All Chapters of Keeper, Not Lover: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

I stared at the headline, my finger hovering over the screen. The comments were even worse than the picture.In the comments, the same socialites who’d once envied my "Cinderella story" were finally showing their fangs."The real queen is back, so the little canary's dream is over. I bet her next patron is that sadist senator. What do you all think?""I'm starting a pool. How many hands will she pass through before she's kicked out of New York for good? Without the Moretti name protecting her, a woman like that isn't even fit to shine our shoes.""Five years is a long shelf life. She's expired."Their venom splattered against me like mud, but I kept scrolling, my face blank.Still, a heavy weight settled in my chest, a boulder making it hard to breathe.My heart seized in sharp, painful spasms. My nose burned. A hot pressure built behind my eyes.The five-year fantasy was over. Utterly shattered. I counted the days in my head.Six days left.Even without this woman, I was never going

I thought Rocco called me back for the usual reason. To be cleaned up, thrown on a bed, and used like an animal to satisfy him.But he didn't.He didn't even stay the night.He sat on that uncomfortable velvet sofa, silently ate a steak I wasn't very good at cooking, and then looked at his watch."I have to go."He stood up, buttoned his suit jacket, and became the cold-blooded Don again."I'll be busy for a while. Don't wait up."Then, without a backward glance, he was gone.Ten minutes later, his second-in-command knocked on the door."Miss Vance."He respectfully handed me a velvet case and a black Amex card."From the Boss."Inside the case was an antique violin. A Guarneri del Gesù, 1742. If I wasn't mistaken, it was the one that sold for a fortune at Christie's two years ago.And the black card had no limit."Compensation," the man said simply.I stared at the violin, an instrument that could buy an entire orchestra, and felt nothing but a vast emptiness.Rocco Moretti never apol

Just as I was about to turn off my phone, a call came in from Luca, Rocco’s right-hand man."Miss Vance, the Boss will be at the apartment shortly. Please… prepare yourself."Prepare myself.The words were a bitter joke.Was he not satisfied after his heroic rescue?Or was his frightened little rabbit, Vivienne, now unwilling to fulfill his needs?I looked at my packed suitcase and laughed at myself.Fine.Let this be it.A proper ending.I shoved the suitcase deep into the back of the closet, hiding it behind a row of couture gowns I had no intention of taking.Then, I changed into the black lace nightgown he had just sent me. The one that screamed what he wanted.Half an hour later, Rocco arrived.To my surprise, he wasn't angry or demanding.He was carrying several takeout boxes from Le Bernardin.Lobster and black truffle risotto.My favorite."I remember you didn't eat much today."He threw his coat, still cold and smelling of gunpowder, onto the sofa. He ordered his men to set th

Clara's POVA week later. Boston.I clutched a stack of sheet music, walking through the old brick corridors of MIT.The air didn’t smell of gunpowder or blood. Just crisp, cold wind and coffee.The smell of freedom.I was supposed to get on a plane to Austria that day.But a last-minute call from my mentor changed everything.“Clara, the Boston Symphony is looking for a cellist. And an old friend of mine at MIT needs a TA for his music elective. The pay isn't great, but you can work and continue your studies. And most importantly… it's harder for those people to find you there than in Europe.”So I tore up my ticket to Vienna. I grabbed my cello—my real baby—and boarded a Greyhound to Boston.“Clara, over here!”The head of the music department, a kind, white-haired woman, waved at me from down the hall.“I want you to meet someone. This is the pride of our school, the youngest tenured professor in the mathematics department. He’s the one who wants to co-host an interdisciplinary lect

Rocco's POVI felt like my soul had been ripped out. I drove back to the empty apartment.I pushed open the door and my eyes fell on the sofa. The one that used to be Clara’s.I remembered, two years ago, she loved curling up in that corner to read. The sun would hit her just right. She looked like a painting.But then…I frowned, looking at the cold, black leather sofa that stood there now.When did I change it?Right. When Vivienne came back.The first time she came here, she’d wrinkled her nose. “This decor is so tacky. These warm colors don’t suit you at all, Rocco. And this sofa… does it smell like cheap perfume?”I was busy with a family feud. To keep Vivienne happy, I’d said, “Then change it. Do whatever you like.”The next day, the renovation crew was here.All the warm colors were replaced with this cold, minimalist style.Clara’s favorite beige curtains became heavy, dark gray drapes. The plants she kept on the balcony were all thrown out.Even her bookshelf, filled with musi