Chapter 3 - The Estate in Lake Forest
The Moretti estate in Lake Forest was an imposing limestone manor surrounded by twenty-foot wrought-iron gates, ancient oak trees, and discreetly placed security cameras.
On Saturday morning, Maggie’s silver delivery van cleared the security checkpoint. Marco, looking considerably more polite than he had during the gunman incident, directed her to the rear entrance near the grand conservatory.
For three hours, Maggie worked diligently inside the glass conservatory, transforming the space into a breathtaking botanical haven. She used cascading white orchids, deep crimson garden roses, dark green Italian ruscus, and fragrant eucalyptus, creating wild, elegant centerpieces that looked like something out of a European Renaissance painting.
“You have your father’s hands.”
Maggie turned around, wiping her brow with the back of her wrist.
Standing near the entrance of the conservatory was an older woman with silvery-dark hair styled in an elegant chignon. She wore a simple burgundy silk dress and pearl earrings. Her eyes were sharp, dark, and carried the exact same observant intelligence as Vincent’s.
This was Carmela Moretti—the matriarch of the family.
“Mrs. Moretti,” Maggie said politely, wiping her hands on her apron. “Happy birthday.”
Carmela walked slowly into the room, her eyes inspecting the floral arrangements. She reached out, touching the soft petal of a dark red rose.
“When Vincent told me he hired a florist from North Clark Street, I expected corporate arrangements,” Carmela said, her tone unreadable. “My husband always bought me roses from your father’s shop forty years ago, before the wars started and we built these walls.”
Maggie blinked, surprised. “My father never mentioned the Morettis.”
“He was a smart man,” Carmela smiled faintly. “He knew that business and family should stay separate.”
Carmela stepped closer, her sharp eyes studying Maggie’s face. “Vincent hasn't smiled in four years, Miss Sullivan. Not since his father died and he was forced to take over the family leadership. But for two weeks, he comes home every evening smelling like eucalyptus and fresh soil, with a look in his eyes I haven't seen since he was a boy.”
Maggie felt a warm flutter in her chest, but she kept her voice professional. “Vincent is a good customer, Mrs. Moretti.”
“Vincent is a dangerous man,” Carmela corrected gently, her hand touching Maggie’s shoulder. “Not because he wants to be, but because he has to be to keep us alive. But when he looks at you, he isn't the Don. He’s just a man who wants to be saved.”
Before Maggie could respond, the heavy glass doors of the conservatory swung open.
Vincent walked in, wearing a sleek black tuxedo that made him look ruthlessly handsome. His eyes immediately bypassed his mother and locked onto Maggie.
“Mother,” Vincent acknowledged smoothly. “Are you interrogating my guest?”
“I am admiring her work,” Carmela replied smoothly, giving Maggie a warm, knowing nod before turning to leave. “Don't ruin this, Vincent. She’s far too good for you.”
When Carmela exited, the quiet rustle of leaves was the only sound left in the conservatory.
Vincent walked up to Maggie, stopping inches away. He reached out, gently removing a stray piece of green leaves from her hair.
“You look beautiful, Maggie,” he murmured.
“I’m wearing an apron covered in dirt, Vincent,” she laughed softly.
“You look beautiful,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.
He reached into his tuxedo jacket and pulled out an old, velvet-lined mahogany box. He opened it, revealing a stunning vintage brass pocket watch with intricate floral engravings along the silver casing.
“What’s this?” Maggie asked.
“It belonged to my grandfather,” Vincent said softly. “He was a watchmaker before he came to America. It stopped working twenty years ago. But yesterday, I took it to a jeweler on Michigan Avenue and had it restored.”
He took her hand, placing the heavy, ticking pocket watch into her palm, closing her fingers over it.
“Why are you giving me this?” she whispered.
“Because for four years, my time didn't matter,” Vincent said, his dark eyes searching hers with intense, breathtaking sincerity. “Every hour was spent fighting, surviving, protecting an empire I never wanted. But when I step into your shop, the clock starts ticking again. You gave me back my time, Maggie.”
Maggie looked down at the watch, listening to its steady, rhythmic tick-tick-tick against her palm.
May you like
She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips against his.
The kiss was sweet, deep, and filled with a quiet hunger that had been building for weeks. Vincent’s broad arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her tightly against his broad chest, shielding her from the world outside the glass walls.
