I Married The Wrong Moretti Brother

My head was pounding like a heavy drum inside my skull. I groaned, pulling the thin, scratchy blanket over my eyes to block out the harsh morning light flooding into my cramped Milan apartment. My mouth tasted like bitter regret and old alcohol.

"Get up, you useless girl!" Aunt Elisabetta’s shrill voice shattered my fragile peace.

The bedroom door banged open so hard it hit the wall. My cousin Kira marched in right behind her, arms crossed over her chest, a nasty smirk on her face.

"Look at her, Mom. She reeks of alcohol. Coming home at the crack of dawn like trash." Kira sneered, kicking a pile of my clothes out of her way.

"I’m not..." I started, but my throat was painfully dry. I sat up slowly, clutching my spinning head. "Please, stop yelling. What time is it?"

"It is noon," Aunt Elisabetta snapped. "And you have a lot of explaining to do."

Ever since my parents died five years ago in a horrific elevator crash at the Rossi family office, I had been stuck living with them. Aunt Elisabetta had always hated me. She was deeply jealous of my dad’s success, and when he died, she took every bit of her bitter resentment out on me. They controlled my small inheritance, treated me like a live-in maid, and emotionally drained me dry.

"I just have a headache," I whispered, rubbing my temples.

Kira bent down and picked up a crumpled piece of thick, expensive-looking paper from the floor near my shoes. She flattened it out, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Mom. Look at this."

Aunt Elisabetta snatched the paper from her hands. Her face went pale, then flushed a deep, angry red. "Demi... what did you do?"

"What are you talking about?" I mumbled, finally swinging my legs out of bed.

"This is a marriage certificate!" Kira screamed, shoving the paper right in my face. "You got married last night? To... wait. Oh my god. Matteo Moretti?"

My heart completely stopped. "What? No. Give me that."

I grabbed the paper with shaking hands. My eyes scanned the blurry black ink. There was my name. My signature. And right next to it, written in bold, aggressive handwriting: Matteo Moretti.

One of the four Moretti quadruplets. The sons of the wealthiest, most powerful family in all of Italy. Billionaires whose empire was based right here in Milan.

"That's impossible," I whispered, dropping the paper on the bed. "This is a joke."

But a dark, heavy blank spot sat in my brain. I tried to remember last night. I remembered yesterday afternoon perfectly clearly. I remembered walking into my apartment early and finding my boyfriend, Iman, naked in my bed with two other women. I remembered the sickening way he laughed at me when I started crying. I remembered running out, feeling utterly broken and betrayed.

I remembered going straight to my best friend Anna’s club near the Duomo. I sat at the bar. I ordered a strong drink. My first real drink ever. And then... nothing. Just total darkness.

"How did you meet a Moretti?" Aunt Elisabetta grabbed my arm, her sharp nails digging painfully into my skin. "You? A nobody? Tell me right now!"

"I don't know! I swear to you, I don't remember any of this. It has to be a fake!" I pulled my arm away, rubbing my skin.

"Well, it looks real enough to me," Aunt Elisabetta said, a wicked, greedy smile slowly spreading across her lips. "And it looked real enough to Milano Lusso, too."

"What?" My stomach dropped straight to my toes. "What do you mean by that?"

Kira laughed loudly. "Mom took a picture of it an hour ago while you were dead to the world in bed. She sent it to all the entertainment blogs. It is everywhere, Demi. The whole country knows you married a Moretti. You are trending."

"Are you insane?!" I screamed, jumping up from the bed. My head spun wildly, but pure panic fueled my body. "They will destroy us! The Morettis do not play games. They are powerful, dangerous people!"

"Exactly," Aunt Elisabetta said smoothly, ignoring my panic. "Which is why they will pay us millions of euros to keep quiet. We go to them, we say the marriage is completely real, and you are his legal wife. They will offer a massive financial settlement for a quiet divorce so their reputation isn't ruined."

"You can't do this to me!" Tears pricked my eyes. "This is extortion!"

"If they deny it and get angry," she continued coldly, "I will simply tell them you stole the paper and made it up. I will tell them you are a crazy, desperate liar, and we came to apologize for your behavior. I will drop you right there."

"You would throw me to the wolves?" I choked out.

"Get dressed," my aunt ordered, completely ignoring my tears. "We are going to their estate in Lake Como right now. Do not test me, Demi. If you don't come, I will throw you out on the street today with nothing."

I had no choice. I tried to fight them. I begged them to stop, but they wouldn't listen. By the time they dragged me downstairs and pushed open the front doors of our building, a massive swarm of paparazzi was already blocking the street. Flashes blinded me instantly. Microphones were shoved right into my face.

"Demi! Are you pregnant with a Moretti baby?!" "Demi, how did you trap Matteo?!" "Show us the ring! Look this way!"

Kira pushed me hard into the back of my aunt's old car, slamming the door shut. I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and dialed Anna's number. It went straight to voicemail.

"Pick up, Anna, please," I whispered, tears spilling hot and fast down my cheeks. "I need you so much."

But there was no answer. The whole drive out of Milan and toward the serene, breathtaking views of Lake Como, my aunt and cousin talked about money. I just stared out the window, feeling like I was riding to my own execution.

When we finally arrived, the Moretti palazzo was terrifyingly massive. Huge, heavy iron gates stood tall at the entrance, surrounded by men in black suits with earpieces. I prayed they would turn us away. I prayed they would laugh and tell us to go to hell.

Instead, the head guard looked at Aunt Elisabetta's ID, checked a clipboard, and immediately buzzed the gates open. They were expecting us. That scared me more than anything else. It meant they weren't dismissing this claim. They were deeply interested in investigating it.

We were escorted into a massive waiting room inside the palazzo that looked like a royal museum. Gold trim covered the walls, antique paintings hung everywhere, and we sat on plush, dark velvet couches. A silent maid brought in a silver tray of fresh espresso and expensive pastries.

Aunt Elisabetta and Kira immediately sat down, eagerly stuffing their faces with the food and whispering excitedly.

"Look at this place," Kira whispered, her eyes shining with greed. "It's like a castle. Mom, we are going to be rich."

I stood in the far corner of the room, my hands shaking so badly I had to hide them behind my back. I couldn't breathe. The air in the palazzo felt heavy.

I have to take the blame, I thought frantically. I have to tell them I did this, that my family had absolutely nothing to do with it. Maybe if I apologize and take all the fault right away, they will just let me go. I'll go to jail, but at least they won't hurt me.

Suddenly, the heavy mahogany double doors swung wide open.

The room went dead silent. Aunt Elisabetta choked on a cookie and quickly stood up, brushing crumbs off her dress.

Bruno Moretti walked into the room. The patriarch. He was an older man, but still incredibly intimidating, dressed in a sharp, flawless custom suit. His dark, intense eyes scanned the room and locked instantly onto me.

"Demi Rossi," his voice boomed, deep and rough, echoing off the high ceilings. "Sit down."

I couldn't move. My knees felt like jelly.

"Mr. Moretti," my aunt stepped forward quickly, putting on a fake, polite smile. "Thank you so much for seeing us. We are just so shocked by this news—"

"I wasn't speaking to you," Bruno said softly, but the sheer danger in his tone made my aunt snap her mouth shut and sit back down instantly.

Then, heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway behind him. Four tall men walked into the room, standing side by side behind their father. My breath caught sharply in my throat.

The quadruplets. They were completely identical, and absolutely lethal. Tall, incredibly broad-shouldered, with thick dark hair and sharp jawlines that looked carved from hard stone. They wore dark, tailored clothes that clung to their muscular bodies perfectly. They were gorgeous, but their eyes were cold, calculating, and predatory. It was impossible to tell who was who.

"So," Bruno said, folding his hands in front of him. "This is the girl who claims to be my daughter-in-law."

Before I could open my dry mouth to stutter a frantic apology and take the blame, one of the identical brothers stepped forward from the line.

He tilted his head, his dark, burning eyes trailing slowly, hotly, all the way up my legs to my face. A slow, deeply arrogant smirk curled his perfect lips.

"Well, well," he murmured. His voice was a low, rough rumble that vibrated right through the floor.

The second he spoke, a violent, dirty flash of memory tore straight through the dark haze in my brain.

A dark, private corner booth in Anna's club. The heavy, intoxicating smell of expensive cologne and strong whiskey. A large, extremely hot hand gripping my waist tight, pulling me flush against a rock-hard, muscular chest.

"You are a messy, beautiful little thing, aren't you?" a deep, raspy voice teased against my ear, his hot breath sending wild shivers down my spine. "Stop crying over a stupid boy who isn't worth your time. Let me show you how a real man treats what belongs to him."

His hand slid up my thigh, his long fingers pressing possessively against my bare skin. He bit my bottom lip hard enough to make me whimper. "Say my name, Demi. Tell me you are mine now."

I gasped out loud, stumbling back a step in the grand waiting room. My hand flew up to cover my mouth.

It wasn't a fake certificate. It wasn't a sick joke. I stared wide-eyed at the tall, gorgeous brother standing right in front of me. His smirk grew wider, darker, and completely possessive. I really did drink whiskey with him last night. And looking into his hungry, intensely familiar eyes right now... I realized I really did marry him.