Chapter 5 - The Aftermath
Within ten minutes, the music room was empty of everyone except Luca, Isabella, and Naomi.
Marcus had carried Vivian kicking and screaming down the grand staircase, her designer heels clicking frantically against the marble until the heavy front doors slammed shut behind her. The security guards had quietly retreated, leaving the family alone in the heavy, echoing silence.
Isabella was resting on a velvet settee near the window, sipping warm tea from a delicate porcelain cup that Naomi had prepared. The red mark on her cheek still glowed faintly, but the profound terror in her eyes had been replaced by a quiet, exhausted peace.
Luca stood by the grand piano, staring down at the scattered pages of the Declaration of Medical Incapacity. He picked up a sheet, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle twitched in his cheek. He ripped the legal document in half, then quarters, dropping the shredded paper into a silver wastebasket.
He turned his dark, intense gaze toward Naomi.
Naomi was kneeling on the floor near the piano, using a damp cloth to scrub the black ink stain off the Persian rug before it set permanently into the fibers. Her service uniform was still torn at the shoulder, exposing a narrow strip of smooth, pale skin.
“Stop cleaning,” Luca said.
Naomi paused, looking up over her shoulder. “Mr. Moretti? The ink will ruin the rug if I don't treat it now—”
“I said, stop cleaning,” Luca repeated, his voice leaving no room for argument. He walked over, stepped right over the ink stain, and stood directly above her. He shrugged off his heavy dark overcoat and, before Naomi could protest, draped it gently over her shoulders.
The coat was immense, warm, and heavily scented with expensive cedarwood and his clean, masculine cologne. It completely swallowed her frame, hiding the torn fabric of her uniform.
“You saved my mother’s life today,” Luca said, looking down at her with an expression that was terrifyingly intense. “Again.”
“I just did my job,” Naomi murmured, looking down at her hands, suddenly hyper-aware of the heat radiating from his chest just inches away.
“Your job was to dust the library and manage the kitchen staff,” Luca corrected softly, dropping to one knee so he was eye-level with her. His dark eyes searched her face, lingering for a fraction of a second on the curve of her cheek. “Instead, you learned her secret language. You protected her dignity when my own security detail failed. And you stood up to a woman backed by millions of dollars without blinking.”
May you like
Naomi’s breath hitched. She had spent five months watching Luca Moretti from the periphery—a dangerous, untouchable ghost who walked through the mansion like an executioner. She had never seen him look at anyone the way he was looking at her right now.
It wasn't gratitude. It was possession.
