Chapter 10
The aftermath of the dinner party was a quiet, surreal blur.
The guests departed quickly and silently, offering respectful nods to Luca but saying very little. They understood that the Moretti family had just excised a cancer, and such surgery required privacy to heal.
By midnight, the grand dining room was empty. The waitstaff had cleared the shattered crystal and the ruined china, leaving the long mahogany table gleaming under the dimmed chandeliers.
I walked Margaret Ellis to the front door, my arm wrapped gently around her waist to support her. A private black town car was idling in the circular driveway, the driver holding the door open.
“Thank you, Hannah,” Margaret whispered, pausing on the marble steps. She reached up and patted my cheek with her frail, needle-scarred hand. “You have a brave heart. Catherine would have loved you.”
“Get some rest, Mrs. Ellis,” I said softly, smiling through lingering tears. “I’ll come visit you at the shop next week.”
“I’ll hold you to that, sweetheart.”
I watched the town car pull away into the Chicago night before turning back inside. The massive house felt different now. The oppressive, anxious energy that Vanessa brought into every room had vanished, replaced by a deep, exhausted peace.
I walked upstairs toward the east wing. I needed to check on Sophie before I retreated to my own small room near the kitchen.
When I reached Sophie’s bedroom, the door was slightly ajar. I peeked inside.
Luca was sitting on the edge of her canopy bed. He had taken off his suit jacket and tie, his white dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He was holding the small wooden music box I had rescued from the trash.
He wound the key slowly. A soft, tinkling lullaby filled the room.
Sophie was fast asleep, clutching her teddy bear, her breathing finally deep and even.
I watched Luca lean down and kiss her forehead. He lingered there, his eyes closed, silently apologizing for the three years he had unwittingly brought a monster into their lives. He had survived the betrayal, but I knew the guilt of letting Vanessa near his child would haunt him for a long time.
I stepped backward, not wanting to intrude, but the floorboard creaked beneath my shoe.
Luca turned. He saw me standing in the hallway and quietly stood up. He set the music box on the nightstand, turned off the bedside lamp, and slipped out of the room, pulling the door softly shut behind him.
“She’s out cold,” Luca whispered, running a hand through his dark hair. He looked exhausted, the adrenaline of the evening finally wearing off.
“She’s resilient, Mr. Moretti,” I said. “She’s going to be okay now.”
Luca looked at me, really looked at me, in the dim hallway light. “Luca. Please. After tonight, you don’t need to call me Mr. Moretti.”
I swallowed nervously. “Okay. Luca.”
He smiled, a small, genuine expression that transformed his entire face. It made him look younger, softer.
“I meant what I said downstairs, Hannah,” Luca murmured, taking a step closer. “About your brother’s tuition. The bank transfer has already been initiated. Your family is safe.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” I whispered, looking down at my apron. “I was so terrified she was going to ruin him.”
“She will never hurt anyone again,” Luca promised. His voice hardened for a brief second before softening again. “But there’s one more thing I need you to do tonight.”
I looked up. “Anything.”
“The cedar chest,” Luca said. “You said you moved Catherine’s things to the linen closet. I want to see them. I want to bring them back to the master bedroom where they belong.”
I nodded. “Of course. Follow me.”
I led him down the hall to the spare linen closet. I opened the door and reached up to the top shelf, pulling down the heavy black plastic bags I had hidden from Vanessa.
Together, we carried them back to the master suite. It was a massive, beautiful room, but it had felt cold and sterile ever since Vanessa had forced Luca to redecorate.
We set the bags on the floor next to the ornate cedar chest.
Luca knelt down and carefully tore open the plastic. He pulled out the heavy black wool coat—the one missing the gold button, the one stained with dried blood. He stared at it for a long moment, touching the fabric reverently, knowing it was his wife’s final act of protection.
“I’ll give this to Chief Miller in the morning,” Luca said quietly, setting it aside.
Then he reached into the bag and pulled out Catherine’s favorite cashmere sweaters, her silk scarves, her photo albums. He placed them carefully back into the cedar chest, restoring her presence to the room.
I knelt beside him, helping him fold a stack of faded maternity clothes.
As I lifted the last sweater from the bottom of the bag, my fingers brushed against something stiff.
“Wait,” I murmured.
I pulled the sweater away. Lying flat at the absolute bottom of the plastic bag was a thick, ivory-colored envelope. It was sealed with red wax.
Luca stopped folding. He stared at the envelope.
I picked it up. My heart skipped a beat when I read the handwriting on the front.
It wasn’t addressed to Luca. It wasn’t addressed to Sophie.
May you like
I looked at Luca, my hands trembling.
“Luca,” I whispered. “It’s addressed to me.”
