Chapter 6 - A GARDEN IN BLOOMSix months later.
The April sun hung high and warm over the estate in Highland Park, burning away the last traces of winter frost and filling the air with the fragrance of blooming dogwoods, damp earth, and wild lilac.
The garden had been completely transformed.
The cold gravel paths where I had once limped in the rain had been replaced with wide, smooth pavers of golden sandstone imported from Verona. The dark, intimidating hedges had been cut back, opening up breathtaking vistas of the blue waters of Lake Michigan sparkling in the spring light.
Near the conservatory—where the glass had been fully restored and filled with rare white orchids and climbing jasmine—a low teak table sat beneath the shade of a weeping beech tree.
I sat on a cushioned bench, wearing a light ivory linen sundress that fluttered gently in the lake breeze. My left ankle was completely healed, showing only a faint, pale scar near the tendon where the orthopedic surgeon had reinforced the ligament.
On the table before me lay the quarterly financial reports for Moretti Maritime & Logistics.
My title was no longer domestic assistant. Four months ago, the board of directors had formally appointed me Chief Forensic Auditor and Director of Sovereign Operations. In my hands, the company’s legal freight divisions had expanded by forty percent, shedding every shadow connection, transitioning into an impenetrable, legitimate logistics empire that no federal task force could ever touch.
Across the lawn, Bruno was engaged in an intense, joyful battle with an oversized leather ball, his massive black paws tearing up the turf, his tail wagging furiously as he threw the toy into the air and chased it down.
A soft step sounded on the sandstone path behind me.
I didn't have to look up to know who it was.
Luca walked across the grass, having shed his tie and suit jacket, wearing a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and dark trousers. His dark hair was slightly tousled by the wind, the severe, predatory tension that had once defined his features replaced by an easy, commanding warmth.
He carried two glasses of iced lemonade garnished with mint from the greenhouse.
He set one glass beside my reports, stepped behind the teak bench, and wrapped his arms gently around my shoulders, leaning down to press a warm, lingering kiss to the side of my neck.
“You’re working on a Saturday, Miss Bennett,” he murmured against my skin, his deep voice sending that familiar, electric shiver down my spine.
I smiled, leaning back against his chest, tilting my head up to meet his pale gray eyes—eyes that no longer held the coldness of lake ice, but the deep, steady warmth of an open fire.
“Someone has to ensure our shipping clearances in Rotterdam don't incur demurrage fees, Mr. Moretti,” I teased, resting my hand over his forearm, feeling the steady strength of the man who had torn down a syndicate to protect me.
Luca laughed—a rich, genuine sound that made Bruno stop his game across the lawn and trot over, nudging his massive head right between our hips with a demanding whine.
“Traitor,” Luca muttered affectionately, ruffling the dog’s cropped ears with his free hand.
Bruno let out a contented grumble, collapsing onto the warm sandstone at our feet, his head resting across my bare toes, completely satisfied that his pack was assembled and safe.
Luca stepped around the bench and knelt on the grass before me, just as he had done in his study six months ago. But this time, his hands did not hold ice or bandages.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, dark velvet box.
He didn't open it immediately. He simply looked up at me, his gaze fierce, vulnerable, and completely unreserved.
“Emma,” he said, his voice soft yet carrying the full weight of his heart. “For seven months, I watched you walk through this house. I watched you carry the burdens of everyone around you without asking for a single thing in return. I thought I knew what strength was because I knew how to command armies of men with guns. But you... you taught me that real strength is standing tall when the world is throwing stones at your feet.”
He popped the brass latch of the box.
Inside lay a ring of platinum and flawless emerald—the color of the lake in summer, surrounded by two delicate bands of diamonds that curved together like interlocking vines.
“I don't want a partner who fears me,” Luca whispered, taking my left hand into his, his thumb tracing the soft skin of my knuckles. “I don't want an alliance written in blood or contracts. I want the woman who saved my dog, who balanced my books, and who made this cold, empty house feel like a home. Will you marry me, Emma?”
Tears, warm, clean, and entirely born of joy, welled in my eyes and spilled over my lashes.
I looked down at the ring, then at the man who had carried me through the rain, who had broken an empire to defend my dignity, and who looked at me as if I were the only sovereign he would ever bow to.
“Yes,” I breathed, the word carrying effortlessly on the spring breeze. “Yes, Luca.”
He slid the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly, cold metal warming instantly against my skin.
He rose from the grass, drew me into his arms, and lifted me from the bench, holding me close as his mouth met mine in a slow, deep kiss that sealed away the cold, the lies, and the shadows of the past forever.
Beneath our feet, Bruno thumped his tail against the warm stone, watching over the garden as the spring sun bathed the estate in golden light.
There were no more rules about hiding pain. There were no more lies told in the dark.
May you like
I was no longer the girl limping on the gravel path.
I was home, safe in the arms of the man who loved me, ruling over a kingdom that we had built together from the ashes of the storm.
