Chapter 3 - Rules of the Estate
The black Escalade sped through the iron gates of the Moretti estate in Westchester County just past midnight. The snow was falling harder now, wrapping the sprawling stone mansion in a heavy, ghostly silence.
As soon as the car stopped in the circular driveway, I wrenched the door open and stepped out into the biting wind, needing space to breathe, needing the cold to wash away the phantom terror clinging to my skin.
“Elena.”
Ricardo’s heavy footsteps crunched on the gravel behind me. He caught my arm gently, turning me around to face him. The dashboard lights of the Escalade cast long, dramatic shadows across his sharp cheekbones.
“Inside. Now,” he ordered, his tone brooking no argument.
“I can’t breathe in there,” I snapped, pulling my arm away. The adrenaline from the ballroom was still pumping through my veins, mixing with anger and pure, unadulterated fear. “Did you see him, Ricardo? That man at the party—he wasn't just a guest. He recognized me!”
Ricardo stepped closer, trapping me between his solid frame and the cold metal of the car door. His dark eyes searched my face with an intensity that felt like a physical touch.
“I saw him,” Ricardo said quietly. “And by the time we left the ballroom, my men had already run his plates, traced his alias, and pulled his file. His name is Viktor Vance—no relation to your ex, just another parasite crawling out of the eastern docks. He’s a cleanup man for the Russian syndicate.”
I stared at him, my breath hitching. “You checked him out that fast?”
“I told you the night we met, Elena,” Ricardo said, his voice dropping into a harsh, dangerous whisper. “Anyone who threatens what is mine doesn't last twenty-four hours in my city. But that brings us back to the rules. You lied to me.”
My stomach dropped. “I didn't—”
“You told me you were running from debt and a dead-end waitress job,” Ricardo interrupted, his gaze locking onto mine with terrifying precision. “You didn't tell me you had a bounty on your head from men who kill for sport. Why did Viktor look at you like he was looking at a dead woman?”
The silence between us stretched, heavy and suffocating. The snow continued to fall, dusting the shoulders of Ricardo’s tailored coat. I knew right then that if I told him the truth—that I had witnessed a mafia execution four years ago and testified anonymously before vanishing—he might protect me, or he might decide I was too much of a liability and cut me loose.
And worse... what if Ricardo’s own syndicate was connected to that night?
“It was a mistake,” I whispered, looking down at the snow-covered gravel. “A bad place, a wrong time. I thought I left it behind.”
Ricardo’s jaw clenched. He reached out, his warm thumb gently tilting my chin up so I had no choice but to look into his eyes. The harshness in his expression softened, replaced by something dark, complex, and unreadable.
“You are under my roof now, Elena,” he said softly, his voice vibrating through the cold night air. “My name protects you. My guns protect you. But you must never, ever keep secrets from me again. Do you understand?”
I swallowed hard, nodding slowly. “I understand.”
“Good,” he murmured, his thumb brushing my lower lip before he dropped his hand. “Now come inside. Leo woke up an hour ago asking for you.”
The mention of the little boy instantly broke the tension. I turned and walked toward the grand oak doors of the mansion, the heavy iron latch clicking open as we stepped inside the warm, cavernous foyer.
As we walked up the sweeping marble staircase, Ricardo stopped at the heavy mahogany door leading down the eastern corridor.
“Your room is the master suite at the end of the hall,” Ricardo reminded me, pointing down the opposite direction. “And remember the other rule: the west wing—past the double iron sconces—is strictly off-limits. No exceptions.”
I nodded, though the forbidden hallway seemed to stare back at me with dark, echoing emptiness.
When I pushed open the door to Leo’s nursery, the little boy was sitting up in his oversized bed, clutching the pale-blue-dressed doll I had given him—wait, no, that was the other story—clutching his stuffed rabbit and looking around with wide, frightened eyes.
The moment he saw me walk through the door, the panic vanished from his face. He scrambled out of bed, running across the rug and throwing his arms around my knees.
“You came back,” Leo whispered, his voice trembling.
I knelt down, wrapping my arms around him, burying my face in his soft hair. “I told you I would, sweet boy. I’m not going anywhere.”
May you like
In the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest, Ricardo watched us. The hard, ruthless mafia don was completely gone, replaced by a father looking at the two people holding his shattered world together.
And for the first time since the ballroom, I realized the fake engagement was beginning to feel terrifyingly real.
