Chapter 2
Sitting beside me in the back seat, Luca was entirely unreadable. He had slipped back into his immaculate charcoal Brioni suit, his expression carved from granite. But just as the car came to a smooth halt beneath the grand portico, his large, warm hand reached across the leather console and settled firmly over mine.
His fingers were warm. His grip was absolute.
“Remember,” Luca murmured, his voice dropping into a husky, hypnotic register right against my ear. “You don't have to convince them of anything. You just have to stand beside me. I will handle the rest.”
I swallowed hard, pulling my emerald-green silk dress tighter around my shoulders. “And if your grandmother asks how long we’ve been together?”
“Tell her three months,” Luca replied without hesitation. “Long enough to be serious, short enough to still be reckless.”
When the heavy oak double doors swung open, the warmth and opulence of the grand foyer washed over us. The air smelled of burning cedarwood, pine needles, expensive champagne, and old money. Standing near the massive crystal staircase was the inner circle of the Moretti dynasty: Luca’s formidable grandmother, Nonna Elena; his unpredictable cousin Julian; and several senior syndicate capos who looked like they had spent the afternoon auditing bank accounts or burying bodies.
Conversations faded instantly as Luca stepped inside.
Every eye turned toward us. More specifically, every eye locked onto the hand Luca had not released from mine.
Nonno’s chair scraped against the parquet floor as Nonna Elena—a sharp-eyed woman dressed in black velvet and heavy pearls—stepped forward. She didn't look at Luca; she looked directly at me, her gaze piercing through my composure like a surgical blade.
“Luca,” Nonna Elena said, her voice carrying the undisputed weight of matriarchal authority. “You are late. And you brought... company.”
Luca didn't flinch. He drew me closer, wrapping his arm securely around my waist, his posture radiating an absolute, unyielding defense of my presence.
“Nonna, this is Emma Hayes,” Luca stated, his voice ringing clearly across the silent foyer. “She is my executive assistant. And as of tonight, she is the only woman in my life.”
A collective, stunned silence dropped over the foyer. Julian choked on his champagne across the room, while several capos exchanged wary, calculating glances.
Nonna Elena stepped closer, stopping two feet away. She looked me up and down—taking in my pinned-up hair, my glasses, and the simple elegance of my dress.
“An assistant,” Nonna Elena repeated slowly, a dangerous, evaluating smirk touching her lips. “Tell me, my dear Emma... do you know what happens to women who walk into this house thinking they can play games with a Moretti?”
I felt a cold shiver run down my spine, but the memory of Luca’s hand anchored against my waist gave me a sudden, unexpected surge of courage. I didn't drop my gaze. I met the formidable matriarch’s eyes head-on.
“Yes, Mrs. Moretti,” I replied clearly, my voice steady and unyielding. “They find out that the men running this family are far more predictable than the women keeping their books.”
For three terrifying seconds, the foyer was dead silent. Then, a sharp, barking laugh burst from Nonna Elena’s chest. She threw her head back, clapping her hands together with genuine delight.
“A spine!” Nonna Elena declared, turning to glare at Julian. “Finally, a woman with a spine instead of a trust fund! Sit down, all of you! We have dinner to eat and a wedding to plan!”
The rest of the evening was a surreal whirlwind of clinking champagne flutes, aggressive family interrogations disguised as holiday cheer, and stolen, breathless glances across mahogany tables. Throughout it all, Luca never left my side. He deflected Julian’s sharp inquiries with icy stares, fed his grandmother exactly what she wanted to hear, and treated me with a quiet, fierce protectiveness that felt entirely too real to be acting.
By midnight, the guests had retreated to the upper guest wings or departed into the snowy night.
I stood alone on the dimly lit stone balcony overlooking the snow-covered sculpture gardens, holding a glass of sparkling water, trying to process the absolute insanity of the last six hours.
The balcony door clicked open.
Footsteps approached softly. A warm, heavy cashmere overcoat draped over my shoulders, wrapping me in Luca’s scent—cedarwood, winter air, and expensive bourbon.
Luca stepped beside me, leaning his forearms against the stone balustrade.
“You survived Nonna’s interrogation,” Luca noted, a faint, rare smile curving his hard lips. “Most grown men cry within the first five minutes.”
“Most grown men aren't hiding financial ledgers from federal audits every single day,” I countered dryly, taking a sip of water. “Though I have to admit... your grandmother is terrifying.”
“She liked you,” Luca said softly.
The humor vanished from the air, replaced by a sudden, heavy tension. The quiet winter night hummed around us, isolated from the rest of the world.
I turned my head to look at him. The outdoor lights caught the sharp angles of his face, the dark intensity of his eyes fixed entirely on me.
“Luca... why did you really do this?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “You didn't need to invent a fake relationship to get your family off your back. You could have just told them no.”
Luca pushed off the balustrade. He turned to face me, closing the distance between us until the space heater of his body heat chased away the winter chill.
“It wasn't an invention, Emma,” Luca murmured, his voice dropping into a husky, hypnotic register that made my breath catch.
“What do you mean?”
“I didn't hire you because you were the best assistant in Manhattan, though you are,” Luca confessed, his dark eyes burning with raw, unvarnished emotion. “I hired you because the moment you walked into my office four years ago, you were the only thing in my world that made sense. I’ve spent every single day watching you across that desk, dying inside because I knew my life was too dark, too dangerous, to ever drag you into it.”
He reached up, his large, warm fingers gently catching my chin, tilting my face upward.
“But when Julian and the board started pushing marriage arrangements, pushing women who only care about the Moretti name... I realized I couldn't watch another man claim you,” Luca continued, his voice thick with a fierce, undeniable devotion. “It wasn't a fake proposal tonight, Emma. It was the only way I could finally tell you the truth without losing my mind.”
Tears hot and unbidden spilled over my eyelashes. All the walls I had built, all the professional boundaries I had maintained, shattered into dust.
“You idiot,” I choked out, a brilliant, emotional smile breaking across my face. “You could have just asked me out for coffee.”
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“I’m a Moretti,” Luca murmured darkly, a dangerous, breathtaking smile touching his lips. “We don't do casual.”
Before I could answer, he lowered his head and captured my lips in a deep, fierce, undeniable kiss that tasted of winter snow, champagne, and a lifetime of waiting.
