Chapter 3 - Secrets Beneath the Silk
The black Mercedes convoy slid silently through the rain-slicked streets of Chicago, turning toward the iron gates of the Moretti estate in Lincoln Park. The estate was a sprawling fortress of brick, wrought iron, and security cameras, hidden behind a thick wall of ancient oaks that kept the prying eyes of the city at bay.
Inside the climate-controlled cabin of the car, the air felt suffocating. Eleanor sat as close to the opposite door as the massive folds of her wedding gown would allow, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Every few seconds, a subtle wince crossed her features as the car hit a bump in the road, sending a fresh wave of pain shooting up her left leg.
Gabriel watched her profile in the dim light. Up close, without the harsh glare of the cathedral chandeliers, he could see the faint dark circles under her eyes, the exhaustion etched into the corners of her mouth, and the way her shoulders remained locked in a perpetual state of defense.
"Julian," Gabriel said without turning his head from Eleanor.
In the front passenger seat, Julian turned half around, his face illuminated by the amber glow of the radio dial. "Boss?"
"Call Dr. Vance. Have him at the estate by the time we arrive."
Julian’s eyebrows arched in surprise. "Vance? For a sprained ankle or old scar tissue? Boss, we have a reception full of capos and city officials waiting at the house. Bringing in a private doctor for a minor limp is going to send a signal—"
"I don't give a damn what signal it sends," Gabriel interrupted, his voice dropping to a low, lethal purr that brooked no argument. "Did you not see her walking down that aisle, Julian? That wasn't a sprain. That wasn't an old car accident."
Eleanor flinched at the word accident, her fingers tightening so hard over her knuckles that the skin turned blue.
Gabriel noticed. His eyes narrowed. He shifted closer to her on the leather seat, the faint scent of cedar and expensive bourbon washing over her.
"Eleanor," Gabriel said, his voice softening just a fraction—enough to be dangerous. "Look at me."
She hesitated for a long moment, then slowly turned her head. Her large, hazel eyes met his dark gaze, full of a defensive pride that refused to look entirely defeated.
"My brother told Julian you were in a car crash years ago," Gabriel said quietly. "Is that true?"
Eleanor let out a dry, humorless laugh that sounded like dry leaves scraping across pavement. "Nathan is a liar. He’s lied since we were kids. He lies when the truth would be easier."
"Then what happened to your leg?"
Before Eleanor could answer, the car slowed smoothly to a halt, the tires crunching softly on the wet gravel of the Moretti courtyard. The massive iron gates swung open automatically, and the car pulled up beneath the grand stone portico of the main house.
Before the driver could even step out to open the door, Gabriel pushed his own door open and stepped out into the steady October rain. He ignored the water soaking into the shoulders of his custom suit, walked around the back of the car, and opened Eleanor’s door.
She looked up at him, panic flashing in her eyes. "Gabriel, no. I can walk. I have to walk inside. What will your men think if you carry me through the front doors of your house too?"
"Let them think I take care of what belongs to me," Gabriel said.
Before she could argue, his strong arms slid beneath her, scooping her up effortlessly. Eleanor let out a sharp gasp, her hands instinctively grabbing the lapels of his jacket to steady herself as he lifted her out of the car. The cold Chicago wind whipped around them, driving the rain sideways, but Gabriel sheltered her entirely against his chest, marching up the grand stone steps with unyielding purpose.
Julian hurried behind them, holding a massive black umbrella over their heads, his face wearing an expression of deep, calculating unease.
The heavy mahogany double doors swung open, revealing the cavernous, marble-floored foyer of the Moretti mansion. Standing near the grand staircase were a dozen of Gabriel’s most trusted lieutenants, along with several women from the inner circle who had arrived early to prepare for the reception.
When Gabriel walked through the front doors carrying his bride in his arms, the polite murmurs in the foyer died instantly. Total, suffocating silence fell over the room.
Vincent Vance, standing near the foot of the marble stairs with a crystal tumbler of whiskey in his hand, took a slow sip, his eyes gleaming with a dark, speculative amusement.
Gabriel didn't break his stride. He carried Eleanor straight past the stunned crowd, heading toward the private residential wing at the back of the estate.
As they rounded the corner out of sight, Julian turned to face the silent gathering in the foyer, his voice cutting through the tension like a razor.
"The reception in the East Ballroom is proceeding as planned," Julian announced smoothly, his tone leaving no room for questions. "Go get a drink. The boss will join you shortly."
Upstairs, down a quiet hallway lined with dark wood paneling and oil paintings of past Moretti patriarchs, Gabriel kicked open the door to the master suite. He carried Eleanor inside, walking past a massive four-poster bed draped in velvet, and gently set her down on a plush velvet chaise lounge by the fireplace.
The room was warm, smelling of burning oak logs and expensive cologne.
May you like
Gabriel straightened up, unbuttoning his suit jacket, and looked down at his new wife. Her face was pale, her breath coming in shallow gasps, and a single tear had finally broken free, tracing a quiet path down her cheek.
"Tell me the truth, Eleanor," Gabriel said, his voice dangerously soft as he knelt down beside the chaise lounge so they were eye-to-eye. "What did Nathan do to get you into this condition?"
