Chapter 10 - The Mistress of Moretti
Luca went very still.
The night wind lifted the hem of her silk gown, brushing the fabric against his trousers. The distance between them seemed to dissolve into nothingness.
"Emma," he said, his voice low and警告-filled, "do you understand what you are saying? My life is violence. It is war. It is constant vigilance against people who smile while holding daggers behind their backs."
"I know," she answered, stepping closer until her chest was pressed against his, her grey eyes flashing with absolute certainty. "I lived in that war for three years, Luca. I fought it from the pantry while you were fighting it from the boardroom. I didn't back down when Sophia had the whip, and I won't back down now."
She reached up, her fingers sliding through the dark, thick hair at the nape of his neck.
"You don't need another decorative socialite who smiles for the photographers and poisons your coffee when your back is turned," Emma whispered, her lips inches from his. "You need someone who knows how to watch the shadows. You need someone who will bleed with you, fight with you, and never let you fall."
A low groan escaped Luca’s chest.
He pulled her against him, his powerful arms wrapping around her waist, lifting her slightly off the stone terrace as his mouth crashed down onto hers.
The kiss was fierce, desperate, and filled with the raw, untamed passion that had been building between them since the moment he cut the ropes from her wrists. Emma opened to him completely, her arms winding around his neck, burying her fingers in his hair as the cold night air dissolved into pure, scorching fire.
When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathing hard, their foreheads resting against one another under the pale dawn light that was beginning to break across the eastern horizon.
Luca reached into his pocket and pulled out the sapphire and diamond necklace.
With steady, reverent fingers, he fastened it around her neck once more.
"From this day forward," Luca said, his voice vibrating with the solemn weight of an unbreakable vow, "you are not the help. You are not a guest. You are the woman of this house. My partner. My equal. My wife."
Emma smiled, a radiant, triumphant expression that lit up the dawn sky.
May you like
"The Mistress of Moretti," she murmured softly.
"The only one there will ever be," Luca replied, taking her hand and leading her back through the double French doors into the warmth of the mansion, locking the world outside forever.
