Chapter 5 - THE DINNER AT EIGHT
By the following week, the atmosphere inside the Moretti mansion had undergone a profound transformation.
The formal gray maid’s uniform was gone. Under the new employment agreement drafted by Gabriel’s new legal team, Emma wore comfortable civilian clothes—soft knits, tailored trousers, and practical shoes that allowed her to move freely with the children.
More remarkably, the silent, regimented rules that had governed the estate for three years began to dissolve.
Dinner at the Moretti mansion had historically been a lonely, silent affair. Gabriel ate at eight o'clock at the head of a mahogany table designed for twenty people, while the twins ate earlier in the nursery with their attendants.
On Thursday evening, Gabriel walked down the grand staircase at five minutes to eight, wearing a crisp dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms.
He stopped at the entrance of the dining room.
The long mahogany table had been rearranged. The formal silverware and crystal glasses had been moved to the side. In the center sat three simple place settings, alongside two high chairs fitted with padded cushions.
Emma was sitting at the table, wearing a simple burgundy sweater, helping Lily hold a small silver spoon filled with mashed potatoes. Sophia was sitting on the other side, using her fork to make 'tracks' through her peas while humming a song.
Gabriel paused, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "What is this?"
Emma looked up, a hint of playful defiance in her eyes. "This is dinner, Mr. Moretti."
"I eat at eight," he said, stepping into the room.
"Children eat at seven-thirty," Emma countered smoothly, setting Lily’s spoon down. "And since Dr. Thorne emphasized that social family interaction accelerates neurological development, I decided that the head of the household should no longer eat his meals like an exiled king in a museum."
Gabriel stared at her. "An exiled king?"
Margaret, who was standing near the kitchen doorway holding a platter of roasted chicken, bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud.
Gabriel looked at his daughters. Lily held up a piece of potato on her spoon, offering it toward him with a wide, messy smile. "Papa! Eat potato!"
Gabriel felt a crack form in his disciplined chest. He walked over to the table, pulled out the high-backed leather chair beside Emma, and sat down.
"Margaret," Gabriel said, his voice dry. "Bring another plate."
"Right away, Mr. Moretti!" Margaret beamed, rushing back into the kitchen.
For the next hour, the grand dining room—a room that had seen no laughter since Julianna’s death—echoed with the bright, chaotic noise of a real family.
Gabriel watched in quiet amazement as Emma managed the table with effortless grace. She didn't scold when Sophia dropped a pea; she turned it into a counting game. When Lily’s right hand became tired and began to shake, Emma didn't take the spoon away; she gently placed her hand underneath Lily’s, guiding the movement together so the child felt supported, not helpless.
As Margaret cleared the dessert plates, Sophia let out a massive yawn, her head drooping against Gabriel’s arm.
"Bedtime," Emma announced, standing up.
Gabriel lifted Sophia into his arms, while Emma carefully scooped up Lily. They walked up the grand staircase together, side-by-side, their shadows merging against the wood-paneled walls.
After the children were tucked into their cribs and the nursery fell into a peaceful, rhythmic hush, Gabriel and Emma walked out onto the second-floor balcony.
The night air was cool, carrying the scent of blooming jasmine from the gardens below.
Gabriel leaned against the stone balustrade, looking out at the city lights twinkling in the distance. "I haven't eaten a meal with my daughters in two years," he said quietly.
Emma stood beside him, resting her arms on the stone. "Why?"
"Because every time I looked at them sitting at a table, I saw the empty chair where their mother should have been," Gabriel confessed, his voice rough with brutal honesty. "It was easier to stay in my study."
Emma reached out, placing her hand gently over his calloused fingers on the balustrade. Her touch was warm, comforting, and entirely natural.
"They aren't reminders of what you lost, Gabriel," she whispered. "They are proof of what she saved."
Gabriel turned his hand over, lacing his long fingers through hers. He looked down at her—at her dark-blond hair catching the starlight, her clear green eyes, her soft, breathing presence that had brought his dead house back to life.
"And what are you, Emma?" he asked softly.
Emma’s breath hitched. "I am just a teacher passing through."
"No," Gabriel said, stepping closer, his other hand coming up to rest gently against her waist. "You are the only person who looked at my broken world and refused to be afraid of it."
Emma looked up into his dark eyes, feeling a wave of intense, terrifying heat surge through her body. She knew she should step back. She knew her scholarship application was sitting on her computer upstairs. She knew the boundaries between employer and employee were dissolving into dust.
She didn't move.
Gabriel leaned down, his lips touching hers in a slow, deep, reverent kiss that made the stars above them seem to spin. His hand tightened at her waist, pulling her flush against his broad frame, while her fingers tangled into the soft hair at the back of his neck.
When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together in the dark.
"Eight weeks is not going to be enough, Emma," Gabriel whispered against her lips.
"Gabriel..." she gasped softly, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Before she could answer, a loud, violent explosion echoed from the front of the estate.
The heavy glass windows of the balcony rattled violently. Alarm sirens began to wail across the grounds, and the floodlights instantly illuminated the gardens in blinding white light.
Gabriel’s posture transformed instantly. The tender lover vanished, replaced in half a second by the ruthless syndicate leader.
He shoved Emma behind his back, pulling a dark sidearm from his shoulder holster with lightning speed.
May you like
"Marco!" Gabriel barked into his lapel microphone as he dragged Emma toward the interior hallway. "Report!"
"Boss! Main gate!" Marco’s voice screamed over the radio amidst the sound of gunfire. "A truck just rammed the security post! It’s the Falcone crew! They’re inside the perimeter!"
