Chapter 7 - THE SECOND BROKEN WINDOW
Almost eighteen months after the engagement dinner, someone broke the front window of Maria Santos’s catering office.
This time, it was not me.
A brick lay inside.
Attached was a note.
STOP TALKING ABOUT THE MORETTIS.
I called police first.
Then Maria.
Then my mother.
Luca was fourth.
That mattered.
He answered immediately.
“What happened?”
“Someone broke a window.”
Silence.
Apparently windows had become our shared trauma.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Where are you?”
“At work.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
Another silence.
Old Luca would already have been in the car.
New Luca asked:
“What do you want?”
I looked at the shattered glass.
“Can Daniel check whether this is connected to Peter’s old people?”
“Yes.”
“Through police.”
“Yes.”
“No men showing up at anyone’s apartment.”
“Yes.”
“No retaliation.”
“Sophie.”
“Say it.”
A pause.
“No retaliation.”
“Thank you.”
Evidence showed the threat came from a former Bellini security contractor who blamed me for Vanessa’s legal problems.
Ridiculous.
He was arrested after cameras captured his vehicle.
No Moretti punishment followed.
The justice system remained slower than Luca wanted.
He survived.
Then something unexpected happened.
The broken window terrified me after the danger was gone.
At work, I was fine.
With police, fine.
While boarding up the glass, fine.
At midnight in my apartment, my hands began shaking.
I called Luca.
Not Robert.
Not Maria.
Luca.
He answered on the first ring.
“Sophie?”
I couldn't speak.
His voice changed.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me there?”
That question almost made me cry harder.
“Yes.”
He arrived twenty-eight minutes later.
No entourage.
Daniel remained in the car downstairs.
Luca came upstairs.
I opened the door.
He did not touch me.
I stepped into him.
Only then did his arms close around me.
I cried against his shirt.
Not because I was in love with him.
Not yet.
Because sometimes safety becomes visible only after someone asks permission to enter it.
He stayed until I fell asleep on the couch.
When I woke at six, he was in the kitchen.
Coffee.
Terrible coffee.
“You stayed.”
“You asked me to come.”
“That wasn't permission to move in.”
He smiled.
“I slept in a chair.”
“That chair is awful.”
“I noticed.”
Then he left.
No kiss.
No implication.
No invoice.
May you like
Something changed anyway.
---
