Chapter 7 - A Gathering in the Library
Back at the Moretti estate, the atmosphere was a million miles away from the damp warehouse in Indiana.
The vast mahogany library on the second floor was flooded with the warm, golden light of late afternoon. Shelves packed with centuries-old leather-bound books lined the walls, and a crackling fire danced in the massive stone hearth.
Brielle sat in a deep velvet armchair by the window, wearing a soft cream sweater Dante’s mother had insisted on giving her. On her lap lay the photographs of her sister Maya, her thumb tracing the edges over and over as if afraid the images would dissolve if she stopped touching them.
The door opened softly, and Elena Moretti walked in carrying a silver tray with a pot of Earl Grey tea and two porcelain cups. She set it down on the table between them, pouring a cup and handing it to Brielle.
"Drink," Elena instructed gently, her eyes full of maternal warmth. "You still look like a stiff breeze could blow you over."
Brielle took the cup, her hands no longer shaking quite as violently as they had that morning. "Thank you, Elena. For everything. I... I don't know how to thank you."
"By staying alive, child," Elena said, sitting across from her. "Dante has spent his whole life building walls around this family. He thinks his love is a curse, that anyone close to him becomes a target. But since yesterday... since he watched you stand in front of that gun... I haven't seen him look at a single balance sheet or threat report. For the first time in ten years, my son looks like a man who remembers how to breathe."
Brielle’s cheeks warmed. She looked down into her teacup. "I’m just a waitress from the South Side, Elena. He’s... he’s Dante Moretti."
"He’s a man who carries the weight of a city on his shoulders," Elena corrected softly. "And you are a woman who carried the weight of an entire family on yours. You two have more in common than you think."
Before Brielle could respond, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. The library doors swung open, and Dante walked in, loosening his tie as he tossed his leather portfolio onto the mahogany desk.
He stopped when he saw Brielle. The tired, hunted look that had defined her face for eleven years seemed slightly softened by the afternoon light. For a fleeting second, a genuine, unguarded smile touched her lips as she looked up at him—a smile that made Dante’s breath catch in his throat.
"How are you holding up?" Dante asked, walking over to stand near the back of her chair.
"I'm surviving," Brielle said, looking up at him through her lashes. "Better than surviving, actually. Your mother has been feeding me pastries for the last two hours."
Elena stood up with a knowing smile, smoothing her skirt. "Well, I need to check on Lily and make sure she isn't feeding her dinner to the koi pond. I’ll leave you two to your... security briefings."
With a soft chuckle, Elena left the library, closing the heavy oak doors behind her.
Dante pulled up a leather stool and sat directly opposite Brielle, resting his elbows on his knees. The space between them felt intimate, charged with an electric tension that had been building since the alley on 47th.
"I talked to Maya today," Dante said quietly.
Brielle’s breath caught. Her teacup rattled against its saucer. "You... you talked to her?"
"Not directly," Dante clarified. "I had one of my most trusted operatives—a woman she went to high school with who now works for my logistics firm—approach her casually. Verified she’s safe, happy, and doing well in school. She doesn't know about the past yet. But she’s alive, Brielle. And she’s waiting for you."
Tears welled in Brielle’s eyes once more, but this time, they weren't tears of grief or terror. They were tears of profound, overwhelming grace.
"When can I see her?" Brielle whispered.
"Whenever you're ready," Dante said, his dark eyes never leaving her face. "Tomorrow. Next week. Whenever the ghosts stop chasing you."
May you like
Brielle reached out, her bandaged hand resting hesitantly on the back of Dante’s hand where it lay on his knee. Her skin was warm against his. "They stopped chasing me the moment you pulled me out of that alley, Dante."
Dante turned his hand over, his strong fingers interlocking with hers, holding her hand with a fierce, possessive tenderness.
