CHAPTER 3

By dinner, I had learned three things about the Moretti estate. First, nobody asked Vincent questions twice.

Second, nobody entered his office without permission.

And third...

Everyone seemed to know something about me that I didn't. It was the third one that bothered me most.

I sat at the dining table, barely touching my food.

Teresa noticed.

"You're not eating."

"I'm not hungry." She placed a glass of water beside me.

"You should eat anyway." I gave her a tired smile.

"You're starting to sound like my mother."

"Your mother must be a wise woman."

"She is."

I looked toward the empty chair across from me.

"Does Vincent always come home this late?"

Teresa hesitated.

"Sometimes."

"Does he usually eat dinner?"

"Usually."

"Alone?"

Another pause.

"Usually."

I sighed. "Okay. I get it. You don't like answering questions about him."

"It's not that I don't like answering." She looked toward the hallway.

"It's that I don't know which answers are safe."

That sentence made me look at her.

Before I could ask what she meant, footsteps echoed from the corridor.

Vincent entered. His black suit was slightly disheveled, the first sign I'd seen that his day hadn't gone perfectly.

Two men followed him. They stopped when they saw me.

Vincent's gaze immediately moved toward them.

"Leave."

They exchanged a glance.

"Sir—"

"I said leave." They left without another word.

Vincent loosened his tie.

Then he looked at me.

"Why aren't you eating?"

"Why do you care?"

"I asked a question."

"And I answered." He walked toward the table.

"Teresa."

"Yes, sir?"

"Bring her something else."

"I'm not hungry." He ignored me.

"Something she likes."

Teresa nodded and left. I stared at him.

"You don't have to pretend to be concerned."

"I'm not pretending."

"Then what are you doing?" He pulled out the chair across from me.

"Making sure my wife eats." The word sounded different coming from him now. Not like a threat.

Not quite.

I looked away.

"How was your day?" He studied me.

"Why?"

"I'm trying to have a normal conversation."

"We don't have a normal marriage." I looked back at him.

"Because you made sure of that." His jaw tightened.

"Perhaps." A phone vibrated inside his pocket.

He glanced at the screen.

Something changed in his expression.

He stood.

"I have to go."

"Now?"

"Yes." I frowned.

"Is everything okay?"

He didn't answer immediately. Then he looked at me.

"Stay inside." I almost laughed.

"Of course."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." He walked toward the door.

"Vincent." He stopped.

"What's happening?"

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"That's exactly what you said yesterday."

"And I'm saying it again." He left.

I watched the door close.

Something was wrong.

I knew it.

---

An hour passed. Then two. I was sitting in the library when I heard voices outside.

Men.

Angry voices.

I stood.

The sound came from the west wing.

I walked toward the hallway.

Then I stopped.

Two security guards were standing near the entrance.

One of them immediately noticed me.

"Mrs. Moretti."

"What's happening?"

"Nothing."

"Everyone keeps saying that." He lowered his gaze.

I stepped closer. "I heard shouting."

"It's being handled."

"By Vincent?" Neither answered. I turned away.

Then I heard it. A loud crash. My body reacted before my mind could stop it.

I ran toward the sound.

"Ma'am!"

Someone grabbed my arm.

I pulled away.

"Don't touch me!"

"Mrs. Moretti, you can't go in there."

"Why?" No answer. Then the door opened.

Vincent stepped out.

His shirt sleeve was rolled up.

There was blood on his knuckles.

My breath caught.

He looked at me.

For one second, neither of us spoke.

Then his eyes moved toward the guard holding my arm.

"Let her go." The man immediately released me.

Vincent walked toward me.

"Go upstairs."

I stared at his hand. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing."

"That's blood."

"I know what blood looks like." His tone was cold.

I looked behind him.

The room was dark.

I couldn't see what was inside.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me." His eyes narrowed.

"You don't want to know."

"Maybe I do." He stepped closer.

"Elara." I refused to move.

"You brought me into your house." His gaze held mine.

"Then stop treating me like a stranger." Something flickered in his eyes. Something I couldn't read.

"You are a stranger." The words hurt more than they should have.

I took a step back.

"Right." I turned. Then he caught my wrist.

Not painfully.

Just enough to stop me.

"Wait."

I looked down at his hand.

He released me immediately.

"Sorry." I looked at him. did he just said sorry? so this ruthless man knows how to say sorry too? I scoffed.

He seemed almost uncomfortable.

"Go upstairs," he said more quietly.

"Why should I ?"

"Because there are people in this house who would use you to get to me." My expression changed.

"What people?"

"Enemies."

"Enemies—what? What do you mean?"

"Stop asking questions Elara."

I stared at him.

"Is that why you chose me?" His face went still.

There . . . That tiny reaction.

I had seen it.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Did you marry me because my family owed you money..."

I stepped closer. "Or because you wanted something else?"

He said nothing.

"I'm asking you Vincent Alessandro Moretti."

His eyes darkened. I could see the slight surprised look on his face when I mention his complete name.

"Don't ask questions you aren't prepared to hear the answers to." he answered, there was a menacing edge to his voice.

"Then give me time to prepare." I still debate. I don't care about his thoughts, or whatever he wants to hide from. I don't want to live in lies and questions.

For several seconds, he simply looked at me.

Then he said, "You'll know when the right time comes, but I'm sure you will not like it."

I shook my head. "You keep saying that."

"Because it's true." He walked past me.

I turned.

"I swear one day, you're going to tell me everything."

but he just ignored me and disappeared down the hallway.

---

That night, I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about his bloody knuckles. The photographs.

His family.

The way he'd reacted when I asked whether he'd chosen me for another reason.

There was a connection.

I could feel it.

But I didn't know what it was.

Around midnight, I heard footsteps outside my bedroom.

I sat up. A shadow passed beneath the door.

I quietly got out of bed. The footsteps stopped.

I held my breath. Then there was a knock.

Three slow taps. I opened the door slightly.

No one was there.

I looked down.

An envelope lay on the floor.

My name was written across it.

ELARA

My heart began pounding. I picked it up.

There was no sender. I opened it. Inside was a single photograph. I stared at it.

It showed my father. Standing beside a much younger Vincent.

My fingers tightened around the photograph.

There was something written on the back.

Four words.

ASK YOUR FATHER WHY.

I couldn't breathe.

My father knew Vincent.

Not recently.

Not because of the debt.

Years ago.

I looked down the empty hallway. Then back at the photograph. Someone had wanted me to find this.

Someone inside the Moretti estate.

And suddenly, the question wasn't simply why Vincent had chosen me.

It was—

What's the deal between my father and him?