Chapter 7 - Ice on My Wrist, Fire in His Eyes
The library fell into a deep, heavy silence after Daniel left to coordinate with the security perimeter.
Only the crackle of the fireplace and the soft patter of rain outside filled the room.
Luca didn't leave. He walked over to the side table, picked up a fresh bowl of ice, clean linen wraps, and a jar of soothing herbal salve that Dr. Harris had left behind.
"Sit, Claire," he said gently, nodding toward the leather armchair by the fire.
"Mr. Moretti, you don't need to do that," I said, backing up a step. "I can ask Mrs. Carter to help me with the bandage."
"Mrs. Carter is resting after the lockdown," Luca replied smoothly, pulling a small stool up in front of the chair. "And I want to do it myself. Sit."
Reluctantly, I sank into the plush leather chair.
Luca knelt on the floor directly in front of me. The most feared man in Chicago—a man who had just gunned down assassins without blinking an eye—gently took my right hand into his large, warm palms.
His touch was impossibly tender. He carefully unwrapped the old, soiled bandage, exposing my swollen, purplish wrist. A sharp gasp escaped my lips.
"Did that hurt?" he asked instantly, freezing in place, his dark eyes looking up into mine with deep concern.
"Just a little," I whispered.
He dipped his fingers into the herbal salve, gently smoothing the cool, fragrant ointment over my bruised skin. His thumbs moved in slow, deliberate circles, carefully avoiding the tender joint while soothing the fiery ache in my muscles.
A warm shiver traveled up my arm and settled deep in my chest. I stared down at his bowed head, at the thick dark hair curling slightly at the nape of his neck, at the powerful shoulders that carried the weight of an entire empire.
"You shouldn't have to bow before a housekeeper, Mr. Moretti," I said softly.
Luca stopped his movements. He looked up, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat.
"You are not just a housekeeper, Claire. Not to me. Not anymore."
"I don't belong in your world," I said, my voice trembling. "I don't know the rules of your syndicates, the galas, the politics... I'm just a girl from South Chicago trying to keep a roof over my sick mother's head."
Luca leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a low, husky whisper that vibrated against my skin. "My world is full of snakes, liars, and traitors dressed in ten-thousand-dollar silk suits. Vanessa smiled at me for six months while sharpening a knife for my back."
He gently wrapped a fresh, clean linen bandage around my wrist, securing it with precision.
"You had nothing to gain tonight," Luca continued, holding my wrapped hand against his broad chest, right over his beating heart. "You had every reason to stay quiet, to protect yourself, to let Vanessa take that key. But you bled for the truth. You shielded my daughter with your own body."
His thumb brushed lightly across my cheek, wiping away a stray speck of soot from the battle.
"That makes you worth more than every billionaire, politician, and mafia boss in this city combined," Luca whispered.
My heart was racing so fast I thought it would burst through my ribs. The air between us was electric, thick with an unspoken longing that had been building between us for eleven months in the quiet hallways of his home.
"Luca..." His name slipped from my lips before I could stop myself.
May you like
A dark, possessive smile touched his lips at the sound of his first name.
"Tomorrow night, Claire," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips before rising back to my eyes. "The entire city will see who truly stands beside me."
