Chapter 2 - Stepping Inside The Moretti Estate
The heavy iron gates of the Moretti estate swung open slowly, groaning against the relentless New York wind like wounded beasts.
Inside the black Escalade, my hands remained tightly clamped around my worn canvas purse as the sprawling stone mansion loomed ahead.
Ricardo Moretti sat beside me in complete silence, his sharp profile carved against the dim dashboard lights like dark granite.
“Remember the rules,” he said without turning his head, his deep voice cutting through the heavy tension inside the vehicle.
I swallowed hard, keeping my gaze fixed on the rain-streaked window as the car rolled up the long, winding gravel driveway.
This wasn’t a marriage built on romance or whispered sweet nothings under moonlight; it was a cold, calculated cage of mutual survival.
The front doors of the mansion opened before the car even came to a complete stop, revealing a row of stone-faced guards waiting.
Ricardo stepped out first, extending a gloved hand toward me with theatrical precision as the flashing security lights reflected in his eyes.
May you like
I placed my trembling fingers in his palm, feeling the cool leather of his glove and the undeniable strength beneath his grip.
As we crossed the grand threshold, I knew there was no turning back from the dark underworld I had just willingly entered.
