Chapter 9 - The New Foundation
The morning air in Bellagio was crisp, clear, and smelled of woodsmoke and roasting chestnuts when we stepped off the boat three weeks later.
There was no man in a tailored suit waiting at the end of the dock to tell us we didn't belong.
Instead, Maria was standing there by the stone steps, her silver hair pinned back neatly, her apron spotless, holding a small bouquet of alpine gentians tied with a piece of blue ribbon.
When she saw us coming down the gangplank, her face broke into a wide, luminous smile that made the decades fall away like mist off the water.
"Signorina Bennett," she said, stepping forward to take Noah’s small hand in her own worn, gentle palm. "Welcome home."
"Thank you, Maria," I said, adjusting the strap of my canvas duffel bag over my shoulder.
We walked up the cobblestone path together—past the iron gates, past the grand stone fountain where the water caught the morning sun like shattered diamonds, and up the grand staircase toward the double doors of the lobby.
As we crossed the threshold, the doorman—a new man with a quiet, respectful nod—snapped his heels together and held the door wide.
The lobby was filled with the soft murmur of guests, the crackle of a warm fire, and the rich, comforting scent of espresso and old cedar. Nobody looked at my thrift-store shoes. Nobody whispered behind their hands.
May you like
I walked straight past the mahogany reception desk, took the private elevator up to the fifth floor, and inserted the heavy iron key into the lock of Suite 501.
The door swung open smoothly, without a sound.
