Fractured Empire (The Moretti Empire #5)

Prologue

Leon

Months Before

When I was young, I wanted nothing more than to be exactly like my father. I grew up with dreams of being an honorable man, a loving father, and a loyal husband. If I’d been asked a couple years ago whether I fulfilled my goals, I might have said yes.

As an Underboss of The Outfit, I’ve been a fair and just leader.

As a father, I’ve been caring and kind. And even as a husband who shares no love with his wife, I’ve been faithful.

I took my wife’s indifference to me in stride, and focused on only the things that I could control.

I threw myself into my work, and into fatherhood without complaint.

I provided for Cleo and our son, and I tried to be a good man, even when I felt unwelcome in my own home.

My wife and I were married out of obligation over five years ago.

Our marriage was devised as a way to forge an alliance between two families—as many in our world have been before us, and as many will continue to be after us.

We went into our union with a shared understanding that it would not be one made out of love or companionship.

It was a duty, and the years we’ve shared since have not softened that reality.

When our first son was born, I wondered if our shared love for Bastian would bring us closer together, but I was quickly made aware that wouldn’t be happening.

My wife loved our baby, that much was obvious.

But that undying, motherly connection didn’t magically make me more appealing to her—even as her only son’s father.

A man who clearly loved our child as much as she did.

When she eventually wanted to try for another baby, I once again allowed hope to swell up inside me.

Wishing that she may want to deepen our relationship and make coming home to her feel less like walking on eggshells—or glass.

I didn’t expect her to fall madly in love with me, but I craved something.

A friendship, a connection, a kindness between us would have been enough to make all the difference in our home.

By the time we adopted little Leo, I had no hope remaining.

My wife was a cold woman, I’d come to realize.

She didn’t just avoid any possibility of intimacy or affection.

She avoided me altogether. There were no illusions of future friendship, or even companionship.

She didn’t want to hear about my days when I came home from long days of working, and she didn’t want me to ask about hers.

Our bedrooms were split apart by an entire floor of our home, and not even our beautiful children could bring us closer together.

It was a painful reality, but it could have been worse.

It wasn’t as if I were feeling the heartbreak of unrequited love or pining after her.

I barely knew her even though we were married for years.

She didn’t want me to know her either. We were strangers raising children together, and so there was no substance to cling to—nothing to fall in love with.

Cleo was a ghost just as much as she was the mother of my children.

Loyalty has always been something that Moretti men value, and growing up with its importance ingrained in me, I never thought I would struggle with the concept.

Cold wife or not, I was a man who could control himself and his baser desires.

Made men were often known for being ruled by their need for violence and pleasure.

I never imagined it would be loneliness that eventually cracked my iron-clad resolve.

I almost kissed another woman today—a friend.

A woman who I had no business feeling so drawn to, even if it were only for a moment.

I’m used to ignoring desire and needs for connection, but even my practiced strength seems to come with limits.

Had Rayna and I not been interrupted by her younger brother, I don’t know if I would have pulled away before pressing my lips against hers.

I’m glad that we were cut off in the moment, not only for my sake, but for Rayna’s.

I’m almost certain that my oldest brother is half in love with her, and the last thing Rayna needs is Apollo pissed off at her for a stupid mistake.

She already has to see Apollo daily since he’s started mentoring her little brother Yordan, and she doesn’t love his overbearing and authoritative personality.

The two of them clash, but I know Apollo feels something for her, and if our kiss had happened, it would have caused chaos.

Rayna would be put out that he’s angry with her over something he should have no input in, and Apollo would probably throttle me.

All for an almost-kiss that would have meant nothing more than human connection for the both of us.

An almost-kiss that my wife is about to find out about.

She needs to know, and we need to talk. A real talk, not one where she brushes me off and pretends the issue doesn’t exist to her.

Something has got to change around here.

While I’m ashamed that I’m not as strong as I once assumed, I’ve come to terms with the weakness inside me.

I’ve been struggling for longer than I’ve let on, and it’s time that I stop.

If Cleo doesn’t want to be my wife in even the barest sense of friendship, I’ll release her from the responsibility.

After finally making it home from Yordan’s birthday party, I make sure both of my boys are soundly asleep in their beds before seeking Cleo out.

I’m not surprised when I find her in her formal sitting room.

When she’s not cooped up in her bedroom, she’s spending time in her designated living room.

The space has been custom-designed to her exact liking.

Rich earthy tones and moody lighting for her to relax in.

Her chestnut brown hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bundle, and the dyed blonde pieces in the front hang around her reading glasses.

She has the same button nose as Bastian does, and the same dimples, but I only ever see those on our smiling son.

She’s on her computer, as she often is, and she doesn’t acknowledge hearing me enter her space, so it’s up to me to speak first.

“We have to talk.”

Cleo looks up from her laptop and frowns. “About the kids?”

“No, we—”

She huffs and looks back down, continuing to type. “Then we don’t need to talk. It’s late, Leon. Go to bed.”

It’s not late. It’s 9:00 p.m.

My fists clench and release, a grounding habit I’ve developed to remain calm.

“I understand that I’ve given you the space that you’ve asked for since we became husband and wife,” I start, trying to keep my voice low and steady so that I don’t wake the kids up.

“But I’m not merely your husband, I’m also your Underboss.

So, when I tell you that we need to talk, I’m not making a suggestion. ”

When she looks up this time, she doesn’t frown, she looks almost frightened. Her pupils have blown wide and her breath catches. “Has someone died?”

My eyebrows draw in. “What?”

“The only time you ever act your rank around the house is when there’s danger or someone has died. Your gun isn’t out, and you’re with me rather than the boys, so I assume we’re not in danger.”

Act my rank. The way she says those three words is almost patronizing.

“Jesus Christ.” I drag a hand down my face. “No one is dead, and there isn’t danger. This is about us. About our sham of a marriage and the fact that you can’t talk to me without it being about the kids or an emergency.”

“Why are you so angry?” Cleo sets her laptop aside as she sighs. “Nothing has changed. We live our lives and we care for our sons, that was our deal.”

“Something has changed,” I inform her tightly. “I’ve decided that I can’t live this way anymore, and I don’t think you should have to either.”

She stiffens, barely a flinch. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I almost kissed someone tonight,” I reveal evenly. “I’ve never once thought of myself as someone who could commit adultery but I don’t even think I know myself anymore. I’m fucking miserable, and lonely, and fucking done, Cleo. I can’t live like this. I shouldn’t have to. We shouldn’t have to.”

Whatever mask of indifference she tries to put in place, it doesn’t conceal her anger very well. “It was her, wasn’t it? The Todorov woman?”

Of course she would guess that, and of course she would be fixated on the one detail that doesn’t actually matter.

I could have been drawn to kiss a waitress, a Moretti lawyer, or a prostitute.

It would never be about the woman, no matter who it was, but about my insufferable loneliness and desire for human connection.

“Rayna,” I correct. “This isn’t about her. It doesn’t matter who I almost kissed, what matters is that I said vows and I nearly broke them.”

“Of course it matters who,” she argues.

A bitter laugh escapes me and I shake my head.

“You know, I almost thought Rayna showing up might be a good thing. You showed the barest hint of jealousy when you met her, and I thought maybe she made you realize that you didn’t want anyone to take me away from you.

But nothing changed, not even as Rayna became my friend. ”

“A friend,” she scoffs. “I saw the spark of attraction in your eyes as soon as I saw the two of you together.”

“Attraction means nothing.”

“Says the man who almost kissed her,” Cleo snaps back.

“I wasn’t showing jealousy in my coldness toward her, but anger.

She isn’t the kind of woman you can make a mistress.

She’s a wife, and you already have one of those.

The last thing I needed was for her to come along and try to become something more to you. ”

Her words are bitter and laced with a venom I’ve never heard come out of her mouth. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think her intense anger was born out of passion.

But I know better.