CHAPTER 2

DAMIAN

The Moretti mansion smelled like desperation wearing expensive perfume and I have been in enough rooms like this one to know the difference between real power and the performance of it. Crystal chandeliers, imported marble, and a string quartet tucked into the corner like this was a different era entirely.

Zach Moretti had built all of this on borrowed fear and other people's silence, and tonight that silence had a price tag attached to it.

I moved through the party without stopping, and people stepped aside without being asked. They always did, though I had stopped noticing it years ago. Attention was simply the cost of being me, and I had never found it particularly interesting. Matteo fell into pace beside me, just half a pace behind, the way he always did.

“Moretti says he's ready for you,” he informed quietly.

“Good,” I replied flatly. “It's good to see he loves his life.”

************

I saw her before she saw me.

She was moving along the far edge of the hall, a tray balanced in both hands, keeping close to the wall the way people do when they have spent a long time perfecting invisibility. She didn't belong here, not because she looked beneath them, but because she was the only one who wasn't pretending to be something she wasn't.

I saw her walk out when the two guests spoke about Moretti's other daughter, her face gave her away. She was the other daughter.

“Give me a moment,” I said and followed her, leaving a confused Matteo standing in the middle of the hall.

She was standing just off the main hallway, her back partially toward me. The tray sat against the wall and her shoulders were drawn up slightly, not shaking and not making a sound. Just still. The kind of still that comes from years of practicing how to hurt without people getting satisfaction from it. She didn't hear me approach so I avoided making a sound and just watched her, crying silently.

She exhaled slowly and straightened herself before she turned and walked directly into me, she stumbled back immediately but I didn't move. She looked up with a small frown, right before it turned into fear. The exact reaction everyone gave when they saw me. I looked at her the way I look at things I was deciding the value of. Dark wavy hair, hazel eyes still wet at the edges from whatever those women had said, a plain dress that had been washed within an inch of its life. She was quietly, almost inconveniently beautiful — the kind of beautiful that had no idea it existed, which made it the most dangerous kind.

I turned and walked away before she could say anything.

************************************************

Zach Moretti was already on his feet when I walked in. That was the first mistake. Men who stood to greet me were men who needed me to know they respected me. Real men sit and show their power with just their presence.

I sat down without being told and studied them. His wife sat near him and the daughter sat on the other side. She wasn't here. The one I had encountered earlier.

I looked at the daughter again and she shifted with a smile, the father must have informed her, hence the smile.

I looked up at Matteo who was standing beside me and nodded, he left then.

Moretti opened his mouth twice before words actually came out. "Mr. De Luca. Thank you for— we're honoured to have—"

"You're in debt to me," I said quietly. "Seven hundred million. Now it's your turn to pay me.”

“Yes, a—and that's why we'll take your offer.”

I put my hands on the table then, the bang silencing the room. “It was never an offer, Moretti, it was a demand.”

His throat moved. “Yes, of course.” He reached for the glass of water in front of him, thought better of it, and set his hand flat on the table instead. He motioned to the daughter who stood up with a smile. She was beautiful, I noticed then. Beautiful in the way things are when they have been carefully, deliberately maintained. But I didn't like her. “This is my daughter, my pride. We would love to give her to you as a wife.”

I hummed and studied her for a few seconds before turning to Moretti.

“Rumours have it that you have another daughter,” I said and their bodies moved. Perfect. “Why isn't she here?”

Isabella sat down.

Moretti swallowed. “W—we thought it wouldn't be necessary.”

“She is not worthy of your presence,” the wife suddenly said and for the first time since I walked in, I looked at her.

“Hmm, and you are?” I asked and she recoiled. Coward.

“Get her here,” I ordered. “And do not waste my time while doing it.”

Moretti nodded swiftly and buzzed the housekeeper.

She stepped in and stopped. I watched her take in the room slowly — the confusion moving across her face, the dawning unease, and then the moment her eyes landed on me the recognition arrived. She avoided her family's angry eyes and simply looked down.

I turned back to Moretti. "I don't want this daughter,” I said and looked at Isabella briefly, I didn't miss the unbelievable gasp she made in response.

Then I pointed at the girl by the door. “I want her,” I said and the room went silent.

Moretti leaned forward immediately. "Mr. De Luca, with respect, she is the other daughter. She isn't the one we—"

I looked at him and he shut his mouth. I settled back in my chair and studied her again, she looked numb, like my statement had suddenly paralyzed her. Her lips were slightly parted and I knew she wasn't prepared for what she had just heard.

Good.

Matteo would ask me why I chose her later. I knew he would, and my answer would be the same answer I gave whenever I did things that confused people.

No one should see me coming.

But the truth is, I didn't want a Moretti wife who would spend our arrangement trying to outmaneuver me. I wanted the one they'd disregarded, the one they'd thrown away.

I always found use for things other people discarded.