Chapter 6 - Isabella’s Request
When Clara returned to the Moretti estate that afternoon, the house felt entirely different under the clear spring sunlight.
The glass walls revealed sweeping views of the blue Sound, white sailboats, and the distant, snow-capped peaks of the Olympic Mountains.
Isabella Moretti was sitting in a wheelchair on the expansive teak terrace, wrapped in a cream cashmere shawl. Though she looked pale and frail, her dark eyes were sharp, bright, and filled with life.
Sitting across from her, drinking espresso from a tiny porcelain cup, was Lorenzo. He wore an unbuttoned white linen shirt and dark trousers, looking relaxed, though his gray eyes snapped to Clara the moment she stepped onto the terrace.
"Clara!" Isabella called out, her raspy voice full of warmth. She reached out her hands. "Come here, my dear. Come close."
Clara walked over and gently took the older woman's soft hands in hers. "Mrs. Moretti. You look so much better."
"Thanks to you, sweetheart," Isabella said, squeezing Clara’s hands with surprising strength. "Enzo told me what you did. Four minutes of compressions. He said you refused to stop even when the manager tried to drag you away."
Clara glanced at Lorenzo, who was watching her quietly over the rim of his espresso cup.
"I just did what I was trained to do, ma'am," Clara said modestly.
"Nonsense," Isabella scoffed. "You saved an old woman's life while a room full of powerful men froze in terror. That isn't training, Clara. That is character."
She looked up at Lorenzo. "Enzo, give us a moment. I want to speak to Clara alone."
Lorenzo set his cup down without argument. He stood up, gave Clara one long, unreadable look, and strolled back inside through the sliding glass doors.
Once he was out of earshot, Isabella pulled Clara into a seat beside her.
"I know what my son gave you this morning," Isabella said softly. "The trial for your mother."
Clara swallowed hard. "Mrs. Moretti, it's too much. I can't possibly accept—"
"Quiet," Isabella interrupted gently, placing a finger against Clara’s lips. "Lorenzo thinks with his wallet when he wants to protect himself from feeling obligated to people. He thinks if he buys you a miracle, he can wipe the slate clean and go back to his cold, solitary world."
Isabella leaned closer, her eyes glittering with a fierce intensity.
"My son is surrounded by men who fear him, women who want his money, and enemies who want his blood," Isabella whispered. "He has built a fortress around his heart because his father was murdered when he was eighteen years old. But last night... when you yelled at him in the library... he listened to you."
Clara blinked. "He told you about that?"
"He didn't have to," Isabella smiled warmly. "I know my son. He hasn't looked at a woman the way he looked at you today in five years."
"Mrs. Moretti, I'm just a waitress—"
"You were a nursing student," Isabella corrected smoothly. "And starting on Monday, you are going to finish your degree at University of Washington. I have already arranged for your tuition to be cleared."
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Clara stared at her, overwhelmed. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I am old, Clara," Isabella said softly, looking out over the blue waters of the Sound. "And before I die for real, I want to make sure my son has someone in his life who isn't afraid to tell him when he's being a fool."
