Chapter 5 - The War of the Morettis
The dawn that broke over the Moretti estate was not gray; it was a brilliant, pale gold that washed the wet gravel of the driveways and turned the rain-soaked gardens into a field of yellow glass. The storm had passed, leaving the air clean, cold, and tasting of salt from the nearby bay.
I stood on the stone terrace of the morning room, my arms wrapped around my chest against the chill of the morning wind. Below, in the courtyard, three black SUVs were parked in a neat line, their engines idling with a low, vibrating hum that sounded like a sleeping beast.
I watched as Senator Cole and Vanessa were led down the steps by Alessandro’s security team.
Vanessa was no longer wearing the white silk gown. She had been given a plain, gray wool coat from the house’s winter storage, her hair uncombed and wild about her shoulders, her face pale and empty of the cosmetics that had made her a queen the night before. She looked small. Without the light of the chandeliers and the applause of the state senate, she was nothing more than a desperate woman who had played a high-stakes game and lost everything on the word of a child.
"They won't come back," a voice said behind me.
Alessandro stood in the doorway of the terrace. He had changed into a dark blue wool sweater, his hair damp from the shower, his face clean-shaven and younger than I had ever seen it. He carried two mugs of black coffee, the steam rising in thin, straight lines in the cold morning air.
He handed one to me. His fingers brushed mine, and for the first time, I did not pull my hand away.
"Where will they go?" I asked, looking down at the SUVs as they began to move slowly down the long, winding driveway toward the main gates.
"The Senator is going to a private clinic in upstate New York," Alessandro said. "His health has been 'failing' for some time. He will announce his retirement from the Senate by the end of the week. Vanessa is moving to a small village in Switzerland. Her allowance will be managed by my firm. It is enough for a quiet life, provided she does not attempt to buy any more silicone."
He leaned his elbows against the stone balustrade, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun was climbing out of the sea.
"And us?" I asked, the coffee warm between my palms. "Do we have to leave?"
Alessandro turned to look at me, his winter-frost eyes catching the gold of the morning light.
"My father’s house has been full of ghosts for thirty years, Clara," he said. "It has been full of men who wanted to buy me, women who wanted to use me, and allies who were only waiting for me to turn my back. Last night, your daughter was the only person in that room who spoke the truth because she had nothing to gain from a lie."
He stepped closer, his shadow warm and steady against the cold wind.
"I don't want you to clean my rooms anymore, Clara," he said, his voice quiet, devoid of the authority of the syndicate, carrying only the simple, direct weight of a man who had made his decision. "I want you to help me run them. The Cole assets are yours. The house in the hills is yours. And if you will allow it, my name is yours to protect."
I looked back through the open glass doors of the morning room.
Emma was awake, sitting on the green leather sofa with a plate of lavender-honey shortbread in her lap, her small fingers sticky with sugar as she watched a yellow butterfly flit across the pane of the window. She looked healthy. She looked safe.
"She will need a good school," I said, the corners of my mouth lifting into the first real smile I had shared with anyone since Daniel died.
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"The best," Alessandro said, his hand settling over mine on the cold stone of the wall. "And she will never have to keep a secret again."
The black SUVs disappeared through the iron gates of the estate, their tires crunching over the wet gravel until the sound was swallowed by the roar of the sea below. The war was over, the ledger was balanced, and for the first time in three years, the air in the Moretti mansion was clean enough to breathe.
