Chapter 5 Untitled Chapter

I jolted in surprise. Lorenzo was already awake, his dark eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. Since when had he been conscious? Had he been watching me this whole time, waiting for me to make a mistake?

"I was just curious," I said, trying to steady my breathing. "Who is the little girl in that photo?"

Lorenzo followed my gaze, then smiled faintly.

"That's you, Eve. Your childhood."

I fell silent.

That photo, the curly-haired little girl with the bright smile, was the real Evelyn Russo. The Evelyn Russo whose identity I now wore.

"Why are you looking at your own photo like a stranger?" Lorenzo asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

My heart pounded violently. A fatal mistake. I should have recognized that face. The FBI had given me dozens of photos of Evelyn Russo to study, but none from her childhood. I had only memorized her adult face.

"You see, I'm not used to looking at photos from my childhood," I said quickly, trying to salvage the situation. "After my parents died, I burned all my old memories. It was too painful."

Lorenzo stared at me for a moment. Then his expression softened.

"I understand. I also burned every photo that I felt only gave me bad memories," he said.

He rose from the bed with graceful movements, his naked body briefly visible before he wrapped a towel around his waist.

"I became Don Moretti at eleven years old. There was no time to grieve."

He walked toward the bathroom but stopped at the threshold.

"Let's shower together. I want to show you something."

I fell silent. My instinct immediately spoke up. No, this was too risky. Lorenzo had already taken my virginity. That was enough to maintain my cover. If I kept letting him get close, I would lose control. I could not let emotions interfere.

"I'm still tired," I said, trying to sound convincing. "Maybe later."

Lorenzo looked at me with an unreadable expression. "You're refusing?"

It was not a question. More like a statement waiting for justification.

I bit my lip, crafting words in my head.

"I'm not a woman who's used to all of this. The first night felt very overwhelming. I need time."

He studied my face in silence, searching for lies. I knew how to read people. He could surely see my nervousness. But I also knew that the real Evelyn Russo was a woman who could be stubborn.

"Three days," I finally said, adding a time limit. "Give me three days to adjust. I'll stay in a separate room until I'm ready."

Lorenzo's eyebrow lifted. "A separate room? On the second night of our marriage?"

"The Moretti family has plenty of empty rooms, doesn't it?" I forced a smile. "You said it yourself. Being Mrs. Moretti is not just about expensive dresses. I need to learn how to be a Don's wife. I can't do that if my mind is a mess."

He stared at me with a piercing gaze. I knew he did not fully believe me. But what choice did he have? Force me? That would make him look like a rapist, and reputation was everything to the mafia family.

"I'll prepare a room across the hall. But remember, Evelyn, you are my wife. I can be patient, but not forever."

He entered the bathroom, closing the door softly.

I let out a long breath. That was too close, far too close.

Lorenzo was already getting suspicious. The question about that photo. I had nearly been caught. And that offer to shower together was not just an intimate invitation. It was a test. He wanted to see my reaction. He wanted to know whether I was truly Evelyn Russo or just an imposter afraid of being exposed.

I reached for the special phone hidden in my shoe and typed a quick message to Miller.

"Lorenzo is getting suspicious. Need additional information about Evelyn Russo, childhood photos, habits, past memories. Send as soon as possible."

I sent the message and hid the phone again. Lorenzo could walk out of the bathroom at any moment. I had to be ready.

On the nightstand, the photo of the little girl still smiled at me. The real Evelyn Russo, the woman whose identity was now my shield.

"I'm sorry, Evelyn."

The bathroom door opened. Lorenzo stepped out with steam curling around him, a towel wrapped around his waist, his wet hair dripping water onto his muscular shoulders. The scars on his body were more visible in the morning light.

"The room across the hall is ready," he said, drying his hair with another towel. "A maid will bring your breakfast there."

"Thank you."

He stopped in front of me, looking down at me from above.

"One more thing."

I held my breath.

"You said you burned all your past memories." His eyes bored into mine. "But there's something bothering me. I met you when you were little, and we talked for two hours. You told me about Switzerland, about your mother who loved to cook, about your father who taught you how to fish."

He stepped closer. His face was only inches from mine.

"You never mentioned that you hated your childhood memories. On the contrary, she treasured all of them dearly."

I was silent. My heart pounded as if it were about to explode.

"So, what really happened to you now?"

I met his eyes. Inside them, there was suspicion and something else, something I could not identify.

"People change. I changed," I said.

He stared at me for a long moment. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away, leaving me in a room that suddenly felt very cold.

I clutched the sheets tightly against my chest. Lorenzo Moretti was not stupid. He knew something was wrong. Now it was only a matter of time before he uncovered the truth.

And when that happened, I did not know if I would survive.

I remained seated at the edge of the bed, trying to calm my still-racing heartbeat.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Then the door opened. It was not Lorenzo, but an elderly maid carrying a tray of breakfast.

"Mrs. Moretti, Mr. Lorenzo asked me to bring this."

I nodded, trying to smile warmly despite the turmoil inside me. The maid set the tray down on the bedside table, then looked at me with a strange expression. Her wrinkled eyes traced my face as if searching for something.

"Is something wrong?" I asked warily.

She shook her head slowly. "No, ma'am. It's just that Mr. Lorenzo has never sent breakfast to a guest room before. He usually forces everyone to eat together in the dining room. This is the first time."

The maid left, leaving me with a tray of warm croissants, coffee, and a plate of fresh fruit. But I could not eat. Her words kept circling in my head.

Lorenzo had never sent breakfast to a guest room before.

Did this mean he was respecting my request for three days? Or was this another way of testing me, to see if I would leave the room?

I walked to the window, looking out at the vast garden below. In the distance, I saw Lorenzo standing near the east gate, speaking with Enzo. His expression was serious, his hand pointing in a certain direction.

Suddenly, Lorenzo looked up. His eyes met mine. A gaze that was too sharp, too cold.

I stepped back, my heart pounding.