Chapter 9 - The Funeral That Never Was
The following afternoon, the national news networks broadcasted breaking updates from Chicago.
“Breaking news this morning: Federal authorities have raided the downtown offices of Duca Holdings following an anonymous tip detailing massive financial fraud and racketeering. Several high-ranking associates have been taken into federal custody, while Elena Duca, sister of billionaire tycoon Lorenzo Duca, has abruptly fled the country for Europe amid mounting legal pressure...”
I turned off the television in the private sitting room on the third floor of the manor.
The sun was shining brightly through the window, warming the Persian rug where Emma was busy building a massive tower out of wooden blocks.
The storm had passed. The syndicate was reorganized, the traitors were gone, and the dark cloud that had hung over Duca Manor for a decade had finally been blown away by the wind.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Lorenzo walked in. He was wearing a casual grey sweater instead of his usual three-piece suit. The bandages on his shoulder were gone, replaced by a light medical wrap hidden beneath his sleeve.
"How is she?" he asked softly, nodding toward Emma.
"She’s building a castle," I smiled, walking over to pour him a cup of fresh coffee. "Though she tried to use my spare shoe as a drawbridge five minutes ago."
Lorenzo chuckled, walking over to the rug and kneeling down to help Emma place a final block on top of her leaning tower.
"Careful, princess," Lorenzo said, steadying the wood. "A good castle needs a strong foundation."
"Like your storm room!" Emma chirped proudly.
Lorenzo’s eyes flickered with amusement. He looked up at me, his expression turning serious.
"The federal investigation is winding down," Lorenzo said quietly. "My lawyers have scrubbed your old record clean. The abusive ex-husband who terrorized you four years ago was picked up by federal marshals this morning on unrelated weapons charges. He’s going away for a very long time."
I froze, the coffee cup halfway to my lips. "You... you cleared my record?"
"You saved my life, Evelyn," Lorenzo said, standing up and taking a step closer to me. "And you raised my daughter with more love and kindness than this house has ever seen in a hundred years. You are never running again. Unless... unless you want to."
I looked at him—the feared mafia boss who had brought an empire to its knees, the man who had knelt in the dirt of a gardening shed to let a three-year-old child bandage his wound.
May you like
"And if I stay?" I asked softly, a faint smile touching my lips.
"Then you'll never have to wear a maid's uniform again," Lorenzo said, his dark eyes softening into something warm, steady, and deeply sincere. "Unless it's for a very special occasion."
