Chapter 8 - SUNRISE OVER THE ESTATE
The morning sun crested the horizon, painting the Chicago skyline in brilliant strokes of gold, pink, and violet.
The Moretti mansion stood tall against the crisp autumn air, no longer shrouded in the dark, oppressive shadows of secrets and fear. The east wing had suffered minor structural damage from the intercepted demolition charges, but the rest of the grand estate remained untouched—a monument to survival, resilience, and truth.
Inside the bright, sun-drenched family kitchen, the aroma of fresh coffee, crispy bacon, and sweet cinnamon rolls filled the air.
I stood by the kitchen island, plating a stack of pancakes while little Sophie sat across from me, kicking her legs happily as she colored in a brand-new sketchbook.
"Do you think Daddy will make pancakes like this at Lake Geneva?" Sophie asked, looking up with bright, dancing eyes.
"Well, we'll have to teach him," I smiled, setting a plate of syrup-drenched pancakes in front of her. "Otherwise, he might burn the whole kitchen down."
"Hey, I heard that," a deep, amused voice rumbled from the doorway.
Luca walked into the kitchen, wearing a comfortable gray cashmere sweater, his dark hair neatly brushed, looking more like an ordinary, relaxed father than a former mafia kingpin.
Sophie giggled, diving into her breakfast.
Luca walked over to the island, stopping right beside me. He poured himself a cup of black coffee, his dark eyes never leaving my face.
"The federal prosecutors just called," Luca said quietly, his voice low enough for only the two of us to hear. "Arthur Vance and his co-conspirators are being transferred to a federal penitentiary in Colorado. No bail. No deals. And the federal oversight committee has officially cleared my family's name of any historical corruption charges."
I let out a long, shaky breath of pure relief. "It's really over."
"It's really over," Luca confirmed. He set his coffee mug down on the counter, reaching out to take my hand in his. His calloused fingers felt warm, strong, and entirely grounding. "The estate is officially being converted into a legitimate charitable foundation for families affected by syndicate violence. And the north wing guesthouse?" He smiled gently. "We're turning it into a community art and sewing center for local children."
I looked up at him, a sudden warmth spreading through my chest. "Mrs. Sullivan's sewing room?"
"No," Luca corrected softly, stepping closer so that our bodies nearly touched. "Your sewing room. If you want it."
My heart skipped a beat.
Before I could answer, Luca reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, familiar velvet box—the one he had carried the night before.
He opened it, revealing his late wife’s gold wedding band resting beside a stunning, brilliant diamond ring that caught the morning light streaming through the kitchen window.
"When you started working here fourteen months ago," Luca murmured, his voice thick with emotion, "you were just supposed to fold towels, clean floors, and stay out of the shadows. But you walked right into the fire and saved everything that mattered to me."
He slid the diamond ring onto my finger, the metal fitting as if it had been measured for me by destiny itself.
"I know we started with a torn hem and a frightened little girl," Luca whispered, looking deep into my eyes with an intensity that made the rest of the world vanish. "But I don't ever want to face a single day without you again. Will you stay—not as my housemaid, but as my partner, my family, and my wife?"
Sophie stopped eating her pancakes. She dropped her fork, clapped her hands together with a delighted squeal, and looked up at us.
"Say yes, Claire! Please say yes! Then we can be a real family!"
I looked down at Sophie's shining eyes, then back up at Luca, whose strong, steady hand was holding mine as if he would never let go.
Tears of absolute happiness pricked my eyes, spilling over my lashes.
May you like
I tightened my fingers around his hand, smiled through my tears, and gave the only answer that mattered.
"Yes."
