Chapter 3 - THE DRIVE
(1,500 words)
The back of Luca Moretti’s armored SUV was silent.
I sat in the leather seat, holding my wrapped hand against my chest, staring out the tinted window as the rain began to slick the streets of downtown Chicago. Luca sat beside me. He hadn't spoken a word since we left the estate, but his presence filled the cabin like heavy smoke.
His driver, a broad-shouldered man named Marko, kept his eyes glued to the rearview mirror, driving with swift, silent precision.
Every time the vehicle hit a bump in the road, a sharp spike of pain shot up my forearm. I caught my lower lip between my teeth, refusing to make a sound. I had spent six months learning how to be invisible in Luca Moretti’s world. Nannies were supposed to be soft, efficient, and unseen. We weren't supposed to cause scenes that shattered multi-million-dollar syndicate alliances.
Luca’s hand suddenly moved. He reached out and cupped the back of my elbow, steadying my arm so the vibrations of the car didn't jostle my hand.
“Breathe, Emma,” he said softly.
I looked at him. His profile was sharp, carved from marble and shadow. A faint white scar ran from his temple down to his jawline—a remnant of the war that had made him the undisputed boss of the Midwest territory three years ago.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Luca turned his head, his dark eyebrows pulling together. “For what?”
“For... for the trouble,” I said, looking down at the bloody linen handkerchief. “Your engagement. Don Vittorio. I know how important that alliance is for your family.”
Luca let out a low, dark breath that sounded almost like a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “You think my alliance with Vittorio is more important than the safety of the woman who protects my son?”
“I’m just an employee, Mr. Moretti.”
“You are the only person in this city Matteo trusts,” Luca corrected smoothly, his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles against the sleeve of my sweater. “When his mother died two years ago, he didn't speak for four months. Do you remember what happened the first day you walked through my door?”
I remembered. Matteo had been sitting under the grand piano in the drawing room, clutching a plastic toy truck, refusing to eat or look at anyone. I hadn't forced him out. I had simply sat on the rug a few feet away, pulling a small wooden train from my bag, and waited. By sunset, he had crawled into my lap and fallen asleep.
“He spoke to you,” Luca said softly. “He called you 'Emma.' That was the first word he’d said since the funeral.”
Luca leaned back against his leather seat, his eyes darkening as he stared out at the rain. “Isabella thought she could come into my home, displace my son’s peace, and flex her father’s power under my roof. She mistook my patience for weakness.”
“She was angry because Matteo loves me,” I admitted softly, the truth finally spilling out now that we were away from the house. “She came into the kitchen after dinner last night. She told me I was trying to play mother. She said... she said I was taking something that belonged to her.”
Luca’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched near his ear. “She had no right to lay a hand on you.”
“I tried to pull the glass away from her so it wouldn't break,” I whispered, looking down at my lap. “I didn't want him to hear us fighting.”
Luca looked at me for a long, heavy moment. His dark eyes held a dangerous mixture of cold rage toward Isabella and something raw, deep, and terrifyingly gentle toward me.
“You protected my son’s peace over your own skin,” Luca said quietly. “Nobody in my life has ever done that, Emma. Nobody.”
The SUV pulled into the private underground bay of Northwestern Memorial Hospital. Marko jumped out to open the door, but Luca was already moving. He stepped out into the cool air, turned, and reached for me.
Before I could protest, he placed one arm behind my back, the other beneath my knees, and lifted me out of the vehicle as if I weighed nothing.
“Mr. Moretti!” I gasped, my cheeks burning as I instinctively wrapped my uninjured arm around his neck to steady myself. “I can walk!”
“You’re pale, you’ve lost blood, and you’re shaking,” Luca said flatly, carrying me past the automatic glass doors where a team of private doctors and nurses was already waiting in the hallway. “Save your energy.”
Dr. Marcus, a senior surgeon who clearly answered directly to the Moretti family, rushed forward with a wheelchair.
“Luca,” the doctor said, nodding crisply. “We have Trauma Bay 3 prepped.”
Luca set me down gently in the chair, his hand lingering on my shoulder for a second longer than necessary. “Get every piece of glass out of her hand, Marcus. If she has a scar, or if she loses mobility in a single finger, I will personally review your clinic’s funding.”
Dr. Marcus swallowed hard, bowing his head. “She will have the best care in the city, Don Moretti. I assure you.”
May you like
As they wheeled me down the polished white corridor, I looked back over my shoulder. Luca stood in the center of the bay, tall, imposing, and unyielding, watching me disappear into the room.
My heart did a strange, dangerous flutter in my chest. I wasn't just a nanny anymore. And whatever was waiting for us back at the estate... everything was about to change.
