Chapter 9 - THE HEIRLOOM
Strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against a solid chest. Luca didn't let me fall. He simply scooped me up into his arms, lifting me completely off the glass-covered floor as easily as if I weighed nothing at all. “I’ve got you,” he murmured against my hair. I was too exhausted to protest. I rested my head against his shoulder, letting the terrifying events of the night finally wash over me. He carried me up the stone stairs, past the bewildered engagement guests who were still huddled in the foyer, and straight up to the third-floor private suites. He didn't take me to the servant’s quarters. He took me to the main guest suite, a room draped in rich velvet and warm lighting. He gently set me down on the edge of the massive four-poster bed. Julian appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, holding a medical kit. “Leo is safe,” Julian said, his voice thick with emotion. “He’s asleep in my room. The guards are gone. The cleanup crew is handling the basement.” Julian looked at me. The hardened mafia underboss had tears in his eyes. He walked over, took my uninjured right hand, and kissed the back of it. “I owe you my life, Claire,” Julian whispered. “If there is ever anything you need in this city, you tell me. My family is your family.” “Just take care of Leo,” I smiled weakly. Julian nodded, leaving the medical kit on the bedside table before slipping out and closing the door. Luca opened the kit. He didn't call another doctor. He pulled up a chair, knelt in front of me, and carefully removed my ruined shoe. He cleaned the deep cut on the bottom of my foot with antiseptic, his large, dangerous hands moving with incredible gentleness. He bandaged it, then moved up to re-wrap my fractured hand, making sure the splint was secure. “Why are you doing this?” I asked softly, watching him work. “I’m just your housekeeper.” Luca stopped. He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “You stopped being my housekeeper the moment you handed me my mother’s rosary,” he said quietly. He stood up, walking over to the heavy mahogany dresser. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the antique silver rosary. He walked back to the bed and sat beside me. “This rosary was the only thing I had left of her,” Luca said, staring at the silver cross. “When it was stolen, I spent twenty years tearing this city apart trying to find it. I thought it was gone forever.” He looked at me, a profound, undeniable emotion swimming in his eyes. “And then, a brave, stubborn woman with eighty dollars in her bank account walked into my medical room and handed my soul back to me.” Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Luca reached out, taking my right hand. He didn't press the rosary into my palm. He gently draped the heavy silver chain around my neck, securing the clasp at the back. The silver cross rested warmly against my chest. “Mr. Moretti…” I breathed, stunned by the weight of the gesture. “Luca,” he corrected, his voice a soft, deep rumble. “My name is Luca.” He reached up, his thumb gently wiping a smudge of soot from my cheek. “I can't take this,” I said, looking down at the priceless family heirloom. “It belongs to the Moretti family.” “It does,” Luca agreed softly. He leaned in, his face inches from mine, the scent of cedar and expensive cologne wrapping around me. “Which is exactly why you are going to keep it.” He didn't kiss me. Not yet. He was a man who understood the value of patience, of building a foundation that couldn't be broken by lies or fire. “You’re not going back to the servant’s quarters, Claire,” Luca said, his eyes tracing the line of my jaw. “Your mother’s nursing home bills are paid in full. Your debts are gone. You don't have to carry heavy soup trays on a fractured hand ever again.” I stared at him, my heart overflowing with a hope I hadn't felt since I was ten years old. “What am I going to do, then?” I asked, a small smile pulling at my lips. Luca smiled back. A real, genuine smile that made him look breathtakingly handsome. “You’re going to sit at the head of my table,” Luca promised, leaning his forehead gently against mine. “And you’re going to stay there for the rest of your life.” I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of his promise wash away the coldness of the night. I had walked into this house as a maid, carrying a heavy burden and struggling to survive. But as I sat there, the silver rosary resting against my heart, safe in the arms of the most powerful man in the city, I knew the truth. I had finally found my way home.
