Chapter 8 - A New Normal at the Estate
The sun rose over the Moretti estate, turning the fresh blanket of snow into a blinding sheet of diamonds. Inside the grand mansion, however, the heavy, paranoid atmosphere of the previous night had completely dissolved, replaced by something that felt dangerously close to domestic peace.
Sophia stood in the massive, sunlit kitchen, pouring fresh coffee into a porcelain mug, still trying to process the events of the last twenty-four hours. Russo was gone. His entire empire had folded overnight, absorbed seamlessly into the Moretti syndicate without a single shot fired after the raid in Cicero.
And she and Emma were not only safe—they had been given an entire private suite on the second floor, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rear gardens.
“More milk, please!” Emma chirped happily, banging her spoon against her cereal bowl.
Sitting right beside her toddler chair, keeping patient, vigilant watch, was Bruno. The massive Cane Corso rested his giant black chin on the edge of the kitchen table, occasionally letting Emma pat his wet nose with a sticky toddler hand.
Marco, the head chef, walked past and dropped a small plate of fresh blueberry pancakes in front of Emma, muttering under his breath in Italian, though a warm grin broke through his stern facial hair.
“Even the Boss doesn't get fresh blueberries in February,” Marco grumbled playfully. “You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger, kid.”
Before Emma could reply, the kitchen doors swung open, and Alessandro Moretti walked in.
He had changed out of his blood-stained overcoat into a crisp charcoal suit, his dark hair neatly combed, though a few strands fell carelessly across his forehead. He looked tired—the dark circles under his eyes hinted at a night without sleep—but his posture radiated absolute authority.
The kitchen staff immediately lowered their heads in respect. Emma, however, did no such thing.
“Puppy ate my pancake crust!” Emma announced accusingly, pointing a sticky finger at Bruno.
Bruno let out a soft huff and blinked his amber eyes innocently.
Alessandro couldn't help it. A genuine, soft smile broke across his face—a rare, unguarded expression that completely transformed his harsh features into something remarkably handsome.
He walked over to the table, pulling out a chair directly across from Emma, and sat down. Sophia’s heart skipped a beat as she watched the most feared man in Chicago pick up a cloth napkin and gently wipe a smudge of blueberry jam off Emma’s chin.
“He didn't eat your crust, little one,” Alessandro said softly, his voice devoid of its usual chilling edge. “He was inspecting it for quality assurance.”
Emma giggled, tilting her head. “Are you a king?”
Alessandro paused, his dark eyes flickering up to meet Sophia’s nervous gaze across the table. He looked back at Emma and gave a slow, thoughtful nod.
“Something like that,” Alessandro murmured. “Though I think your dog is the real ruler of this castle.”
Sophia stepped forward, holding a fresh cup of black coffee. “Mr. Moretti... thank you. For last night. For keeping us safe.”
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Alessandro looked up at her, taking the mug from her hands. Their fingers brushed briefly, sending a sudden, electric shock of awareness shooting up Sophia’s arm. She quickly pulled her hand back, her cheeks flushing warm.
“You don't need to thank me, Sophia,” Alessandro said quietly, his eyes holding hers with an intense, lingering depth. “You and Emma belong here now. This house was built for ghosts and killers. It’s about time it had a little life.”
