Chapter Four: Ghosts of the Past
1065 Words
The rain began shortly after midnight.
Elena stood in the enormous bedroom that was supposedly hers now, watching water streak down the windows of the Moretti estate.
Sleep refused to come.
Too many questions.
Too many secrets.
And every answer seemed to lead back to one person.
Luca.
The door opened behind her.
She turned.
Luca stepped inside, removing his suit jacket.
His tie hung loose around his neck, and for the first time since she’d met him, he looked exhausted.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
As though he’d been fighting battles nobody else could see.
“You should be asleep.”
Elena folded her arms.
“You should stop avoiding my questions.”
His jaw tightened.
Neither spoke for several seconds.
Finally, he sighed.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
A humorless smile touched his lips.
“That’s a dangerous request.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
The room fell silent again.
Then Elena took a step closer.
“What happened to you?”
Something changed in his expression.
Not anger.
Pain.
Deep, old pain.
The kind that never truly disappeared.
Luca looked away.
Toward the rain covered window.
“When I was twelve,” he said quietly, “I had a younger sister.”
Elena froze.
He had never mentioned family beyond business.
Never mentioned anyone important.
Never mentioned a sister.
“Her name was Sofia.”
His voice sounded distant.
Like he was speaking from another lifetime.
“She was eight years old.”
The silence that followed felt heavy.
Painful.
Luca swallowed once.
Then continued.
“My father had enemies.”
Elena already knew where this story was going.
And she didn’t want to.
Not really.
“One day she disappeared.”
Her chest tightened.
“No…”
His eyes remained fixed on the rain.
“We found her three days later.”
Elena felt sick.
Luca’s expression never changed.
But his voice did.
It became colder.
Harder.
As though emotion itself had frozen over.
“I learned something important after that.”
He looked at her.
Dark eyes meeting hers.
“The people you love become targets.”
The realization hit her instantly.
Every security guard.
Every rule.
Every restriction.
Every moment he’d seemed overly protective.
It suddenly made sense.
Not because he wanted control.
Because he was terrified.
Terrified of losing someone again.
The discovery stole her breath.
“Luca…”
He immediately looked away.
As though he’d already revealed too much.
As though vulnerability itself made him uncomfortable.
But Elena wasn’t done.
“You think that will happen to me.”
It wasn’t a question.
His silence answered.
The room felt smaller.
Closer.
More intimate than it ever had before.
And suddenly Elena saw something she hadn’t seen before.
Not the mafia heir.
Not the powerful man feared throughout the city.
Just a wounded boy who had never recovered from losing his sister.
Over the following days, things changed.
Not dramatically.
Not all at once.
Just small things.
Tiny cracks in the wall between them.
One morning Elena found fresh pastries from her bakery delivered to the estate.
Every single recipe was exactly right.
When she asked who arranged it, the staff immediately looked nervous.
That told her everything.
Luca.
Another evening she mentioned missing a particular bookstore downtown.
The next day she discovered a first-edition copy of her favorite novel sitting on her desk.
No note.
No explanation.
Just the book.
Luca denied knowing anything about it.
Badly.
And for the first time since meeting him, Elena laughed.
Actually laughed.
The surprised look on his face was worth every second.
“You planned that.”
“No.”
“Liar.”
His mouth twitched.
A rare smile.
Brief.
Gone almost immediately.
Yet Elena couldn’t stop thinking about it afterward.
Because when Luca smiled, he looked younger.
Less haunted.
Less dangerous.
Human.
Which was becoming a problem.
A very serious problem.
Because she was supposed to hate him.
A week later, Elena discovered another secret.
And this one changed everything.
She was searching for a missing recipe notebook in the estate library when she found an old photograph tucked inside a book.
The image showed a teenage Luca.
Maybe sixteen.
Standing beside a grave.
His expression was unreadable.
But what caught Elena’s attention wasn’t Luca.
It was what he was holding.
A paper bag.
From Rossi Bakery.
Her family’s bakery.
Years before they’d ever officially met.
Years before the debt.
Years before the engagement.
Her heartbeat quickened.
She turned the photograph over.
A handwritten date stared back at her.
Seven years ago.
Seven years.
Elena’s breath caught.
That wasn’t obsession that began three years ago.
It had started much earlier.
Much, much earlier.
The library door opened.
Luca entered.
His gaze immediately landed on the photograph.
And froze.
For the first time since she’d known him, genuine panic crossed his face.
Not fear.
Exposure.
As though she’d stumbled onto something he never intended her to see.
Slowly, Elena held up the picture.
“What is this?”
Silence.
“Luca.”
His eyes closed briefly.
The reaction alone told her enough.
“You’ve been coming to the bakery for seven years?”
Another silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
The answer barely sounded like him.
Elena stared.
Unable to process it.
“Why?”
Luca looked at the photograph.
Then at her.
Then away.
For a long moment he said nothing.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.
Almost reluctant.
“As strange as it sounds…”
His gaze lifted to hers.
“It was the only place I felt normal.”
The confession hit harder than she expected.
No manipulation.
No games.
No arrogance.
Just honesty.
Raw and uncomfortable.
The bakery had been ordinary.
Warm.
Safe.
Full of families and laughter.
Everything the Moretti world wasn’t.
And somehow, for years, Luca had kept returning.
Again and again.
Not because of business.
Not because of power.
Because it reminded him there was still something good left in the world.
And now Elena understood something terrifying.
The debt may have forced the engagement.
But Luca’s feelings had started long before that.
Long before either of them realized where this story would end.
And for the first time, Elena wasn’t sure which possibility frightened her more.
The man Luca Moretti had been.
Or the man he was becoming whenever he looked at her.
- Writer
