Entering Armando’s World

The gates of the Moretti estate were impossibly tall, intricate ironwork twisting and curling like a fortress against the world. As the car rolled forward, I gripped the edge of my seat, my stomach knotting tighter with every meter we covered. Beyond the gates, manicured gardens stretched out like a perfectly crafted painting, the sprawling mansion at the center radiating a cold, intimidating beauty.

“This is just one of the properties,” Armando said casually, his voice breaking the oppressive silence in the car.

I glanced at him, his profile sharp against the morning light. He looked calm, at ease, as though walking into a lion’s den was a daily routine. Maybe it was for him.

“What if they don’t believe us?” I asked, my voice tighter than I’d intended. “Your family—they’ll see right through this.” Armando had requested that I come see his family because they were the reason he needed to fake marriage. He never wanted to get married after what a woman did to him. So he said.

“They won’t,” he replied without looking at me. “And if they do, let me handle it.”

“Handle it?” I repeated, bristling at his nonchalance. “This isn’t a board meeting, Armando. These are people. People who know you, who know your life.”

He finally turned to me, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “Olivia, do you trust me?”

I hesitated, his question catching me off guard. Did I? Could I?

“No,” I admitted softly, my gaze falling to the ring on my finger. It felt foreign, heavy, like a lie I was already tired of carrying.

“Then trust this,” he said, his voice steady. “I don’t lose.”

The car came to a stop, and before I could respond, a man in a crisp black suit opened my door. Armando stepped out first, extending a hand to help me. His grip was firm, grounding, as I reluctantly placed my hand in his.

The entrance hall of the mansion was as intimidating as the exterior. Marble floors gleamed beneath a massive crystal chandelier, and the faint scent of fresh flowers hung in the air. A group of elegantly dressed people waited just beyond the staircase, their expressions a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

“Armando,” a striking woman called out, stepping forward. Her features were sharp, softened only by the warmth in her smile. She looked every bit the part of a matriarch, poised and commanding. “And this must be Olivia.”

“This is my fiancée,” Armando said smoothly, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back.

Fiancée. The word felt foreign, unreal, and yet it slipped from his lips so effortlessly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, extending my hand with what I hoped was confidence.

The woman took it, her gaze lingering a moment longer than felt comfortable. “You’ve kept her a secret long enough,” she said, her tone light but loaded.

An older man, tall and imposing, stepped forward next. His sharp eyes assessed me like I was a stock market figure rather than a person. “Why the sudden decision to settle down, Armando?” he asked gruffly.

“When you know, you know,” Armando replied with a shrug, his tone disarming but firm.

The response earned a few raised eyebrows, but no one pressed further. At least, not yet.

The hours that followed were a blur of introductions and scrutiny. Every smile felt like a test, every question a trap. Armando’s mother was particularly intense, her piercing gaze never wavering as she asked about my upbringing, my education, my values.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” she said finally, her tone bordering on condescending. “But what makes you think you’re ready for a life like this?”

I hesitated, the weight of her question sinking in. What made me think I was ready for this? I wasn’t. Not even close.

Before I could answer, Armando interjected. “She doesn’t need to prove herself,” he said, his voice firm. “She’s with me. That’s all that matters.”

The room fell silent, tension thick in the air. Armando’s words were definitive, leaving no room for argument. But his mother’s eyes lingered on me a moment longer, a challenge unspoken.

Later that evening, I found myself on the terrace, overlooking the sprawling gardens. The cool night air was a welcome reprieve from the suffocating formality of the day.

“You survived,” Armando said, his voice breaking the silence.

I turned to see him leaning against the doorway, his jacket off, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. He looked different in this light—less guarded, almost human.

“Barely,” I replied, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly.

He stepped closer, his gaze steady. “You did well. Better than I expected.”

“Thanks for the glowing review,” I said dryly, earning a faint smirk from him.

For a moment, we stood in silence, the distance between us shrinking.

“Why me, Armando?” I asked finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “Out of all the people you could’ve chosen, why me?”

His expression softened, just enough to be noticeable. “Because you’re stronger than you realize,” he said simply. “And because you deserve a chance to take back what’s yours.”

The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard, leaving me unsure of how to respond.

The next day, reality came crashing back with a vengeance.

We were at an upscale café, pretending to enjoy a normal afternoon, when a man approached our table. His sharp features and cold eyes immediately set me on edge.

“Moretti,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

Armando’s demeanor shifted instantly. Gone was the smooth, charming man I had come to know. In his place was someone colder, more dangerous.

“Vincent,” Armando replied, his tone clipped. “What brings you here?”

Vincent’s gaze flicked to me, and I stiffened under his scrutiny. “Just thought I’d remind you to tread carefully,” he said, his smile sharp and unsettling. “Things have a way of unraveling when people overstep.”

Armando’s hand found mine under the table, his grip firm but reassuring. “Olivia has nothing to do with this,” he said, his voice steady but deadly.

Vincent chuckled, shaking his head. “They always say that. Until the bodies start piling up.”

The air around us grew colder as he walked away, leaving an ominous silence in his wake.

“What was that about?” I demanded, my voice trembling.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Armando replied, though his clenched jaw betrayed his words.

“It’s not nothing, Armando,” I snapped. “If being with you puts me in danger—”

“You’re safe with me,” he interrupted, his eyes locking onto mine. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I wanted to believe him. I really did. But the weight of his world was beginning to press down on me, and I wasn’t sure how much more I could carry.

That night, as I lay awake in the darkness of Armando’s penthouse, his words echoed in my mind: I won’t let anything happen to you.

But for the first time, I wondered if even he could keep that promise.