Chapter 3 - The Transition
Within forty minutes, the quiet, forgotten street outside was filled with the flashing red and blue lights of private medical transports and unmarked security SUVs. Neighbors peeked through rotting blinds, whispering in fear, but the presence of Victor Moretti's private detail ensured total, absolute control over the perimeter.
The transition was chaotic, emotional, and overwhelming. The twins, Emma and Ava, screamed in fright when the medics approached with thermal blankets, clinging to my skirt so tightly I could barely move.
"It's okay, babies," I soothed, kneeling down and kissing both of their foreheads. "Mr. Moretti isn't going to hurt us. He's... he's going to take care of us now."
Victor knelt beside me, his expensive wool coat pooling on the dusty floor. He looked at the twins, then up at me, his gaze softening into something remarkably gentle. "Olivia. Pack whatever bags you have. We're going home."
"Home?" I echoed, looking around the basement that had been my sanctuary and my prison for a year.
"My home," Victor corrected firmly. "All of you. There is a west wing at the estate that hasn't been used in a decade. By morning, it will be fully renovated into a proper home for every single one of you. And you," he added, his voice dropping into a stern yet affectionate register, "are going to stop working as my house assistant immediately."
"I have to work! I need the money for groceries—"
"Olivia," Victor interrupted gently, placing a warm hand on my shoulder. "You work for me no longer. From this moment on, you are my daughter’s older sister, and my honored guest. Let me fix this."
The drive back to the Moretti estate felt like traveling between two different planets. We left the rotting brick and flickering streetlights of the west side behind, passing through the grand wrought-iron security gates of the North Shore mansion. The massive limestone estate glowed under the amber lights of the courtyard, its towering fountains and manicured gardens looking like a palace straight out of a fairy tale.
When the vehicles stopped, the household staff was lined up on the grand marble steps, looking bewildered and anxious. Among them was Mrs. Gable, the stern head housekeeper who had supervised my cleaning duties for seven months.
As Victor stepped out and carefully lifted Noah into his arms, followed by Daniel, Lucas, the twins, Mia, and finally me stepping out from the rear door, Mrs. Gable’s jaw dropped.
"Mr. Moretti... I don't understand," Mrs. Gable stammered, looking at the bedraggled group of children standing in the immaculate foyer.
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"Mrs. Gable," Victor announced, his voice carrying the absolute authority that made boardrooms tremble, though his eyes rested warmly on me. "Prepare the west wing suites immediately. These are my children. And this young lady, Olivia Hart, is the bravest person in the city of Chicago. She will be treated with the exact same respect as myself. Understood?"
Mrs. Gable blinked once, twice, and then swallowed hard. "Yes, Mr. Moretti. Right away."
