Chapter 6 - Sunday Dinner at the Estate
Six months later, the dining room at the Moretti mansion smelled of roasting garlic, fresh basil, and Teresa’s legendary apple cobbler.
The crystal chandeliers sparkled in the autumn sunlight streaming through the tall French doors. There were no thirty-six fake socialites tonight. There were no nervous investors, no corrupt politicians, and no scheming fiancées.
There was only family.
At the head of the table sat Teresa Moretti, looking radiant in a cream silk blouse, laughing as twelve-year-old Mia excitedly described her first week at her new private academy.
At the other end sat Luca, his dark suit replaced by a simple charcoal sweater, pouring red wine into crystal glasses.
And seated to his left—not standing behind him, not serving the meal, but seated right beside him as an equal—was Hannah Collins.
"Pass the potatoes, please, Hannah," Luca said, his shoulder brushing softly against hers as he reached across the table.
Hannah smiled, handing him the heavy silver bowl. Her hand no longer shook when she touched him. Over the past half-year, she had watched the terrifying mafia boss transform into a guardian who spent his evenings helping Mia with her algebra homework and walking arm-in-arm with Teresa through the estate's rose gardens.
The front page of the Chicago Tribune had long since stopped running headlines about the Moretti family collapse. Michael was currently awaiting trial in a federal penitentiary in Indiana, and Vanessa Bellini had fled to Florida, her social standing completely obliterated.
The storm had passed. What remained was something solid, enduring, and real.
"You know," Teresa said, raising her wine glass and tapping it lightly with a silver spoon to catch everyone's attention. The table immediately quieted. "I was thinking this morning about a certain pale-blue blanket."
Hannah blushed slightly, looking down at her plate.
Luca chuckled, resting his arm casually over the back of Hannah’s chair. "Mom, please. Don't traumatize her with that story again."
"I'm not traumatizing her, I'm celebrating her," Teresa corrected with a warm, mischievous smile. She looked directly at Hannah. "If you hadn't risked your job that night—if you hadn't stood up to that arrogant girl in the red dress—my son would still be blind, my granddaughter would still be in a cage, and this house would still be a tomb."
Teresa raised her glass higher. "To Hannah Collins. The bravest woman in Chicago. You didn't just keep an old woman warm. You saved the soul of this house."
Mia raised her glass of sparkling cider. "To Hannah!"
Luca didn't raise his glass immediately. Instead, he turned his head, looking down at Hannah with an expression so intense, so deeply tender, that it made the rest of the room fade into total insignificance.
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"She didn't just save the house," Luca whispered so only she could hear, lifting his glass to touch hers with a soft, resonant clink. "She taught its master how to live."
Hannah smiled back, her heart full, knowing she had finally found a place where she would never, ever be cold again.
