Chapter 12 - The Unwelcome Visitor at the Gate
Three days of absolute quiet passed like a healing balm.
Luca worked from his private study downstairs, handling the corporate restructuring of Moretti Holdings while keeping his phone on silent so nothing could disturb the fragile peace of the nursery.
Every two hours like clockwork, he would walk upstairs, check on Elena, and bring me a cup of hot ginger tea with honey, sitting quietly on the edge of the chair just to watch us breathe.
The artificial walls we had built around our hearts were slowly, painfully beginning to thaw.
Then, on the fourth morning, the heavy iron gate buzzer rang through the intercom system.
I was sitting in the parlor nursing Elena when Luca walked briskly into the room, his phone pressed to his ear and a dark cloud crossing his sculpted features.
“Hold on, Arthur,” Luca muttered into the device, cutting the connection with a swift thumb tap.
“What is it?” I asked, instantly feeling a cold prickle of anxiety along my spine.
“Security at the front gate just intercepted an unexpected visitor,” Luca said, his jaw tightening into a hard ridge.
“Who?”
“Elena Rostova.”
At the name of the high-end runway model who had played my double in the Mercer Hotel deepfake setup, my breath caught in my throat.
“What is she doing here?” I demanded, standing up carefully with Elena cradled securely against my shoulder.
“She’s out on federal bail, cooperating with the district attorney’s office in exchange for a reduced sentence,” Luca replied, his voice dripping with absolute frost.
“Her lawyer must have advised her that turning state’s evidence against Julian and Vanessa is her only ticket out of prison time.”
“She wants to speak with you, Isabella.”
I stared at him in sheer disbelief.
“She wants to speak with me? After wearing my coat and destroying my marriage?”
“She’s terrified,” Luca said coldly.
“She realizes that Vanessa and Julian are going down for twenty years, and she wants to make sure she isn't caught in the final explosion.”
“Do you want me to have security throw her off the property?”
I thought about the seven months of agonizing loneliness, the cheap motel rooms in Newark, the cold Q train rides, and the tears shed in the dark while carrying an unborn child.
“No,” I said, my voice steady and cold as winter steel.
“Let her in.”
“Bring her into the formal sitting room.”
“Isabella, you don’t need to subject yourself to her—” Luca began, stepping forward with protective urgency.
May you like
“I am not hiding anymore, Luca,” I interrupted, meeting his dark eyes with unyielding resolve.
“If she has something to say, I want to hear it to her face.”
