Chapter 9 - The House of Duca
One week later.
The morning sun filtered through the grand floor-to-ceiling windows of the estate’s breakfast parlor, illuminating the polished parquet floors and the scent of fresh white roses that had replaced the heavy perfume of Vivien’s presence.
The papers on the table told the whole story.
*VANCE HEIRESS CHARGED IN DUCA POISONING.*
*MORETTI SYNDICATE CRUMBLES UNDER FEDERAL INDICTMENTS.*
*NEW YORK ELITE SHOCKED BY HOUSE OF DUCA SCANDAL.*
Vivien’s father had been arrested in Vermont. Julian Vance was facing life without parole. The Morettis had abandoned their claims to the northern ports, fleeing to their enclaves in Florida to avoid total annihilation.
The war was over. The house was clean.
I sat at the head of the table, wearing a simple linen shirt and trousers, reading the reports with a sense of peace that had eluded me for four months.
The kitchen doors swung open.
Elena walked in carrying a silver tray with fresh coffee, warm croissants, and seasonal fruit. She was dressed in an elegant cream-colored dress—not a maid’s uniform, but the attire of the house’s new estate manager.
"Good morning, Lorenzo," she said with a warm, genuine smile.
"Good morning, Elena. How are the new staff members settling in?"
"Very well," she answered, setting down the porcelain cup. "They’re respectful, hardworking, and most importantly, they know this house is a sanctuary."
Behind her, the patter of tiny footsteps hurried across the marble corridor.
Mia burst into the room, holding a drawing of a large stone house with three stick figures standing in front of it: a tall man in a suit, a woman holding a bowl, and a little girl with a red skirt.
"Uncle Lorenzo! Look!"
She scrambled up onto the chair beside me, proudly sliding the paper onto the table over the headlines of the morning news.
I picked up the drawing, studying the crude, colorful lines. In the top corner, Mia had drawn a smiling sun with yellow rays reaching down to touch the roof of the mansion.
"Who is this?" I asked, pointing to the figures.
"That’s Mommy," Mia beamed, pointing a small finger. "That’s me. And that’s you, protecting the castle."
A lump formed in my throat—something that hadn't happened since the day my mother passed away. I looked at Elena, whose eyes were soft with gratitude and quiet understanding.
I had spent my entire life believing that strength came from fear, from violence, and from strategic alliances built on cold ledgers and ruthless bloodlines. I had almost married a monster because she looked the part of a queen.
Yet in the end, it was a mother’s quiet endurance and a child’s fearless trust that had saved my life and avenged my family.
I set the drawing down on my desk, folding my hands over Mia’s small fingers.
"You’re right, Mia," I said, smiling down at her as the sunlight filled every corner of the room. "The castle is safe now. And as long as I’m standing, no one will ever frighten you again."
May you like
Mia smiled, grabbed a croissant from the tray, and leaned happily against my side. For the first time in four long months, the great house of Duca was no longer a fortress under siege.
It was, finally, a home.
