The first time Luca Moretti saw me feeding his son with one hand, I prayed he wouldn’t notice the other.

(1,500 words)

By nightfall, the Moretti estate was completely transformed.

The tension that had hung over the halls for the six months of Isabella’s presence was gone, replaced by a quiet, efficient calm. The security team at the front gates had been doubled, extra guards posted along the perimeter walls, but inside the mansion, the air felt lighter.

In the nursery, the warm glow of a nightlight threw soft shadows across the blue walls.

I sat in the oversized rocking chair beside Matteo’s bed, my bandaged hand resting comfortably on a soft pillow in my lap. I was reading from a book of classic fairy tales, my voice low and rhythmic.

Matteo lay under his heavy dinosaur duvet, his small thumb tucked into his mouth, his eyelashes fluttering as sleep slowly pulled him under.

“Miss Emma?” he mumbled softly, interrupting the story.

“Yes, Captain?” I smiled.

“Is the mean lady gone?”

I paused, smoothing a lock of dark hair from his forehead with my uninjured hand. “Yes, sweetie. She went back to her house.”

“Good,” he whispered, his small shoulders relaxing deeper into the mattress. “I don't like her dress. It smelled like sharp perfume.”

“She’s gone,” I reassured him. “You don't have to worry.”

“Will you stay?” he asked, his dark eyes—so much like his father’s—looking up at me with absolute trust.

“I’m right here,” I promised softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Within five minutes, his breathing evened out into the deep, quiet rhythm of sleep.

I stayed in the chair for a few minutes longer, enjoying the peace of the room, before slowly standing up. I tucked the blanket around his shoulders, turned down the lamp, and slipped quietly out into the hallway, closing the door until only a sliver of light remained.

As I turned around, I nearly walked straight into a wall of dark charcoal wool.

I gasped softly, taking a quick step back.

Luca was standing in the dim hallway, his jacket gone, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was holding two crystal glasses and a bottle of dark, aged scotch.

“I didn't mean to startle you,” he said softly, his voice low enough not to carry into the nursery.

“It’s okay,” I breathed, clutching my bandaged hand against my stomach. “He’s fast asleep.”

Luca looked down at the door, a soft, rare expression of tenderness touching his dark eyes before he looked back at me. “How is your hand?”

“It’s fine,” I said. “The medicine Dr. Marcus gave me is working really well. I barely feel the throbbing anymore.”

Luca nodded slowly. He gestured down the hallway toward his private study—a room I had only ever entered twice in six months to drop off Matteo’s artwork.

“Walk with me for a minute, Emma,” he said.

It wasn't an order, but it wasn't really an invitation either. I followed him down the carpeted corridor into his study.

The room was massive, lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves, a large stone fireplace crackling with a warm fire, and a heavy leather sofa facing a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the city skyline.

Luca set the scotch bottle down on the side table, poured a finger of liquor into one glass, and set it down. He didn't offer me any—he knew I didn't drink—but instead brought over a mug of warm herbal tea that the kitchen staff must have prepped earlier.

He handed the mug to me, his fingers brushing against mine as I took it.

“Sit,” he said gently, gesturing to the leather sofa.

I sat on the edge of the cushions, holding the warm mug between my uninjured fingers and my wrapped palm. Luca pulled up the heavy armchair opposite me, sitting down and taking a slow sip of his scotch.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound in the room was the quiet pop and crackle of the wood in the fireplace.

“Vittorio closed the eastern shipping lanes an hour ago,” Luca said quietly, breaking the silence.

My stomach dropped. “Luca... I told you—”

“I didn't tell you that to make you feel guilty, Emma,” he interrupted smoothly, his gaze steady on my face. “I told you that because I want you to understand the reality of what just happened.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, bringing his face closer to mine in the firelight.

“Vittorio thinks he can squeeze me financially until I crawl back to his daughter,” Luca said, his eyes burning with a dangerous, brilliant intellect. “He forgets that I built my logistics network before I ever signed an agreement with him. By tomorrow morning, my crews will have rerouted sixty percent of our cargo through the northern rail lines.”

I stared at him, marveling at the ruthless efficiency of his mind. While I was worrying about my job, he had already neutralized a syndicate blockade in six hours.

“Why did you really bring me in here, Mr. Moretti?” I asked softly.

Luca set his glass down on the table. He looked at my bandaged hand, then up into my eyes.

“Because six months ago, I hired a nanny to look after my son,” Luca said, his voice dropping an octave, rich, warm, and dangerous. “And somewhere along the way, I stopped looking at you as an employee.”

My heart did a violent, terrifying leap against my ribs. The mug of tea trembled in my hand.

“Luca...” I whispered, using his first name for the second time ever.

“I saw the way she looked at you at breakfast, Emma,” Luca continued, his voice steady, unhurried, and absolute. “And I saw the way you tried to protect my son from seeing the blood. You have more courage in your small finger than all the bosses in this city combined.”

He reached out, his large, warm hand covering mine where it rested on my knee.

“I am a dangerous man, Emma,” he said softly, his dark eyes holding mine captive. “My world is violent, loud, and unforgiving. But under this roof, you and Matteo are untouchable. Do you understand me?”

I swallowed hard, looking down at his hand over mine. The heat of his touch seeped through my skin, chasing away every remnant of the fear that had haunted me since last night.

“I understand,” I whispered.