Chapter 5 - The Family Wing
The family wing on the third floor of the Moretti estate had been shuttered since Gabriel’s father passed away five years prior. It was a sanctuary of high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the snow-draped oak trees of the private estate grounds, and massive hearths constructed from imported Tuscan stone.
When Clara entered the suite Gabriel assigned to her, her jaw dropped.
The room was larger than the entire ground floor of her mother’s childhood house. A king-sized four-poster bed stood dressed in thick down comforters and Egyptian cotton sheets of deep forest green. A fire was already crackling in the fireplace, having been lit twenty minutes prior by an estate steward under Dante’s direct orders.
On a velvet settee near the hearth sat Lily.
The three-year-old girl was clad in an oversized cashmere sweater belonging to Gabriel’s late sister, her face smeared with chocolate from the ganache Dante had fed her. She was clutching a large plush bear with gold-stitched paws—a display piece taken from the main hall's grand display.
“Mama!” Lily squealed, sliding down from the settee and running across the thick oriental rugs.
Clara collapsed to her knees, catching the child in her arms. She buried her face in Lily’s soft hair, inhaling the clean, sweet scent of her daughter mixed with the fragrance of cocoa. Clara began to sob—quiet, breathless sobs of pure relief.
“Look, Mama! The big mister gave me a bear! His name is Barnaby!” Lily announced proudly, thrusting the toy into Clara’s face.
Gabriel stood in the doorway, watching them.
Dante stepped up beside him, speaking in a low murmur that did not carry into the bedroom. “Margaret is locked in the basement cellar. We searched her private quarters in the carriage house. We found three encrypted satellite phones and a safety deposit box key registered under an alias.”
“Who is the phone linked to?” Gabriel asked without taking his eyes off Clara and Lily.
“Victor Rossi’s primary logistics hub in Milwaukee,” Dante replied.
Gabriel’s fingers curled into fists inside his trouser pockets. “So Victor has been playing in my backyard while I was negotiating the port treaties. He wanted whatever Julian Bennett kept.”
“Does the girl know anything?” Dante asked, gesturing toward Clara.
“No,” Gabriel said. “She is clean. If she knew where Julian hid the records, Rossi’s people would have extracted it from her months ago. Margaret was keeping her weak, isolated, and accessible until Rossi gave the order to move her. Margaret didn't give Lily a Christmas present because she wanted Clara to feel entirely abandoned. She wanted her spirit broken so that when Rossi’s men showed up to 'rescue' her, she would walk right into their hands.”
Dante let out a low whistle through his teeth. “Cold-blooded.”
“Margaret made one fatal miscalculation,” Gabriel said, his voice flat and terrifying. “She forgot that every square foot of this estate belongs to me. She forgot that the people who sweep my floors are my responsibility.”
Gabriel stepped into the bedroom.
Clara stood up quickly, still holding Lily on her hip. She tried to smooth down the oversized dinner jacket she still wore. “Mr. Moretti... this is too much. We can’t sleep here. This is... this is a master bedroom.”
“It’s a guest room,” Gabriel corrected calmly. “And for the duration of this winter, it belongs to you and Lily.”
He walked over to the dresser, where a private estate doctor was waiting with a medical kit. Gabriel had summoned Dr. Morrison forty minutes ago.
“Dr. Morrison will treat your hands,” Gabriel told Clara. “He has an antibiotic salve and a medical dressing that will heal the skin within forty-eight hours. No more washing dishes. No more caustic detergents.”
Clara looked at him, her eyes wide, glistening with tears of bewilderment. “Why are you doing this for us? We’re nobody to you. I’m just a maid.”
Gabriel walked over to Lily, who was looking up at him with wide, fearless brown eyes. He reached out and tapped the little girl gently on the nose with his index finger.
“Because in this house, nobody gets forgotten on Christmas,” Gabriel said. “Especially not little girls who care more about their mothers’ hands than their own toys.”
He turned to Dante. “Call the boutique on Michigan Avenue. Have them open their private showroom. I want three wardrobes delivered here by sunrise: winter coats, boots, dresses, and thermal sets for Clara and Lily. And Dante?”
“Yes, boss?”
“Tell them to send fifty pairs of the finest shearling and cashmere gloves they have in stock.”
Lily clapped her hands together, letting out a delighted cheer. “Gloves for Mama!”
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Gabriel allowed a faint, rare smile to cross his lips. “Yes, little one. Gloves for Mama.”
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