Chapter 7 - A Mother’s Debt and a Boss’s Vow
The third-floor guest suite was larger than my entire apartment in Bridgeport.
The bed was draped in Egyptian cotton sheets, a fire burned quietly in the small corner hearth, and large floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the estate gardens and the distant Chicago skyline.
Bruno trotted into the room ahead of me, circled three times on the plush Persian rug at the foot of the bed, and collapsed with a loud, satisfied groan.
For the first time in eleven months, I didn't set an alarm for 5:00 AM.
I took a warm, careful shower, avoiding the butterfly bandages across my back, and slipped into the soft silk pajamas Mrs. Carter had laid out on the dresser. When I climbed into the massive bed, Bruno lifted his head, rested his chin on the edge of the mattress, and let out a soft whine until I reached down to let him rest his paw in my hand.
I fell into the deepest, most peaceful sleep I had known in years.
I was awakened at 8:30 the next morning by a gentle knock on the door.
"Come in," I called out, sitting up.
Mrs. Carter entered pushing a silver room-service cart laden with fresh fruit, croissants, scrambled eggs, and a pot of steaming Earl Grey tea. Beside the tray was a large, elegant white box tied with a gold satin ribbon.
"Good morning, Miss Emma," Mrs. Carter said with a warm, genuine smile.
"Mrs. Carter, please, you don't have to call me 'Miss,'" I said, flushing with embarrassment. "And you shouldn't be serving me."
"Orders from Mr. Moretti," Mrs. Carter said, setting the tray on the bedside table. "And believe me, dear, after what you did for that poor dog yesterday, everyone on the staff would gladly carry your breakfast on gold plates."
She gestured to the white box. "This arrived from the city an hour ago. Mr. Moretti requested that you dress and join him in the courtyard at ten."
After Mrs. Carter left, I opened the box.
Inside was a stunning, bespoke day dress made of emerald-green cashmere, paired with a tailored black wool coat and Italian leather boots. There was no price tag, but the silk designer label inside was from one of the most exclusive boutiques on Michigan Avenue.
At precisely ten o'clock, dressed in the green cashmere that fit me as if it had been custom-tailored for my frame, I walked down the grand marble staircase.
Luca was waiting in the foyer. He wore a charcoal-grey three-piece suit and a black cashmere overcoat. When he saw me descending the stairs, his eyes widened slightly, a flicker of raw admiration crossing his features before his expression settled back into its usual composed authority.
"You look beautiful, Emma," Luca said softly.
"The dress is incredible, Luca," I said, feeling my cheeks flush. "You really didn't have to buy all of this."
"I wanted to," he said simply, offering me his arm. "Come. We have a visit to make."
A private black sedan took us directly to Northwestern Memorial Hospital.
We bypassed the main lobby entirely, taking a private service elevator directly to the VIP penthouse wing on the fourteenth floor. Two armed guards in dark suits stood outside Room 1402. When they saw Luca, they immediately stood at attention and opened the door.
"Mom?" I gasped, stepping into the room.
My mother, Clara, was sitting up in a luxurious adjustable bed by a panoramic window overlooking Lake Michigan. The pale, exhausted look that had haunted her for months was gone. Her cheeks had color, her oxygen tubes had been removed, and she was sipping fresh orange juice while a private physical therapist checked her charts.
"Emma!" my mother cried, her eyes filling with tears as she opened her arms.
I rushed to the bed and embraced her, burying my face in her shoulder. "Mom, how are you feeling? Are you in any pain?"
"I feel like a new woman, sweetheart," my mother said, kissing my temple. "The doctors here... they did three advanced scans this morning. They said the blockage cleared completely with the new medication. They told me everything has been taken care of for the next year."
She looked past me, her eyes widening as she saw Luca standing quietly near the doorway, holding his coat over his arm.
"You must be Mr. Moretti," Clara said, her voice trembling with emotion. "Emma has spoken of how hard you work... but I never imagined..."
Luca stepped forward, extending a warm hand. "It's an honor to meet you, Mrs. Collins. And please, call me Luca."
"Luca... I don't know how our family can ever repay what you've done for us," my mother whispered, clutching his hand with both of hers. "The hospital administrator told me what you paid..."
Luca looked at my mother with deep respect. "Your daughter protected my family yesterday at great personal cost, Mrs. Collins. In the Moretti family, debts of loyalty are sacred. You and Emma will never have to worry about a medical bill, a rent payment, or your safety ever again. That is my personal vow to you."
Tears rolled down my mother's cheeks.
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I looked at Luca, my heart swelling with a feeling so powerful, so terrifyingly intense, that I had to look away before he saw the truth written across my face.
I was falling in love with the most dangerous man in Chicago.
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