Chapter 6 - Lucia Leaves the Penthouse
Lucia resigned from Alessandro’s household three weeks after Emma’s birthday.
He received the letter on a Tuesday morning.
One page.
Professional.
Thankful.
Final date.
He called her immediately.
She answered:
“No.”
“I have not asked anything.”
“You’re about to tell me I don’t need to resign.”
“You don’t.”
“See?”
Alessandro stared at the phone.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t build my own life while working inside yours.”
That sentence stayed with him.
She was right.
Again.
Annoying pattern.
Lucia rented a small apartment near her nursing school.
Matteo lived twelve blocks away.
Emma divided time under a written parenting agreement.
Not court-ordered yet.
Voluntary.
Matteo wanted equal custody immediately.
Lucia said no.
He accepted gradual increase.
Also progress.
Isabella became an enthusiastic grandmother.
Too enthusiastic.
She bought Emma fourteen dresses in one week.
Lucia returned eleven.
Isabella learned.
Alessandro became Uncle Sandro.
He hated the nickname.
Emma loved it.
Therefore he lost.
He visited on Sundays.
Sometimes Matteo was there.
Sometimes not.
One Sunday Lucia found Alessandro on the kitchen floor assembling a wooden toy kitchen.
Instructions unreadable.
He looked furious.
“You run a multinational logistics company.”
“This is Swedish.”
“It has pictures.”
“The pictures are hostile.”
She sat beside him.
Together they built it.
Crooked.
Emma loved it.
Lucia laughed.
Alessandro watched her.
That was the first moment he understood he was in trouble.
Not criminal trouble.
Worse.
He liked her.
He ignored it.
For months.
Lucia was Matteo’s former partner.
Mother of Matteo’s child.
Complicated enough to require legislation.
He said nothing.
Then Matteo noticed.
Of course.
They were having coffee at Alessandro’s office.
Matteo said:
“You like Lucia.”
Alessandro nearly choked.
“No.”
“You absolutely do.”
“She is the mother of your child.”
“Yes.”
“You were engaged.”
“No.”
“You loved her.”
Matteo looked out the window.
“I still love her.”
Alessandro’s stomach tightened.
Then Matteo continued.
“But she doesn’t love me that way anymore.”
Silence.
“I abandoned her, Nate.”
“You were hiding from murderers.”
“I abandoned her.”
The distinction mattered to Matteo.
“She may forgive me. That doesn’t mean she owes me a relationship.”
Alessandro stared.
“When did you become emotionally intelligent?”
“Parenting class.”
“Terrifying.”
Matteo smiled.
Then grew serious.
“If anything ever happens between you and Lucia, don’t make her choose between you and our daughter’s family.”
Alessandro felt anger.
Then recognized it as fear.
“I wouldn’t.”
“Old you would.”
Fair.
“Old me is expensive to keep hearing about.”
“Old you was expensive to live around.”
Also fair.
Alessandro did nothing for another four months.
Lucia completed her first nursing semester.
He sent flowers anonymously.
She knew.
She texted:
Stop pretending anonymous flowers are anonymous when the card is black and the florist arrives with security.
He replied:
Congratulations.
She replied:
Thank you.
That was all.
Then Emma developed pneumonia.
Nothing catastrophic.
But serious enough for hospitalization overnight.
Lucia stayed awake twenty hours.
Matteo stayed too.
Alessandro arrived with coffee.
No entourage.
He sat in the hallway because only two adults were allowed bedside.
At 3:00 a.m., Lucia came out.
Exhausted.
She sat beside him.
“Sleeping.”
“Good.”
“You didn’t have to come.”
“I know.”
She looked at him.
That mattered.
He had come because he chose.
Not because obligation required.
Lucia leaned back.
“I was so scared.”
Alessandro did not say Emma would be fine.
He did not make promises medicine could not guarantee.
He said:
“I know.”
She rested her head against his shoulder.
Only for a minute.
He stayed still.
When she lifted it, neither mentioned the moment.
Emma recovered.
Life continued.
Then one evening Lucia invited Alessandro for dinner.
Not Matteo.
Not Isabella.
Him.
He arrived with wine.
She laughed.
“You look nervous.”
“I’m never nervous.”
“You brought a sixty-year-old Bordeaux to pasta.”
“I panicked.”
That made her laugh harder.
They ate.
Emma threw peas.
Alessandro was hit twice.
After Emma slept, they stood on Lucia’s tiny balcony.
City noise below.
Lucia said:
“This is dangerous.”
“What?”
“You.”
He smiled slightly.
“Usually.”
“No. This.”
He understood.
“I know.”
“You’re Matteo’s brother.”
“I know.”
“Emma’s uncle.”
“Yes.”
“You were my employer.”
“Past tense.”
“You live in a world I spent a year running from.”
“I’m trying to change it.”
She looked at him.
“I know.”
That was the problem.
If he had remained terrible, choice would have been easy.
Alessandro asked:
“Do you want me to leave?”
Lucia thought.
“No.”
He moved closer.
Stopped.
“Can I kiss you?”
She smiled.
“Apparently Duca men eventually learn to ask.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
The kiss was brief.
Slow.
Chosen.
Then Emma cried from the bedroom.
Lucia laughed against Alessandro’s shoulder.
“Romance.”
May you like
He smiled.
“Perfect timing.”
