Chapter 11 - THE RETURN TO THE MANSION
The Moretti estate looked entirely different when I arrived the following Saturday.
The last time I was here, it was raining, the gates had been smashed by mercenaries, and the air smelled of gunpowder and fear.
Tonight, the iron gates were pristine. The driveway was lined with soft, glowing lanterns. The mansion looked warm, inviting, like a true home.
Gabriel opened my door. I was wearing a simple navy blue dress. I touched the silver caduceus necklace resting against my collarbone for luck.
“You look nice, Hannah,” Gabriel said gruffly.
“Thank you, Gabriel. You look... exactly the same.”
Gabriel grunted, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch upward.
Vincent was waiting for me in the grand foyer. When he saw me, he stopped mid-sentence in whatever he was saying to his mother. His eyes swept over me, and a slow, warm appreciation settled on his face.
“Welcome back,” he said softly, offering me his arm.
I took it. His presence was a solid, grounding force.
We walked into the formal dining room. Eleanor was seated at the head of the table, looking vibrant and healthy in a burgundy dress. She stood up when I entered and pulled me into a tight, maternal hug.
“My brave girl,” Eleanor whispered in my ear.
Isabella was there, too. She looked different. The haughty, arrogant heiress was gone. Her hair was softer, her makeup natural. She looked tired, but peaceful.
She walked up to me and took both of my hands.
“I owe you my life, Hannah,” Isabella said, her voice shaking slightly. “I owe you my mother’s life, and my brother’s. I am so sorry for how I treated you.”
“You were terrified, Isabella,” I said gently. “You were trying to protect your family the only way you knew how. It’s over now.”
Isabella squeezed my hands, a tear slipping down her cheek, before stepping back.
Then, a small missile of energy crashed into my legs.
“Hannah!”
I looked down. Leo was hugging my knees, wearing a tiny suit and a massive grin.
I knelt down and hugged him back tightly. He smelled like soap and little-boy energy. “Look at you! You look so handsome!”
“Dad said you’re staying for dessert,” Leo announced proudly. “We have chocolate cake.”
“I wouldn't miss it for the world,” I promised him.
Dinner was beautiful. There was no talk of rival families, or doctors, or poison. They talked about Leo’s soccer games, about Eleanor’s rose garden, about Isabella’s plans to start an art therapy program at the clinic where she had recovered.
For the first time in her life, the Moretti family was free.
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After dinner, while Leo was showing his grandmother a painting he made, Vincent touched my arm.
“Walk with me,” he said.
