Chapter 3
Alessia
Harsh morning light slammed into the room. I rolled over.
My head was killing me.
Like it was about to split open.
I groaned as the nausea and agony of a hangover hit me all at once. I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling, carved with elaborate Baroque patterns.
The sheets beneath me were silk-smooth and cold—nothing like what I was used to.
A completely foreign room. The air carried a faint scent that wasn't my perfume, but something cold and sharp—expensive cologne mixed with... a hint of medicine and cedar.
Last night's memories crashed back like shattered glass.
The Christmas dinner. Ricardo and that model. My parents' indifference. The burning alcohol. The second floor. That half-open door. The wheelchair.
Lorenzo Moretti.
My heart seized like an icy fist had grabbed it.
No.
I shot up, the silky sheets sliding off my bare shoulders. I looked down at the marks covering my body. Bite marks, scratches, bruises—like shameful brands clearly marking everything that had happened last night.
The madness, the shame, the... pain. It wasn't a dream.
My hands shook as I touched my neck and collarbone.
My fingertips found tender spots.
I didn't need a mirror to know what was there. Those were the wild, animalistic marks he'd left during his loss of control.
God.
What the hell had I done?
Was I out of my fucking mind?
I'd actually slept with Ricardo's uncle—with Lorenzo Moretti—
"Awake?"
That voice made me freeze. I frantically grabbed the sheets to cover myself, then slowly turned to see him.
Lorenzo leaned against the headboard, casually wearing a dark gray silk robe, the collar open to reveal his bare chest and some old scars. He held a cup of coffee, watching me calmly.
He was already awake. How long had he been watching me?
Sunlight outlined his handsome profile, but those deep eyes held no warmth.
This wasn't the look of a man after passion.
This was... aggressive. Calculating.
He was sizing me up. Like looking at an object, evaluating its worth, or... its threat level.
Under his gaze, I felt weak, unable to summon even a hint of resistance.
"I—" My voice came out horribly hoarse. "I'm sorry. I was drunk last night. I didn't mean to—"
"Didn't mean to what?" He cut me off, setting down his coffee cup. His tone was terrifyingly calm. "Didn't mean to break into my room? Didn't mean to see my secret? Or didn't mean to climb into my bed?"
Each word hit like a slap across my face.
"I'm really sorry." Tears spilled uncontrollably. "I swear I won't tell anyone about last night. I promise. I swear on the Conti family honor—"
"You think a promise is enough?"
His voice turned cold, his eyes dangerous, like a predator ready to pounce.
"Do you know what this secret means? If Ricardo found out, if those vultures in the family found out, what would happen?"
Terror flooded through me like ice water.
Of course I knew. I'd grown up in this world. I understood exactly how brutal power struggles could be. A disabled godfather, a leader who couldn't fully recover—that was the perfect opening for his enemies.
"I won't say anything." I shook my head desperately, tears blurring my vision. "I swear to God, I would never—"
"Promises mean nothing." He sneered. "In this world, there's only one way to guarantee silence. Make sure the person who knows the secret never talks again."
My blood turned to ice.
Was he threatening me?
Or—
"But," his tone shifted suddenly, his eyes becoming even more unreadable, "your performance last night made me reconsider. Maybe there's a better way to ensure your silence."
I didn't dare ask what that meant.
I just wanted to escape this place, escape him, escape this room that filled me with unprecedented fear and shame.
"Can I go now?" I whispered, my voice shaking badly.
He stared at me for a long time, so long I thought he might refuse.
"Go." He finally said, waving his hand like shooing away an insignificant animal. "But remember what I said—"
He didn't finish, but the threat was clear enough.
I jumped off the bed and frantically searched for my clothes. That expensive white dress was ruined, unwearable. I could only wrap myself in the sheet and hunt around the room—
"Wear this."
A men's shirt and shorts landed in front of me.
I grabbed the clothes, too panicked to care about modesty, and threw them on. The shirt was huge, almost reaching my mid-thigh, still carrying his scent. I tucked the excess fabric into my waistband. It looked ridiculous, but I didn't care.
I grabbed my purse and shoes and fled the room.
The hallway was long and quiet. I ran barefoot over thick carpets, praying I wouldn't encounter anyone, especially Moretti family staff or guards.
Luckily, it was early enough that few people were moving around. I rushed down the stairs, through the main hall, and pushed open the heavy front door—
Cold morning air hit my face, and I realized I was shaking all over.
I called a cab, gave them my address, then curled up in the back seat, trying to steady my breathing.
The driver kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror—a woman in a men's shirt, hair disheveled, covered in marks, fleeing a luxury estate at dawn. It screamed scandal.
But I couldn't care about that now.
I just wanted to go home.
I wanted to shower, change clothes, and pretend last night never happened.
Pretend I hadn't cheated on Ricardo. Pretend I hadn't slept with his uncle.
Pretend I hadn't said those filthy, shameful things that made me want to die just thinking about them.
When I got home, it was fully daylight.
I used my spare key to slip inside, tiptoeing past my parents' room, grateful they were still asleep and couldn't see me like this.
I made it to my room.
Locked the door, slumped against it, and slid to the floor.
I'd done it. I'd escaped.
But what had I done?
What the hell had I done?
I covered my mouth as tears fell, but I didn't dare cry too loudly in case the staff heard.
After crying for what felt like forever, I finally calmed down enough to realize tears wouldn't change anything.
I forced myself to stand, walked to the bathroom, and looked in the mirror.
A monster.
Hair tangled, makeup completely smeared, tear tracks down my face.
And worst of all, those purple, shocking marks on my neck and collarbone.
He hadn't even bothered to hide them.
I ran the hot water and stood under the shower, letting scalding water pour over me, trying to wash away his marks, wash away those shameful memories.
But they wouldn't wash away.
The bite marks, scratches, bruises, and the deeper ache inside—they all reminded me that last night's madness had really happened.
I scrubbed until the hot water turned cold and my skin was raw before finally turning off the tap.
Wrapped in a bathrobe, I walked out to see my phone flashing on the bed.
Dozens of missed calls.
All from my mother.
And one text: "Call back immediately."
My heart sank.
Did she know?
Impossible. Not so fast—
My fingers trembled as I called my mother back.
"Finally decided to call." My mother's voice was ice-cold. "Where were you last night? Why didn't you come home?"
"I—I was at Jenny's." I lied. "I drank too much and stayed over."
"Liar." My mother's cold laugh cut through. "I already called Jenny. She said she never saw you. Alessia, you better tell me the truth about where you—"
"Ma'am." The butler's voice came through the phone. "Mr. Conti wants you and Miss Conti in the study immediately. He says there's an urgent family meeting."
"Fine." My mother paused, her tone becoming even more severe. "Get dressed and come down immediately. We'll settle this later."
She hung up.
I collapsed on the bed, my heart pounding like it would burst from my chest.
An urgent family meeting?
Was it about me?
Had Lorenzo told them?
No, impossible. If he wanted to expose me, why let me go?
But what else could it be?
I pulled a black turtleneck dress from my closet—the only thing that could cover the marks on my neck and shoulders. Then I slathered on thick foundation and concealer, desperately trying to hide the bruises that wouldn't stay hidden.
Looking at my pale, haggard reflection, I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself.
Whatever was happening, I had to face it.
Expecting the worst, I walked downstairs, each step feeling like walking to an execution.
The study door was ajar, low voices drifting out.
I knocked.
"Come in." My father's voice.
I pushed open the heavy oak door.
The atmosphere in the study was... strange.
The air was thick with cigarette smoke.
My father, Antonio Conti, sat with three family elders.
Their expressions were grave.
But it wasn't the anger of men about to judge my "infidelity."
It was something... deeper. Colder. More solemn.
My father looked up, those calculating eyes now completely cold.
"Sit down, Alessia." My father pointed to the chair across from him.
I stiffly walked over and sat, hands clasped on my knees, trying not to let them shake too obviously.
"Just this morning," my father began slowly, like announcing a business decision that didn't concern him, "we received word from the Moretti family."
My heart jumped to my throat.
"Ricardo Moretti," he paused, stating a fact in ice-cold tones, "is dead."
I... what?
I stared at my father, my brain completely blank, unable to process what he'd just said.
Ricardo?
Dead?
"What?" I heard myself say, my voice hollow like it came from far away.
"His car was ambushed on the way back to the estate." Elder Marcus added. "Heavy firepower. Surviving guards saw Ricardo himself take bullets before falling into last night's rough seas..."
He didn't finish, but the meaning was clear.
"The Moretti family confirmed the news this morning." My father concluded. "Though they haven't found the body yet, the evidence is sufficient to confirm that Ricardo Moretti is dead."
I opened my mouth but no sound came.
Ricardo... was dead.
My fiancé was dead.
The man who'd been showing off and publicly humiliating me just last night... was just gone?
I couldn't even begin to process this absurd news.
I couldn't even sort through the complex emotions—shock, confusion, and even... a shameful sense of relief.
My father, Antonio Conti, was already continuing.
"I know this news is sudden." My father's voice was colder than a Siberian wind.
"But you don't have time to grieve. With Ricardo dead, our alliance with the Moretti family is broken.
The Moretti family is unstable now—that's our opportunity, but it's also dangerous.
The Conti family must immediately clarify our position and solidify this alliance. "
I looked at him blankly, a terrible premonition rising.
"So," my father's gaze landed on me—not looking at his daughter, but at a tool, "the family elders have unanimously decided."
"You must remarry immediately."
My blood turned cold, inch by inch.
"To maintain the alliance with the Moretti family," my father announced my sentence. "you will marry the current head of the Moretti family, your fiancé's uncle—Lorenzo Moretti."
In that instant, I felt like I'd plunged into the icy depths of the ocean.
I couldn't hear anything. I could only see my father's cold, moving mouth.
Marry... who?
Lorenzo?
The man from last night... the one in the wheelchair... the one who'd warned me...
"NO!!!"
I screamed, jumping up from my chair.
"No! Father! You can't do this! He... he's a devil! I won't! I'd rather die!"
"How dare you!"
SLAP—!
My face burned with pain as I was knocked to the floor.
My father looked down at me with no trace of mercy.
"Alessia, stop your pathetic tears. You have no choice."
"For the family's survival," his voice was iron-cold, "this is your destiny. And your honor."
I lay on the cold floor as humiliation and despair crashed over me like a tide.
I tried to fight back. I cried, I begged.
But my father just watched coldly. The elders just smoked their cigars indifferently.
Finally, I understood.
I'd never had a choice.
Ricardo, or Lorenzo.
To them, it made no difference.
I was just an elegant chess piece in my father's hand.
And now, he was moving me from one square to another.
A square that was infinitely darker and more dangerous than I'd ever imagined.