Son frère Liam, âgé de douze ans, était éveillé, assis, appuyé contre deux fins oreillers.
His skin was pale, his eyes heavy with dark circles, and an inhaler rested beside his bedside table.
Liam suffered from severe chronic asthma and a congenital respiratory condition that required expensive imported medication—medication Emma had been struggling to afford with double shifts at the catering company.
“Emma?”
Liam whispered, his voice raspy.
“You’re home late.
Did something happen?”
Emma sat on the edge of the mattress, running her fingers through his messy brown hair with a warm smile.
“Nothing bad, Liam.
Just a very long night.”
“Did you get the tips from the rich people?” he asked innocently.
Emma looked down at her hands.
The bruises on her wrist were already turning purple.
“Not tips, Liam.
But things might be changing soon.
Go back to sleep, okay?
I need you to rest.”
She stayed by his side until his breathing evened out into deep slumber.
When she finally lay down on her worn couch, sleep eluded her.
Vincent Moretti’s intense, commanding gaze haunted her thoughts.
The next morning at 10:00 AM, the quiet street outside her apartment was disrupted by the low, velvety purr of an engine that clearly didn’t belong in Pilsen.
Emma pulled back the faded curtain and gasped.
Parked directly in front of her tenement building was a pristine midnight-black Maybach.
Stepping out of the passenger side was Julian Vance, dressed in the same crisp charcoal suit from the gala.
He looked up at the apartment numbers, adjusted his earpiece, and walked purposefully toward her front door.
A moment later, three sharp, measured knocks echoed through her small living room.
Chapter 7 – Inside the Moretti Empire
Moretti Tower rose eighty stories above the Chicago River, a monument of glass and steel piercing the morning clouds.
Emma felt intensely self-conscious walking through the marble lobby in her best clean jeans, a simple cream sweater, and plain canvas shoes.
Security guards stood at strict attention, bowing slightly as Julian led her directly to the private express elevator that bypassed all commercial floors.
The penthouse office occupied the entire top level.
Floor-to-ceiling glass windows offered a breathtaking 360-degree panorama of Lake Michigan and the sprawling city skyline.
Sitting at a comfortable glass tea table near the window was Isabella Moretti, sipping chamomile tea.
Across from her, Vincent was reviewing financial documents on a tablet, looking impeccably tailored in a dark three-piece suit without a tie.
“Emma, darling!”
Isabella set her cup down immediately, her face brightening with genuine joy.
“Come in, please!
Sit with me.”
Emma approached carefully.
“Good morning, Mrs.
Moretti.
Mr.
Moretti.”
Vincent stood up as she approached—a gesture of respect that wealthy men rarely afforded to service workers.
He gestured toward the plush armchair across from his mother.
“Please, sit down, Miss Carter.”
Emma took a seat, feeling the soft Italian leather beneath her.
“Thank you for the ride, but…
I really must know why you invited me here.
I told Mr.
Henderson, je ne causerais aucun problème.
« Henderson a déjà été démis de ses fonctions », a déclaré Vincent sans ambages en se rassoyant.
« Et vous n’êtes pas ici à cause de problèmes. »
Vous êtes ici parce que ma mère l’a demandé.
Isabella tendit la main par-dessus la table et prit doucement celle d’Emma.
« Emma, je suis une vieille dame qui n’aime pas avoir des gardes armés qui me surveillent comme des vautours. »
Mais hier m’a montré que les inquiétudes de mon fils concernant ma sécurité ne sont pas totalement infondées.
Cependant, je refuse d’être entourée de mercenaires.
Emma cligna des yeux, confuse.
« Madame ? »
« Je veux quelqu’un à mes côtés en qui je puisse avoir confiance », expliqua doucement Isabella.
« Quelqu’un qui regarde une personne et voit son âme, et non son compte en banque. »
Je souhaite que vous deveniez mon conseiller personnel et mon interlocuteur privilégié pour ma famille.
« Un… compagnon ? »
Emma balbutia.
Vincent fit glisser un dossier sur l’élégante table.
« Vos responsabilités comprendront l’accompagnement de ma mère lors de ses visites philanthropiques, la gestion de son emploi du temps personnel et la supervision du personnel de sa résidence privée. »
La rémunération de départ est de deux cent cinquante mille dollars par an, une couverture médicale complète pour vous et vos personnes à charge, et une aide complète au logement.
Emma sentit sa respiration se bloquer dans sa gorge.
Deux cent cinquante mille dollars ?
Couverture médicale complète ?
Les traitements de Liam, ses rendez-vous chez le spécialiste, ses inhalateurs coûteux – tout cela serait assuré en un instant.
Chapitre 8 – Ombres dans le noir
