Chapter 4 - The Price of Loyalty
The photograph burned in my hand like a live coal. I slammed the cottage door, threw the heavy deadbolt, and stared down at the red marker ink until my vision blurred.
We know what his dog loves.
It wasn't just a threat against me; it was a tactical blueprint. In Matteo Moretti’s world, affection was a lethal liability. Caring about someone—letting them in, trusting them, letting down your guard—was painting a neon target across their back for every rival syndicate, ambitious politician, and bitter socialite in the Midwest.
Before I could second-guess myself, I grabbed my coat, marched straight out into the freezing spring drizzle, and headed toward the main mansion. Bruno flanked my right side, his body rigid, his nose testing the wet air for unfamiliar scents.
When I reached the heavy oak doors of the main entrance, Leo stepped out from the security alcove, his expression darkening when he saw my face.
“Clara? What’s wrong?”
“I need to see Matteo. Now.”
“He’s in the subterranean study with the councilmen from—”
“I don’t care who is in there,” I interrupted, my voice shaking with a cold fury I didn't know I possessed. “Tell him it’s about Bruno.”
Leo hesitated for a fraction of a second, took one look at the massive Cane Corso standing guard beside me with bared teeth, and pressed his earpiece. “Boss. You need to come to the foyer. Now.”
Less than two minutes later, the heavy double doors of the study swung open. Matteo stepped out, his shirtsleeves rolled to his forearms, a dark scowl etched across his features. But the moment his eyes landed on my pale face and the trembling hand holding the photograph, the annoyance vanished, replaced by an instant, predatory stillness.
“Inside,” he commanded, his voice dropping an octave as he grabbed my arm and pulled me into the private study, slamming the heavy door behind us.
I tossed the photograph onto his mahogany desk.
Matteo looked down. The silence in the room grew so heavy I could hear the antique grandfather clock ticking in the corner. When his dark eyes lifted back to mine, the temperature in the room dropped below freezing.
“Where did you get this?”
“Left on my porch ten minutes ago,” I said, my voice steadying despite the terror clawing at my chest. “Somebody’s watching us, Matteo. They know about the dog. They know about me.”
Matteo didn't shout. He didn't pace. He walked slowly around the desk, his gaze locked on my face. “Did anyone touch you?”
“No.”
“Did you see a vehicle?”
“Just the wind.”
He reached out, his large, warm hand gently covering my trembling fingers where I clutched my coat. “Listen to me, Clara. You are not safe in that cottage anymore. Pack your things tonight. You are moving into the main house.”
I jerked my hand back, shaking my head fiercely. “No.”
“This isn’t a request,” he snapped, his authority flaring like a struck match.
“I am not running away to hide in your fortress like some terrified captive!” I shouted back, finally letting loose every ounce of frustration I had bottled up for months. “Do you think I left a fourteen-year marriage to a controlling monster just to trade him for a benevolent dictator who locks me away in a mansion for my own good? I survived Grant because I learned how to stand my ground, Matteo! If I move into your house because of a threatening note, I’m telling everyone that I don't belong here—that I’m just a liability you have to guard!”
Matteo stared at me, completely stunned. Nobody yelled at Matteo Moretti. Nobody questioned his decrees.
For a long moment, the air crackled between us with dangerous, untamed energy.
Then a slow, grim smile touched his lips. “You really are impossible, do you know that?”
“I’m realistic,” I shot back. “If someone wants to play games, let them come to the open door. But I am not giving them the satisfaction of watching me cower.”
Matteo stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. He reached up, his knuckles gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from my forehead.
“Stubborn,” he murmured softly. “Fiercely, dangerously stubborn.”
“It’s my best feature.”
“Agreed.” His expression hardened again, turning back into the lethal boss of the Chicago underworld. “Leo will double the perimeter watch around your cottage. A detail will be stationed fifty yards out, out of sight so you don't feel caged. And Bruno stays inside with you, locked and bolted.”
May you like
I opened my mouth to argue further, but the look in his eyes silenced me. It wasn't control; it was a silent pact between two people who refused to let the darkness win.
“Fine,” I whispered. “Bruno stays.”
