Chapter 9 - THE LOCKED DOOR
Two weeks had passed since the night the Moretti empire nearly crumbled.
The transition was jarring, but entirely welcome. I was no longer wearing the stiff, black maid’s uniform. Today, I wore a tailored, soft gray pantsuit—purchased on the company card by Teresa’s strict insistence. My broken ribs were healing, the sharp pain replaced by a dull, manageable ache.
The mansion, previously filled with the suffocating tension of Vanessa’s impending wedding and Marco’s quiet plotting, felt surprisingly light. The air was breathable again.
I sat at a sleek mahogany desk in the anteroom just outside Teresa’s private suite, sorting through a stack of philanthropic donation requests. True to her word, Teresa had made me her executive assistant. She demanded excellence, but she was fair, sharp, and fiercely protective of me.
"Emily, cancel my lunch with the charity board tomorrow," Teresa called out from her open suite doors. "I have a headache, and I don't have the patience to pretend I care about their opinions on floral arrangements."
I smiled, picking up my pen. "Consider it canceled, Mrs. Moretti."
"And tell Luca he is having dinner with me tonight," she added, walking out of her room, leaning on a silver-handled cane. She looked completely recovered from her ordeal in the river, her eyes bright and calculating. "He has been locked in his study for three days. It’s unhealthy."
My pen stopped moving.
It was true. Since the night of the railyard ambush, Luca had become a ghost in his own home.
He was managing the massive, complicated fallout of the Volkov agreement—the ten-year lease on the South Side ports that Teresa had promised Yuri. It was a logistical nightmare that required his constant, absolute attention.
But I also knew he was avoiding me.
Since the moment he carried me into the mansion at dawn, he had barely spoken two words to me. When we crossed paths in the hallway, he would offer a tight, polite nod and keep walking, his jaw clenched, his eyes refusing to meet mine.
The profound, vulnerable connection we had shared in the safe house felt like a fever dream.
"I will let him know, Mrs. Moretti," I replied softly, trying to hide the sting of rejection in my voice.
Teresa stopped at my desk, her sharp eyes studying my face. She sighed, a soft, maternal sound.
"He is not ignoring you because he doesn't care, Emily," Teresa said quietly, reading my mind effortlessly.
I flushed, looking down at the paperwork. "I don't know what you mean, ma'am."
"Yes, you do," Teresa corrected gently. "My son is a man who spent his entire life believing that love is a liability. He believes that anyone he cares about becomes a target. Marco proved that to him two weeks ago when he tried to kill me."
Teresa reached out and gently patted my hand.
"He is terrified of what he feels for you, Emily," she whispered. "Because he knows that if his enemies realize you matter to him, you will be the first person they put in the crosshairs. He is staying away to keep you safe."
My heart hammered a frantic, painful rhythm against my ribs.
I understood the logic. I understood the violent reality of the mafia world.
But I also knew that hiding in the shadows wasn't living.
"Thank you, Mrs. Moretti," I said softly.
Teresa offered a small, encouraging smile and continued down the hallway toward the sunroom.
I sat at my desk for another ten minutes, staring at the blank notepad in front of me.
Then, I stood up.
I didn't call down to Luca's study. I walked there myself.
The East Wing was quiet, guarded by two massive men in dark suits standing outside the heavy double doors of his office.
"I need to speak with Mr. Moretti," I told the guards, my voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in my stomach.
The guards exchanged a hesitant look. "He asked not to be disturbed, Miss Parker."
"It's regarding his mother's schedule," I lied smoothly, channeling a fraction of Teresa’s formidable authority.
One of the guards sighed and opened the heavy door just enough for me to slip inside.
The study was dark, the heavy velvet curtains pulled shut against the midday sun. The air smelled of old paper and expensive bourbon.
Luca was sitting behind his massive desk, staring intently at a laptop screen. He looked exhausted. Dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes, and his white button-down shirt was wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows.
He didn't look up when I walked in, assuming I was one of the guards.
"I said no interruptions, Daniel," Luca grumbled, his voice rough.
"I'm not Daniel," I said softly.
Luca froze.
His head snapped up, his dark eyes locking onto mine. The mask of the ruthless, untouchable mafia boss instantly slipped, revealing a flash of sheer, unadulterated longing before he quickly forced the walls back up.
"Emily," Luca said, his voice tight. He closed his laptop abruptly. "What are you doing here? Is my mother alright?"
"Your mother is fine. She expects you for dinner tonight," I stated, walking slowly toward his desk. "But that's not why I'm here."
Luca stood up, his massive frame dominating the room. He stepped back from the desk, physically putting distance between us.
"If this is about your salary, or your benefits, you need to speak to HR," Luca said coldly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I am very busy."
The dismissal stung, but I remembered Teresa’s words. He was terrified.
I didn't back down. I walked right up to the edge of his desk.
"I didn't come here to talk about my salary, Luca," I said, using his first name intentionally, dropping the professional boundaries entirely.
Luca’s jaw clenched. "Emily, you should leave."
"No," I refused flatly.
Luca’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. Nobody told the head of the Moretti syndicate no in his own office.
"You have ignored me for two weeks," I continued, my voice trembling slightly with suppressed emotion. "You look at me like I'm a ghost in the hallway. I saved your life. I saved your mother's life. I earned the right to at least look you in the eye."
"I am trying to protect you!" Luca suddenly yelled, the dam finally breaking. He slammed his hands down on the mahogany desk, leaning forward, his eyes burning with a dark, agonizing torment.
"Protect me from what?" I challenged, refusing to flinch.
"From me!" Luca roared, his voice echoing in the quiet study. "From my life! From the people who want to put a bullet in my head! Do you understand what happened two weeks ago, Emily? My own cousin tried to murder my mother to take my throne!"
He walked around the desk, stopping just inches away from me, his massive chest heaving.
"If I let you in," Luca whispered, his voice cracking, "if I let the rest of the world see what you mean to me... you become leverage. You become a target. And if someone hurts you because of me, I will burn this entire city to ash, but I won't be able to live with myself."
I looked up into his eyes, seeing the profound, terrifying depth of his fear.
He didn't just care about me. He was completely, irrevocably terrified of losing me.
I reached out, resting my hand gently against his chest, right over his hammering heart.
"Luca," I said softly, my voice steady and unwavering. "I was almost crushed by a catering truck. I was shot at in a wine cellar. I was nearly blown up in a safe house. I am already in danger. I have always been in danger."
I took a step closer, leaving absolutely no space between us.
"I don't want a safe, quiet life if you aren't in it," I whispered fiercely.
May you like
Luca’s breath hitched. He stared down at me, the last of his iron control completely shattering into a million pieces.
With a raw, desperate groan, Luca’s hands shot out, gripping my waist and pulling me flush against his solid body. He didn't hesitate anymore. He crashed his mouth down onto mine.
