Chapter 9 - The Window on the Park
That evening, the Moretti residence on 72nd Street was bathed in warm, golden light.
The grand mansion, which had once felt like a cold, echoing fortress of shadows and armed men, hummed with the rich aroma of roasted garlic, fresh rosemary focaccia, and simmering bolognese sauce prepared by Rosa in the main kitchen.
In the second-floor library, the tall French windows overlooking Central Park stood spotless, the city lights reflecting like diamonds against the clean glass.
Emma stood on a small, custom-built wooden step-stool beneath the central window, wearing her favorite pink pajamas and bunny slippers.
In her hand, she held a brand-new, miniature blue spray bottle filled with clean warm water, and a soft microfiber towel.
Alessandro walked into the library, carrying a tray with two mugs of hot chocolate topped with extra marshmallows.
He set the tray on the side table, walked over to the window, and leaned his shoulder against the carved oak molding, watching his daughter carefully wipe a tiny smudge from the corner of the pane.
“How does it look, inspector?” Alessandro asked with a warm smile.
Emma tilted her head to the left, then to the right, inspecting the glass with the utmost professional seriousness.
“No streaks,” Emma declared proudly, turning around on her stool. “Mom says corners take the longest, but I got all of them.”
Alessandro laughed—a rich, deep, joyful sound that filled the high-ceilinged room—and reached down, lifting her off the wooden step-stool into his arms.
“You are the best window cleaner in North America, Emma,” Alessandro said, kissing her forehead. “But your shift ended at six o'clock.”
Emma wrapped her arms around his neck, giggling as she reached for a marshmallow from the tray. “Dad?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Are we ever going to ride the public bus again?”
Alessandro looked out through the crystal-clear glass at the glittering lights of Fifth Avenue below, where two private security sedans sat quietly at the curb, guarding their peace.
“Only if you want to, Emma,” Alessandro replied gently. “You can go anywhere in this world you want. But wherever you go, you will always have a home waiting for you here.”
Sophia walked into the library, wearing a soft cashmere sweater, her dark hair pinned back, carrying a bedtime storybook. She smiled as she wrapped her arms around Alessandro’s waist from behind, resting her cheek against his back.
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“Time for bed, little architect,” Sophia said softly.
Emma yawned, snuggling her head into the crook of Alessandro’s neck as he carried her toward the master wing, her small hand holding tightly to his collar.
