Chapter 6 - Whispers in the Syndicate
The morning after the gala, the headlines in the *Chicago Tribune* and every financial blog were identical: *“Moretti Claims Surprise Heiress: The Downfall of Cross Logistics.”*
Nathan’s life had unraveled in less than twenty-four hours. His father was placed under federal investigation for tax evasion—an investigation that Adrian’s lawyers had quietly handed to the Department of Justice on a silver platter. Nathan was officially broke, stripped of his trust fund, his sports cars repossessed, and his fiancée Julianna had announced the cancellation of their engagement via a PR statement that morning.
Justice had been swift, poetic, and absolute.
Yet, within the gilded walls of the Moretti estate, a different kind of storm was brewing.
I was sitting in the sunlit conservatory on the second floor, sipping a mug of hot chamomile tea while reviewing blueprints for the baby’s nursery, when heavy, raised voices echoed from the grand library down the hall.
“You’ve lost your mind, Adrian!” an older, raspy voice shouted in Italian, followed by the violent crash of a fist slamming onto a mahogany desk. “A stray girl from the streets? Carrying an unverified bastard? And you parade her at the Autumn Gala wearing Donna Isabella’s emeralds?!”
My heart skipped a beat. I carefully stood up, clutching my robe around my belly, and walked toward the partially open doors of the library.
Through the crack, I saw Adrian standing behind his massive desk, completely unfazed, pouring two fingers of scotch into a crystal tumbler. Standing across from him was Don Salvatore Moretti—Adrian’s ruthless uncle and the head of the syndicate's old guard, accompanied by three heavily armed capos. Salvatore was a relic of the old mafia: brutal, traditionalist, and deeply suspicious of anyone outside the bloodline.
“Watch your tongue, Salvatore,” Adrian warned, his voice dangerously low. “You are speaking of my future wife and my son.”
“Your son?” Salvatore scoffed, his face red with fury. “You spent one drunken night with this woman five months ago! How do you know she wasn’t sleeping with Cross at the same time? How do you know that child isn’t a Cross bastard she’s trying to pin on our family fortune?!”
Before Salvatore could draw his next breath, Adrian moved.
It happened so fast my eyes could barely track it. Adrian bypassed the desk, grabbed Salvatore by the throat with his left hand, and slammed the older man back against the wall with enough force to rattle the portraits hanging from the molding.
Salvatore’s three capos instantly reached for the guns inside their suits, but the metallic *clack* of ten shotguns cocking behind them made them freeze. Marco and a dozen of Adrian’s personal soldiers had appeared from the shadows, their barrels aimed dead at the capos' heads.
“If you ever question my son’s blood again,” Adrian whispered, his fingers tightening around his uncle's throat until Salvatore’s face turned purplish, “I will forget that we share the same name. I will gut you in front of your own men and feed your remains to the carp in the lake. Do you understand me?”
Salvatore struggled to nod, terror finally shattering his arrogant facade.
Adrian released him like a piece of trash. Salvatore fell to his knees, coughing violently, clutching his bruised neck.
“Dr. Lauren conducted a full DNA match through amniotic testing yesterday,” Adrian said calmly, adjusting his cufflinks as if nothing had happened. “The child is mine. He carries 99.9% of my blood. He will inherit the Moretti syndicate, and Claire will rule beside me. You and the commission will swear fealty to her at Sunday mass, or you will retire six feet under the ground. Now get out of my sight.”
Salvatore hauled himself up, his eyes burning with humiliated, murderous rage. As he turned toward the door, his eyes caught mine through the crack. The pure venom in his gaze made the breath catch in my throat. He didn't say a word, but the silent threat was deafening. He hurried down the hallway, his capos trailing behind him.
I stepped out of the shadows, my hands trembling slightly against my belly.
Adrian looked up, his furious expression vanishing the moment his eyes landed on me. He walked over, his heavy hands coming to rest gently on my waist.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed, Claire,” he murmured, pulling me against his warm chest. “Dr. Lauren said you need rest.”
“Adrian… your uncle,” I whispered, looking up into his dark, tired eyes. “He hates me. He thinks I’m a threat to your family.”
“Salvatore is a relic who thinks fear keeps an empire together,” Adrian said softly, kissing the top of my head. “He will learn obedience. You don't need to concern yourself with him.”
“How can I not?” I asked, leaning into his touch, finding solace in the steady beat of his heart. “This world… it’s a warzone, Adrian. You put a target on my back the moment you kissed me in that store.”
Adrian leaned down, his forehead resting gently against mine. “Then I will build a fortress around you that no army on earth can break. You and our boy are my life now, Claire. I survived ten years of blood to find you. I won’t lose you to an old fool’s greed.”
May you like
His words were intoxicating, wrapping around my soul like a warm blanket. But deep in the pit of my stomach, a cold premonition warned me that Salvatore wasn't the kind of man to bend the knee quietly.
***
