The day Arrived, the day that Melissa has to meet up with Luca's grandfather,Vittorio Moretti.
#MORETTI'S VILA/PENTHOUSE
The Moretti estate was not the cold, modern fortress Melissa had imagined. Nestled in the rolling hills outside the city, it was a sprawling, sun-warmed villa of old stone and terracotta, draped in vibrant bougainvillea. It spoke of deep roots and cultivated taste, not just ostentatious wealth.
Vittorio Moretti awaited them on a shaded veranda overlooking vineyards, he was older than time seemed to allow, with a leonine head of white hair and eyes that held the same penetrating grey as Luca's, but clouded with the wisdom of decades, he rose with a slight stiffness, but his presence was commanding.
"Nonno," Luca said with a respect bow, his voice touched with a reverence Melissa had never heard. "This is Melissa Vance."
Melissa offered her hand. "Mr. Moretti, thank you for inviting me."
Instead of shaking it, Vittorio took her hand in both of his, his skin papery but his grip firm.
He studied her face, not with the judgment she feared, but with a profound, searching curiosity. "Melissa," he said, his accent richer and deeper than Luca's. "The woman who makes my grandson smile with his eyes, not just his teeth. Finally, I meet you."
The comment was so disarming and perceptive that Melissa relaxed a fraction ,he invited them for lunch,and Lunch was a simple, exquisite affair of local produce.
Vittorio asked her about her art, not as a hobby, but as a craft.
He spoke of the Calabrian village his own mother came from, drawing a soft smile from Melissa as she shared stories from her mother's childhood.
He listened, truly listened. Then, over espresso, his gaze turned serious. "Luca tells me you have met the Calvano's weather."
" Yes, but we managed to get Calvano senior talk in neutral and normal conversation... unlike war he used to" Melissa claimed as Luca still hasn't interfere their conversations, he just enjoy the view of his golden girl."But be careful Calvanos are tricky and dirty game players of all-time"Vittorio demanded.
The lunch with Vittorio Moretti had been a quiet earthquake positively and the very ground beneath Melissa's feet to comfortable conversation.
He had not interrogated her. Instead, he spoke of light, and how it fell differently on the Tyrrhenian Sea than it did on the Hudson River.
He spoke of the patience required for both a fine wine and a fine line drawing.
When Melissa, emboldened, described her artistic process—the chaos of initial sketches giving way to the deliberate control of the final inking—he had nodded slowly.
"*Bene,*" he had said. "You understand. Control is not the absence of chaos. It is the channeling of it. A lesson my grandson," he cast a fond, pointed look at Luca, "learned late, and in harder schools."
Luca had merely smiled, a true, easy smile that reached his eyes, just as his grandfather had noted.
LATER.....
As they drove back to the city, the silence between them was comfortable, saturated with the warmth of the afternoon sun and approval.
"He liked you," Luca stated, as if commenting on the weather.
"I liked him," Melissa replied, watching the vineyards blur past the window. "He sees… the person. Not the accessory."
Luca's hand found hers. "He sees what I see.", Melissa smiled at him and he smiled back.
#LUCA'S PENTHOUSE
Back at the penthouse, a new reality settled in. Marco, the ever-present shadow, gave her a slight, respectful nod that felt different—more acknowledgment than mere observation.
The staff, always impeccably polite, now addressed her with a subtle, deferential warmth. "Would *Signorina Vance* prefer her tea in the library or on the east terrace?" It was no longer a guest being accommodated, but a resident's preference being learned.
This was the most disorienting part. Making a home in a fortress, her few boxes of art supplies and personal effects had been brought from her apartment and integrated not into a guest room, but into Luca's personal suite.
Her charcoal pencils lay beside his fountain pens on the massive desk.
A vibrant, half-finished canvas of the city skyline at dusk now stood on an easel in a sun-drenched corner of the living area, a bold splash of her world in the middle of his.
It was here that Sophie found her via video call later that evening, Melissa's face illuminated by the screen and the city lights beyond the glass walls.
"Okay, spill. The campus gossip mill is saying you've officially moved into the Moretti citadel. Please tell me there's a moat. And a dragon. I'm picturing a dragon."
Melissa laughed, the sound tinged with weary exhilaration. "No dragon, Just Marco. Who is arguably more intimidating."
Sophie's grin faded into genuine concern. "Mel… this is getting real. I mean, gala fights with rival heiresses is one thing. Meeting the patriarch? Moving in? This is… forever territory."
"I know," Melissa whispered, her gaze drifting to the open doorway where she could hear Luca murmuring in Italian on a business call. "It feels like forever. The good kind. But it's built on quicksand, Soph. Cynthia Calvano isn't going to vanish because I impressed an old man at lunch."
"Have you heard from her?"
"Not a peep, which is what worries me, Luca says she's 'recalibrating.'" Melissa sighed, running a hand through her hair. "And a gallery owner, is ecstatic. My 'profile' has never been higher. She's fielding offers for collaborations I used to dream of, It all feels tied to her."
"It is," Sophie said bluntly, but not unkindly. "But that's not all you are, you stood up to that Calvano creep on your own merit. You won over Senior Moretti with your own mind. Don't forget the 'you' part of this equation, okay?"
The call ended with promises of a girls' day soon. Melissa felt bolstered by Sophie's grounding friendship. She needed it.