Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary of the Study
By 9:00 PM, the estate was entirely quiet. Bianca and her luggage had vanished into the rainy Connecticut night, escorted down the long gravel driveway by two of Luca’s senior guards. Sophia Bell had fled even faster, disappearing in her own convertible before Bianca’s packing was half finished.
In the private study on the second floor, a low fire crackled in the marble hearth, casting dancing golden shadows across the mahogany bookshelves.
Emma sat in a plush leather armchair by the fire. Resting on the low coffee table in front of her was a first-aid kit, a warm mug of chamomile tea, and a tube of medicated salve.
Luca stood by the desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, watching her quietly. He had dismissed the rest of the household staff for the evening, choosing to tend to her himself.
"Hold your wrist out," Luca instructed, his tone uncharacteristically gentle.
Emma hesitated, then slowly extended her left arm. The rope burns looked worse in the firelight—raw, angry red welled across her delicate skin.
Luca uncapped the medicated salve, squeezed a cool dollop onto his thumb, and began smoothing it over her bruised flesh with agonizing care. His large, calloused hands—hands that had signed death warrants and brokered multi-million-dollar syndicates—moved with the delicate precision of a surgeon.
Emma bit her lower lip, wincing slightly as the ointment hit the broken skin.
"I’m sorry," Luca muttered, his eyes fixed on her wrist. "In my house, under my roof, you should have been safe. I brought toxicity right to your doorstep by bringing her here."
"You didn't know, Mr. Moretti," Emma said softly, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire.
"Call me Luca," he murmured, looking up from her wrist to meet her gaze. The dark intensity in his eyes made her breath catch. "After everything that happened tonight, 'Mr. Moretti' feels absurd."
Emma looked away, staring into the flames. "I should probably pack my things, too. After what happened with Miss Romano... I don't think I can stay here. The gossip among the staff will be unbearable, and your world is... it’s too dangerous."
Luca stopped moving his hands. He didn't let go of her wrist.
"You are not going anywhere," he said, his voice dropping into that quiet, immovable register. "Unless, of course, you genuinely want to leave. But if you leave because you think you don't belong here, you’re wrong."
"I’m a maid, Luca," she reminded him with a faint, bitter smile. "She was a society heiress."
"She was a traitor," Luca corrected instantly, his jaw tightening. "And you are the only person in this entire estate who had the courage to protect my interests while keeping your dignity intact. I don't care about society heiresses, Emma. I care about loyalty. And you’ve shown more loyalty to me in two years than she showed in two minutes."
Emma’s heart hammered against her ribs. She looked at him—really looked at him—not as the terrifying mafia boss the underworld whispered about, but as a man who had just been betrayed, standing in the ruins of his own life, trying to make things right.
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"What happens now with Marcus Vance?" she asked quietly, changing the subject to safer ground.
Luca’s expression darkened into something lethal. "Now, we play his game. He thinks he’s getting the Bennett acquisition files tomorrow night. Let’s see how he likes receiving a trap instead."
