The Numbers Written In Blue Ink

Four months later.

The brutal Chicago winter finally surrendered to spring. The snow melted, replacing the gray slush with vibrant green buds on the trees lining the streets of Oak Park.

I parked my car—a sleek, sensible sedan Luca had bought me—in front of my mother’s pharmacy.

I wasn't wearing a uniform, and I wasn't wearing a ballgown.

I wore tailored slacks and a crisp white blouse. The Director of the Sarah Moretti Foundation.

I pushed open the glass door of the pharmacy. The little bell chimed.

My mother, looking healthier and happier than she had in a decade, looked up from the counter.

“Emma!” she beamed, coming around to hug me tightly.

“Hi, Mom,” I smiled, squeezing her back.

The pharmacy looked incredible. With the building secured and the rent from the upstairs apartments flowing in, my mother had renovated the interior. It was bright, modern, and thriving.

“You’re here early,” my mother said, wiping her hands on her apron. “The foundation doesn't need its director today?”

“I took the morning off,” I said, my cheeks flushing slightly. “Luca is picking me up here in ten minutes. We’re going to look at a property for the new children's clinic.”

My mother’s eyes twinkled. “Ah. Luca.”

She had met him on New Year’s Day. I had been terrified of how my modest, hardworking mother would react to a former mafia boss.

But Luca had walked into her small house, taken off his expensive coat, rolled up his sleeves, and spent three hours fixing her broken radiator while respectfully answering every single one of her interrogating questions.

By the time he left, my mother had packed him a Tupperware container of lasagna and told me to never let him go.

“He called me yesterday, you know,” my mother said casually, organizing a shelf of vitamins.

I blinked. “Luca called you? Why?”

My mother smiled a secretive, knowing smile. “Just to check in. See how the renovations were holding up.”

“Mom, what aren't you telling me?”

Before she could answer, a sleek black SUV pulled up to the curb outside.

Luca stepped out.

He was wearing a sharp navy suit, looking like he had stepped off the cover of a magazine. The spring sunlight caught the silver in his dark hair.

He walked into the pharmacy, the bell chiming again.

“Good morning, Mrs. Dawson,” Luca smiled warmly.

“Good morning, Luca,” my mother beamed. “I’ll leave you two to your 'property viewing'.”

She practically pushed me toward the door, winking at Luca.

I laughed, shaking my head as Luca took my hand and led me to the car.

“What are you and my mother conspiring about?” I asked as he opened the passenger door for me.

“Nothing nefarious, I promise,” Luca grinned, shutting the door.

He got into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb.

We didn't head downtown toward the foundation’s offices. We drove toward the lakefront, where the massive, historic mansions overlooked the water.

“Where is this property we’re looking at?” I asked.

“Right here,” Luca said, turning into a long, gated driveway.

The car stopped in front of a stunning, sprawling brick estate with a massive garden leading down to the lake. It was empty, a 'For Sale' sign staked near the entrance.

“Luca, this isn't zoned for a commercial clinic,” I pointed out, confused.

“I know,” Luca said softly.

He turned off the engine and looked at me.

“I sold the main estate this morning, Emma.”

I gasped. “What? The Moretti mansion?”

Luca nodded. “My father insisted. He said the house held too many ghosts. Too many memories of my mother, and too many dark corners from the syndicate days. He bought a beautiful penthouse overlooking Millennium Park. Sofia is taking the kids to the suburbs.”

“But where are you going to live?” I asked.

Luca smiled, reaching across the console to take my hand.