Emma left the sitting room.
The hallway was dark except for a single light at the far end.
Luca’s office.
She walked toward it without deciding to.
The door was cracked open. Inside, Luca sat at his desk, phone pressed to his ear, speaking rapid Italian to someone who kept saying “sì, capo.”
He glanced up.
Saw her.
Held up one finger.
Emma waited.
When he hung up, she stepped inside.
“Marco’s handling it personally,” Luca said. “Your sister will have protection until the debt is cleared. No one will touch her.”
“How much do I owe you?”
Luca’s expression went dangerously flat. “Emma.”
“I’m serious. I won’t let you—”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It is now.”
Emma’s hands shook. “Why?”
Luca stood. Rounded the desk. Stopped close enough that Emma could see the exhaustion in his eyes.
“Because when Camille insulted you, I wanted to break her wrist.”
The confession hung between them like a live wire.
“That’s not a good reason,” Emma whispered.
“I know.”
“That’s not—”
“I know.”
Emma should have left. Should have walked away. Should have remembered that Luca Moretti was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with guns or power or family legacy.
Instead, she stayed exactly where she was.
“Your grandmother thinks we’re real.”
“Yes.”
“She’s going to expect us to act like it.”
“Yes.”
“Dinners. Events. Family gatherings.”
“All of it.”
Emma’s pulse was a drumbeat in her throat. “And when it ends?”
Luca’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes.
“When what ends?”
The question was a trap and a promise and a dare.
Emma didn’t answer.
She left before she could do something reckless.
But as she walked back to her small room on the third floor, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d already done something far more dangerous than lying to Teresa Moretti.
She’d started telling the truth.
The next morning, Emma woke to find an envelope slipped under her door.
Inside was a single piece of paper.
Dinner tonight. Formal. Family friends. Teresa expects us both.
Beneath that, in Luca’s precise handwriting:
Wear something that makes Camille regret every word she said.
Emma stared at the note for a full minute.
Then she smiled.
If Luca Moretti wanted a performance, she’d give him one he’d never forget.
The dress arrived at noon.
