Chapter 6 : The Moretti Estate

"He doesn't hate your family," I said, keeping my eyes on the window. "He's just scared of it."

"Scared people usually have a reason."

"Then maybe you should ask yourself what yours is."

Demetrius let out a low breath that was almost a laugh, and he didn't push. The city thinned out after that, glass towers giving way to tall trees and long stretches of empty road. Then the SUV slowed, and a pair of iron gates the size of a small building slid open without a sound.

I actually forgot to breathe for a second. The Velvet Pit had felt huge, but it was nothing next to this. The estate spread out in every direction, made of stone walls and clipped lawns, with cameras tucked into every corner and armed men standing at every turn. I saw many luxurious cars roll slowly across the driveway, and nobody looked twice at any of them. Except me. 

The club was just a small piece of his world, I realized, and I had just walked into the rest of it.

The moment Demetrius stepped out of the car, the atmosphere in the whole yard changed. Gardeners stopped mid-cut, a guard straightened so fast, and a maid carrying folded towels stepped aside and lowered her eyes. Nobody said a word to him, they just moved out of his way. 

Suddenly, I felt several sharp stares land on my skin and I understood that the whole house already knew who I was supposed to be. The woman he had claimed, the fiancée nobody had heard of until this morning. Before I could tug my coat tighter, a large hand settled around my waist.

"Relax," Demetrius murmured, bending close enough that his breath brushed my ear. "They're watching, so act like you like it."

"I'm struggling to act like I'm not going to stab you," I whispered back.

"We can manage that for a start."

His hand didn't move as he walked me through the front doors, and I hated how warm it was through my clothes. I hated even more that my body noticed.

Inside, the house was quiet and everywhere I looked someone was bowing their head. A guard at the staircase, a cook near the kitchen door, two men in suits who stopped talking the second we passed. It hit me then that Demetrius didn't just live in this world, he commanded it, and every person in it knew exactly where they stood. He took me upstairs, down a long hallway lined with paintings, and pushed open a set of double doors.

"This is yours."

I stepped inside slowly. The room was bigger than my uncle's entire apartment, with a soft cream bed, floor to ceiling windows, and a walk-in closet already filled with clothes. Toiletries were lined up in the bathroom, and fresh flowers sat on the dresser.

Fresh white flowers.

"Who arranged all this?" I asked, turning to face him.

"My staff."

"When?"

"Recently."

"Demetrius, we made this deal last night. These clothes are in my size."

He shrugged, and it was such a casual gesture that it made my skin prickle. "I like to be prepared."

I didn't like that answer, and I didn't like that I couldn't tell if it was a lie.

"Where do you sleep?" I asked.

He tilted his head toward the hallway. I followed his gaze and saw the door directly across from mine, tall and dark and much too close.

"You're joking right?”

"It helps the story," he said. "If anyone asks, we share a hallway, a life, and a bed."

"We share a hallway," I said flatly. "That's all we share."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment the air between us became thick and heavy. He took one slow step toward me, then another, until I had to tilt my head back to keep looking at him.

"Careful, Iris," he said quietly. "You're the one who walked into my house."

"And I can walk right back out of it." I didn't step back. "My door locks, doesn't it?"

Silence stretched between us but my heartbeat thumped loudly in my ears. 

"It does,” he finally replied, and his eyes dropped to my mouth for a brief second before he stepped away. "Get settled in. We're not done tonight."

He left without another word, and I crossed the room and turned the lock myself, just to feel better. It didn't help much. An hour later, Marco net ne in the sitting room, a tablet tucked under his arm. He looked at me like he was trying to decide how much to say.

"Miss Fernandez, the boss won't like me telling you this, but you should know what tonight is."

"What is tonight?"

"The families are meeting at the estate this evening." He shifted his weight. "Every major name in Chicago. The engagement can't stay quiet, people talk, and rumors are dangerous for us. Better they hear it from him, with you standing right beside him."

My stomach sank. "You want me in a room full of mob bosses."

"I want you safe, miss," Marco explained.  "And standing beside him is the safest place to be. But once they see you, you're a name. That makes you a target for anyone who wants to hurt him."

I nodded slowly, my mouth suddenly dry. I had spent months planning how to get close to Demetrius Moretti, and I had never once thought about what would happen when his enemies got close to me.

Before I could ask another question, Marco's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and his face changed. At the same moment, a phone rang somewhere down the hall, followed by a fast, low voice, and then Demetrius's heavy footsteps. He appeared in the doorway with his jaw locked and his phone still in his hand.

"Marco. Now."

They were gone before I could speak. I stood there alone, my pulse climbing, listening to the house wake up around me. Doors slammed, boots pounded through the hall, someone shouted for the cars. Something serious had happened downstairs, and nobody was telling me what.

I tried to calm down and stay put but it lasted only about a minute before I ran into the hallway, down the staircase, and reached the front entrance just in time to see Demetrius getting surrounded by his men. The calm demeanour he'd worn all day was gone, and his face looked like something carved out of ice. Marco reached the doors behind him, out of breath, and said the words that made Demetrius stop cold.

"Boss, they hit the warehouse."