Chapter 9 - The Question Luca Did Not Ask

Luca did not ask Emma to come home.

That surprised her.

He arranged a doctor.

A lawyer she chose.

A new phone.

Access to every account that had been frozen.

Then he left the decisions to her.

Three days passed.

Emma remained at Bellacorte.

Not because she trusted the resort.

Because she was tired of running.

On the fourth morning, Luca arrived alone.

No Dante.

No guards in the room.

He stopped beside the same towel cart where he had found her.

The staff had left it there by accident.

Or maybe not.

Emma looked at it.

“So dramatic.”

A faint smile touched his mouth.

“I own hotels. We specialize in staging.”

She almost laughed.

Almost.

Then the silence returned.

Luca looked at her stomach.

“How is he?”

“Fine.”

“And you?”

“Still deciding.”

He nodded.

That was all.

Emma studied him.

“You’re not going to ask?”

“Ask what?”

“If I’m coming back.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you spent eight months having choices taken from you.”

His answer hurt more than an apology.

She looked away.

Luca continued.

“I should have protected our communication better.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I should have known Carlo still had access.”

“You trusted someone your father trusted.”

“And you paid for it.”

Emma folded her arms.

“So did you.”

He met her eyes.

That was the first time she allowed herself to see his grief.

Not the Mafia boss.

Not the man whose name changed rooms.

Her husband.

A man who had buried a child who was never dead.

“I hated you,” she admitted.

“I know.”

“I still might.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know if that goes away.”

“I know.”

She exhaled.

“That’s irritating.”

“I’ve been told.”

The baby moved.

Emma placed her hand over the kick.

Luca watched.

Then looked away.

He still had not touched her stomach.

Not once.

She noticed.

“Do you want to?”

He went still.

“Only if you do.”

Emma took his hand.

Placed it over their son.

The baby kicked immediately.

Luca’s face changed.

Completely.

No control.

No calculation.

Just shock.

Then something dangerously close to tears.

“He’s strong.”

“He’s angry.”

“Why?”

“He’s a Moretti.”

This time she did laugh.

Quietly.

Luca kept his hand there.

Then Emma asked the question she had avoided.

“What happens to Belini?”

“Fraud, identity theft, and conspiracy charges are being reviewed.”

“And Carlo?”

“Worse.”

“Vincent Vescari?”

“His finances are under investigation.”

She nodded.

The machinery had begun.

For once, she did not care about it.

“Luca.”

“Yes?”

“I’m not moving back yet.”

He nodded.

“I know.”

“But you can come to the next appointment.”

He looked at her.

The answer took him a second.

“I’d like that.”

Emma looked down at his hand.

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Still resting over their son.

For the first time in eight months, the future did not feel like something another person had already decided for her.