Chapter 9 - Scars, Sanctuary, and Survival
Two years passed in relative peace. The syndicate was united under Alejandro’s absolute authority, stronger and more prosperous than it had ever been.
I was now twelve years old, attending one of the most exclusive private academies in Manhattan, driven to school every morning in a bulletproof Maybach by guards who treated me like royalty. Mama was the director of the entire household staff, respected and loved by everyone in the estate.
Yet, despite the wealth, the power, and the terrifying reputation of the Moretti name, my favorite place in the world remained exactly where it had always been: sitting across from Alejandro at the grand mahogany dining table, sharing dinner while he reviewed reports and I talked about my classes.
One evening, as we sat alone in the vast dining room, Alejandro looked up from a thick dossier, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers.
"You're growing up too fast, Emma," he observed quietly, a faint trace of melancholy in his dark eyes. "Soon you'll be heading off to college, leaving this old fortress behind."
"I'm not going anywhere," I replied firmly, cutting a piece of steak with practiced precision. "Somebody has to make sure you don't get poisoned by your own chefs again."
Alejandro let out a low, rich chuckle—a sound that only I ever got to hear.
"Fair point," he smiled. "Though I think my security protocols are slightly better than they were when you were four years old."
"Just slightly," I teased, smiling back.
He reached across the table, tapping my silver locket with his index finger.
"Do you remember what I told you the night you saved my life?" he asked softly.
May you like
"You said debts in this house are never forgotten," I whispered.
"And I meant it," Alejandro said, his voice carrying the solemn weight of an unbreakable vow. "Everything I've built—every dollar, every title, every inch of this empire—belongs to the family. And you are my family, Emma. Never forget that."
