Chapter 9 - THE NEW SEAT AT THE HEAD OF THE TABLE
Six months later, the autumn wind was whipping off Lake Michigan, turning the leaves outside the Moretti mansion into brilliant shades of copper and gold.
The crystal chandeliers in the dining room were lit once more.
Only this time, there were no nervous politicians, no fake fiancées, and no hidden cameras.
Around the long mahogany table sat my mother, looking healthy and relaxed in a soft emerald-green dress; Daniel, who was carving a massive roast prime rib at the side board; and Luca, sitting at the head of the table with his shirtsleeves rolled up, laughing at something my mother had just said about her garden tomatoes.
I stood near the French doors, wearing a tailored navy blazer, holding a tablet containing the estate’s quarterly logistics schedule rather than a silver tray.
Wait—let me correct that.
I wasn't standing.
Luca had added a second large walnut chair right beside his own at the head of the table two months ago, and he had made it abundantly clear that estate managers didn't stand during dinner.
“Sophie,” Luca said, looking up from his plate with a warm, easy smile that still made my heart do a strange, uncoordinated flip against my ribs. “Stop checking the supply inventory for five minutes and eat your dinner before the potatoes get cold.”
I walked over, took my seat right beside him, and set the tablet down on the sideboard.
“A good estate manager is never off duty, Mr. Moretti,” I teased softly.
Luca reached under the table, his warm fingers finding my hand and lacing his fingers securely through mine.
“Call me Luca,” he whispered, close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath against my temple. “Or I’ll reassign you back to the laundry room.”
I smiled, squeezing his hand back.
The past was gone. The fake debts were paid, the fires were reduced to ash, and the people who had tried to build their empire on our backs were locked behind federal bars where they belonged.
My mother looked across the table at us, her eyes bright with tears of pride and happiness, raising her glass of red wine in a silent toast.
Luca raised his glass as well, looking around the table at the people who had survived the storm together.
“To new foundations,” Luca said, his deep voice carrying clear and strong across the room.
May you like
“To new foundations,” we all answered together.
And for the first time in my life, looking out across the warm, safe, candlelit room, I knew I was exactly where I belonged.
