dramatically since the stress of Vanessa’s presence vanished.
“I’m just distracted,” I smiled, closing the book.
Teresa walked over and sat in the armchair across from me. She studied my face with the sharp, observant eyes of a matriarch who missed absolutely nothing.
“You feel like an imposter,” Teresa said bluntly.
I flinched, blushing deeply. “Is it that obvious?”
“It is to me,” Teresa chuckled softly. “You think because you used to clean these floors, you don't have the right to walk on them in designer shoes.”
“I just… I don't know anything about his world, Teresa,” I admitted, looking down at my hands. “What if he realizes I’m not enough? What if he needs someone who knows how to be a Don’s wife?”
Teresa leaned forward, tapping her cane firmly against the hardwood floor.
“Listen to me, Rachel. Luca’s father, my husband, was a terrifying man to the outside world. Do you know what I was when he met me?”
I shook my head.
“I was a seamstress in a sweatshop in the North Ward,” Teresa said proudly. “I had calluses on my fingers and holes in my shoes. I didn't know which fork to use at a fancy dinner.”
She reached out and took my hand.
“A strong man doesn't want a woman who knows how to host a gala. He wants a woman who knows how to stand her ground when the house is burning down. You did that. You are exactly what he needs.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “Thank you, Teresa.”
“Now,” Teresa smiled, standing up. “Go upstairs. Luca left something for you in the study.”
I wiped my eyes and walked up the grand staircase.
I pushed open the heavy oak doors to Luca’s study. It was empty. Luca was out at a meeting in the city.
But sitting precisely in the center of his massive mahogany desk was a small, sealed white envelope with my name written in his bold handwriting.
I walked over and picked it up.
I opened the seal and pulled out a single sheet of heavy parchment paper.
Answer one: It wasn't a love letter.
Open two: What had Luca done?
It was a legal document. A Certificate of Incorporation.
The Sophie Moretti Foundation for Pediatric Leukemia.
I stared at the paper, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I read the Executive Director line.
Rachel Morgan.
I covered my mouth with a gasp.
He hadn't bought me expensive jewelry. He hadn't bought me a car.
May you like
He had built a charity in his daughter’s name, and he had given it to me to run. He was giving me a purpose, a voice, a legacy in his world that had nothing to do with violence or mafia politics.
He was proving to me that I belonged exactly where I was.
