Chapter 2 - The Rules of Moretti Manor
The rain poured heavily against the tinted glass of the Escalade as we drove through the iron gates of Moretti Manor. The estate sat on the high cliffs of Long Island, a stone fortress surrounded by dark pine trees and armed guards standing motionless under heavy black umbrellas.
I held the massive velvet box in my lap. Inside lay a diamond so large it felt less like a gift and more like a pair of platinum handcuffs.
"Put it on," Ricardo said, his voice deep and smooth like aged cognac. He wasn't looking at me; his dark eyes were fixed on the phone in his hand, his thumb scrolling through encrypted security feeds.
My fingers trembled as I slipped the heavy band onto my left ring finger. It was cold.
"Your name is Elena Vance now," Ricardo continued, his voice devoid of emotion. "You grew up in upstate New York, your family was in textiles, and we met at a private charity gala six months ago. The story is simple. People believe simple lies."
"And if someone asks why you're marrying a woman nobody has ever heard of?" I asked, staring at the ring.
"They won't ask," Ricardo replied, turning his head to look at me. His gaze was sharp, heavy, and paralyzing. "Because they know better than to ask me personal questions. The fake engagement serves two purposes, Elena. First, it satisfies my family's syndicate council, who demand I have a stable home before granting me full control of the Moretti enterprise. Second, it gives Leo a mother figure."
"And what happens after the three years are up?"
"You receive ten million dollars in a tax-free off-shore account, a clean identity, and a house anywhere in the world," Ricardo said coldly. "And you walk away. No contact with Leo. No contact with me."
The cruelty in his voice was sharp, but when the car door opened and three-year-old Leo was brought down the front steps by a nanny, Ricardo’s expression shifted. The hardened criminal boss vanished for a split second, replaced by a father weighed down by profound grief.
Leo saw me step out of the car. He pushed past the nanny, his small boots splashing through the puddles, and threw his arms around my knees.
"Milk lady," he whimpered softly, burying his small face into my wet coat.
I sank to my knees right there in the gravel driveway, ignoring the cold rain, and wrapped my arms around the small boy. "Hey little guy. I'm here."
Standing above us, Ricardo watched in complete silence. He didn't speak as I lifted Leo into my arms. He simply turned and led us inside the grand marble foyer.
"Rule number one," Ricardo said, stopping at the base of the sweeping staircase. "You do not leave this estate without two armed escorts."
"Rule number two," he continued, gesturing toward the dark, arched hallway on the far side of the second floor. "The west wing is off-limits. The doors are locked for a reason. If I catch you near that corridor, our deal is void, and you leave with nothing."
"And rule number three?" I asked, holding Leo tight against my hip.
May you like
Ricardo stepped closer, his shadow completely enveloping me. His hand reached out, his long fingers gently tucking a stray lock of wet hair behind my ear. His touch was warm, sending an involuntary shiver straight down my spine.
"Rule number three, Elena," he whispered, his eyes burning into mine. "Remember that this is a business arrangement. Do not mistake my protection for affection."
