Chapter 13 - The Return to the Hudson
By the time our private jet touched down at the private hangar near Newark two weeks later, the autumn air had turned crisp, sharp, and smelling of woodsmoke and river fog.
The transition back to New York wasn't the return to a workplace; it was a homecoming.
We didn't return to the cramped attic apartment in Brooklyn, either. Two days before our flight, Rossi had supervised the discreet, thorough clearing of our old quarters—transferring Lily’s wooden toy chest and my few remaining books into the permanent west suite of the Moretti estate, which had been completely redesigned with warm oak tones, cream wool rugs, and a private sunroom overlooking the Hudson.
Mrs. Hargrove met us at the service entrance with a steaming mug of spiced tea for me and a fresh chocolate biscuit for Lily, her silver hair immaculate and her expression entirely free of its former severe polish.
“Welcome back, Signora Clara,” Hargrove said, her voice carrying a rare, genuine warmth. “The nursery has been fully audited. Not a single tin of formula is out of place.”
Vincent chuckled, handing his heavy wool coat to the security guard as he scooped Enzo into his arms with practiced ease.
“Good,” Vincent said. “Because I’m taking the rest of the week off.”
The staff went still. In seventeen years, Mrs. Hargrove had never heard Vincent Moretti take an unscheduled afternoon off, let alone three consecutive days.
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“Sir?” Hargrove blinked. “The freight arbitration meeting with the German syndicate is scheduled for Thursday—?”
“Reschedule it,” Vincent said flatly, not looking back as he led us down the grand hallway toward the private wing. “Tell them the logistics director is busy.”
