Chapter 10
The Moretti estate occupied twelve acres along Lake Michigan north of the city.
Stone walls.
Iron gates.
Cameras embedded discreetly among bare winter branches.
The house itself combined old brick with modern glass, as though generations of men had added whatever architecture best expressed the kind of power they wanted at the time.
Sophia waited inside the entrance in her wheelchair.
“You came.”
“I said I would.”
She propelled herself toward me and stopped too close for formality.
I bent and hugged her.
Luca stood several feet away wearing a dark sweater and no tie.
Without the tuxedo and ballroom lights, he looked less polished.
More tired.
“Thank you for coming.”
“I came for Sophia.”
“I know.”
The answer did not challenge me.
That mattered.
Sophia took me to an art room filled with colored pencils, clay animals, unfinished paintings, and one wall covered in drawings of water.
Most were gray.
Dark rivers under black bridges.
Cars shaped like closed boxes.
Then she handed me a new drawing.
Blue water.
Two figures holding hands.
A yellow moon above them.
“That’s us,” she said.
“I recognized my excellent hair.”
She giggled.
The sound brought Luca to the doorway.
“What am I missing?”
“Hannah thinks she has excellent hair.”
“It has been discussed.”
I looked at him.
“When?”
“Three consecutive mornings.”
Sophia smiled.
“She has red hair. It’s obvious.”
Luca’s mouth curved.
Not the public expression from gala photographs.
A real smile arrived unevenly, as though the muscles had forgotten the route.
I noticed.
He noticed me noticing.
The smile vanished.
Sophia pointed to the drawing.
“The water is blue now.”
Dr. Benton joined us twenty minutes later for therapy.
Sophia could not reproduce the gala steps.
She stood between parallel bars for eleven seconds.
May you like
Her right leg collapsed on the first attempt.
She struck the padded floor with both hands and shouted, “I did it yesterday.”
