Chapter 10 - The View from the Fifth Floor
The sun was just beginning to dip behind the jagged peaks of the Swiss Alps, setting the waters of Lake Como on fire with bands of deep amber, gold, and violet.
Noah was already exploring the new blue bedroom down the hall, his laughter echoing against the high vaulted ceilings as he chased the cat across the parquet floor.
I stood by the tall, arched window of the grand salon, my hands resting on the cool mahogany sill.
On the desk behind me, my father’s black leather notebook lay open to the very first page, right beside a stack of fresh, blank architectural paper and a brand-new box of HB pencils.
The door behind me clicked open softly.
I didn't turn around. I could hear the slow, measured tread of footsteps on the wood floor—steady, quiet, and entirely at home.
"The architects from Milan are downstairs," Dante Moretti said, his voice low and calm in the gathering dusk. "They want to review the load calculations for the new east wing expansion. They brought coffee."
I turned my head slightly, looking out at the reflection of the lake in the thick glass of the window, where my face and his stood side by side against the fading light.
"Tell them to wait," I said, a small, quiet smile touching the corners of my mouth. "I'm still checking the foundations."
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Dante didn't answer. He just walked over to the window, stood beside me, and looked out over the water as the first evening stars began to pierce the heavy velvet sky above Bellagio.
We didn't say another word. For the first time in fifty years, the bridge was built, the ledger was balanced, and we were exactly where we belonged.
