Chapter 9 - THE SILVER TRAY
One week later.
The afternoon sun poured through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the Moretti estate, bathing the mahogany floors in warm, golden light.
I wasn’t wearing a black uniform.
I was wearing a tailored beige blouse and dark slacks. My right wrist was free of bandages, healing nicely with only a faint pink line remaining.
I stood in the doorway of the grand library, holding a file folder.
Outside, in the manicured gardens, I could hear laughter.
I walked to the window and looked out.
Leo was running across the pristine green lawn, chasing a golden retriever puppy. The puppy belonged to one of the groundskeepers, but Leo had claimed it as his best friend for the afternoon.
He was laughing loudly, his cheeks flushed with joy.
He was safe.
A deep voice spoke from behind me.
“He’s got a good arm. He threw that tennis ball over the hedge twice today.”
I turned around.
Luca was standing there. He wore a crisp white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, looking relaxed in a way I had never seen before.
The heavy burden of the past week seemed to have lifted from his shoulders.
Matteo had been handed over to New York. The war was averted. The transition of power was absolute. Luca’s grip on the Chicago syndicate was now unquestionable, but he was changing the way it operated. Legitimate businesses were being prioritized. The violence was being scaled back.
And I was no longer a maid.
Luca walked over to the small table near the window.
Resting on it was a silver tray.
Not a heavy dinner cloche. A small, polished tray holding two cups of espresso.
He picked one up and handed it to me.
I took it, our fingers brushing lightly. The contact made my heart flutter, a feeling I was slowly allowing myself to lean into.
“Have you reviewed the charity foundation documents?” Luca asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
I nodded, tapping the folder in my hand. “I have. The restructuring makes sense. If you move the primary funding from the casino revenue into the real estate trusts, the tax write-offs will double, and you can fund three more community centers in the south side.”
Luca smiled. A real, genuine smile that reached his eyes.
“You have a brilliant mind for logistics, Emma. I’m glad you agreed to be the Director of the Foundation.”
“It beats polishing silverware,” I teased softly.
Luca’s smile softened into something deeper. He stepped closer to me.
“I want to show you something.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, silver frame.
He handed it to me.
I looked at it.
Inside the frame wasn’t a photograph.
It was the piece of blue and red construction paper.
Leo’s drawing. The house, the tree, the mother and son.
Luca had smoothed out the wrinkles where I had crumpled it in terror. He had framed it perfectly.
“I want you to put that on your new desk in your office,” Luca said quietly. “As a reminder.”
I looked up at him, my eyes shining with unshed tears. “A reminder of what?”
Luca reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
“That this house isn’t a place of fear anymore,” he said, his voice steady and incredibly warm. “That you and Leo belong here. That you are safe.”
I looked out the window again. Leo was tackling the puppy onto the grass, completely carefree. He didn’t know about the monsters in the dark. He only knew the sunlight.
I looked back at the man who had fought his own blood to keep us in that sunlight.
“Thank you, Luca,” I whispered.
Luca didn’t step away. He stayed close, his presence a comforting, solid anchor.
He reached down and gently took my right hand. He didn’t grip it tightly. He held it with reverence, his thumb tracing the faint pink scar on my wrist.
“No more heavy lifting for you, Emma,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto mine with a promise that terrified and thrilled me all at once.
“I can handle the weight,” I smiled, squeezing his hand back.
May you like
Luca smiled, leaning in just a fraction of an inch closer.
“I know you can. But from now on, you don’t have to carry it alone.”
