Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Elena
"Looks like you've already made up your mind, Elena."
I was back at the manor, standing before Salvador.
His voice was thick and low, satisfaction bleeding through every word—like he already knew what I'd say before I even opened my mouth.
I hated admitting he'd been right. That I'd come crawling back to him so soon. But there was no denying it—he was the only one who could pull me out of this mess. My only option.
I took a breath. "About your offer. I have conditions."
Salvador chuckled softly. "Name them. I'll agree to whatever you want."
"First." I forced myself to stay calm, to keep my voice from shaking. "I need a hundred thousand dollars. Today, if possible. Transferred to my account."
"Done."
He agreed without hesitation. I knew that kind of money meant nothing to him.
"Second, I want my mother to have a new job. And a house of her own. A fresh start."
I met his gaze head-on, willing myself not to look away.
Maggie's safety—that was what kept me up at night. With a new house and a job, she could finally leave Richard behind. Start over. No more threats. No more fear.
Salvador paused. "Done. Anything else?"
My first condition paid off Richard's debt. My second gave Maggie a way out. As for me...
It didn't matter what I asked for now. Once I married Dante, I'd be tied to the Moretti family for good. Any condition I made would be meaningless.
I hesitated. "No. That's it. Just those two."
Salvador actually smiled—an expression so rare it almost startled me. "The money will be in your account shortly. Alfredo will handle your mother's arrangements. Now, I have two conditions of my own."
Of course he did.
My stomach dropped. "What conditions?"
"First, you don't tell Dante about our deal."
"Second, you give Dante an heir. Only then can you dissolve the marriage."
Cunning old bastard.
There's no such thing as a free lunch. If I wanted to solve this crisis, I had no choice but to agree.
I didn't understand why he wanted me to hide this from Dante. Dante already hated me—keeping secrets would only make it worse. And now I was supposed to have his child? The whole thing felt impossible.
Salvador must have sensed my hesitation. "Don't worry. I'll help you. These conditions aren't as difficult as they sound."
I bit down hard. "Fine. I agree."
He continued, "Alfredo will draw up a contract. Once you sign, your problems disappear. But the contract binds you as well. If you break these conditions, your life—and your parents' lives—will be mine to do with as I please."
Salvador, the ruthless old Don. So careful I almost wanted to applaud him.
"Okay."
What else could I say?
I left his room and called Maggie, forcing my voice into something resembling calm. "It's handled, Mom. Everything's fine."
Maggie's voice cracked with disbelief. "How? Elena, that's a hundred thousand dollars! What did you do? Did you do something dangerous—"
"No." I lied, needing her to believe me. "I borrowed it from my boss. He's advancing my salary. I just... I probably won't be able to come home for a while."
Maggie started crying. "I'm sorry, Elena. I'm so sorry..."
"It's okay, Mom." My nose stung. My throat tightened.
I pushed it down. "Someone's going to come see you soon.
They'll set you up with a new job and a house.
Move in right away. And whatever you do, don't let Richard know where you are.
You have to keep yourself safe. Start fresh.
Don't let him threaten you anymore. Promise me. "
Maggie could barely speak. "What is all this?"
"My boss is a good man." Another lie.
I didn't want Maggie to sacrifice herself for me. And she'd never want me to sacrifice myself for her. But this was the only way. To keep her from worrying, I had to lie.
She was still anxious, but I had to end the call. There were more pressing matters ahead.
"Take care of yourself, Maggie."
Soon after, Alfredo arrived with the contract. I stared at the terms—cold, transactional clauses spelling out my future. Slowly, I signed my name. My happiness was over. I'd sacrificed it all.
When I returned to the attic, I found Lucia waiting at my door with a stranger.
Lucia was the closest thing I had to a friend at the manor. She was in her fifties, gentle and kind, always ready with comfort when I needed it most.
Even exhausted, I managed a smile. "Lucia. Who's this?"
"Mr. Morreti is hosting a party at the manor tonight. This is your makeup artist." Lucia's eyes were soft, maternal. "I heard they're announcing your engagement to Dante. What wonderful news."
My nose stung again. Lucia had no idea what I'd agreed to. She didn't know this marriage had no love in it—only interest and danger.
But still, she blessed me with genuine warmth. "Thank you, Lucia."
Inside my room, a red strapless gown with a long train lay across the narrow bed. Satin. Exquisite. The kind of dress I'd never imagined wearing.
The makeup artist got to work. I sat numbly, watching my reflection transform. Layer after layer of makeup. The plain little maid disappeared. In her place—a polished, beautiful stranger.
"You look stunning, Elena."
Lucia's voice was full of praise.
The artist pinned my hair up. My entire head looked like a doll's.
Then came the dress. And immediately—a problem. The bodice was too tight. The zipper wouldn't close.
"Oh my God." The artist blinked. "Your chest is too big. This dress doesn't fit."
Embarrassed, I forced a calm smile. "I can fix it. Give me a minute. I'll be right out."
Once they left, I stripped off the gown, grabbed scissors and thread from my drawer, and got to work. I'd done this a hundred times before. I unpicked the seams at the bust, let out the fabric, and stitched it back together.
This time, it fit perfectly. I stared at myself in the mirror—polished, beautiful, the red satin clinging to every curve. I'd never seen myself like this. It felt surreal.
Lucia and the artist came back in. They looked surprised to see the zipper done up.
When the artist's eyes landed on my chest, she whistled. "Damn—"
My breasts were full, and the strapless gown left little to the imagination. I flushed, covering myself with my hands, trying to tug the dress higher.
"You look gorgeous. Don't hide it," the artist said with a grin.
But I still felt exposed. I spotted pins on the table and had an idea. I pulled every flower from the vase and pinned them in a ring around my chest. The blooms covered just enough. I felt better.
The artist clapped. "You're the most resourceful girl I've ever dressed."
Time slipped by. Lucia checked her watch. "The party's starting soon. Salvador and Dante should be there. You should head down."
I was nervous. But there was no turning back now.
Face it, Elena. Whatever's coming—storm or flood—this is the price you pay for your choices.
The walk to the ballroom felt endless. I'd worked parties here before, always in the corner, carrying trays, cleaning up. Tonight, I'd step into the light.
But I had no one by my side.
Before I could push the door open, a hand grabbed my arm and yanked me backward. I stumbled, barely keeping my balance, and turned to see Dante glaring down at me, fury blazing in his eyes.
"Elena. So you've made your choice."
His gaze swept over me—like I was an ugly duckling pretending to be a swan. He sneered. "I thought Salvador forced you into this. But clearly, you're thrilled to be the Moretti family's lady. All that wealth. All that power."
No. That's not it.
I tried to explain, but the contract was like a curse—sealing my mouth shut.
Dante looked at me with pure disgust. "You make me sick."
Every word drove a knife into my chest.
"It's not like that..." I whispered, my head down, tears threatening to spill.
"Don't bother." Dante's laugh was cold. "You're good at playing the victim. That first day—pretending to be so fragile, trying to win my sympathy. But it won't work. Salvador chose you. I didn't."
He let me go and walked into the ballroom.
I stood there alone, like a wilted rose no one wanted.
The ballroom was already crowded. I slipped inside and found a corner to hide in. Eyes followed me—curious, assessing. I was too hurt to care.
The atmosphere suffocated me. Dante stood by a table across the room, never once looking my way. He was the tallest person there, hair immaculate, suit perfectly tailored. He looked refined, composed.
So kind to everyone else. So cruel to me. The ache in my chest wouldn't stop.
A server approached with a tray holding two drinks. One was handed to Dante. The other was brought straight to me. I took it, confused, and sipped. It wasn't champagne. Something custom.
I watched Dante drink several gulps. The drink was sweet, so I didn't think twice. Miserable and reckless, I downed the whole glass.
Almost immediately, my head started spinning. My vision blurred. I was losing control.
Someone caught me before I fell. Guided me out. Led me somewhere.
I thought I was back in my attic. I mumbled something about the heat and started pulling at my dress. My body burned. Every inch of me ached for something—something I couldn't name.
All I knew was that if I could find something cool, I'd cling to it and never let go.
Then the door opened.
Dante stepped inside.
His shirt was half-unbuttoned, his tie loose and hanging crooked, the top buttons undone as if he'd been clawing at his own collar the entire way here.
His eyes were dark, glazed—like he was fighting the same fire I was.
The same relentless heat that had been licking up my spine ever since he'd left me alone in this room.
He saw me sprawled on the bed, dress half off, one strap already slipped down my arm, the soft fabric bunched around my waist and the lace of my bra barely containing the restless rise and fall of my chest. He froze.
"Who the hell are—" His voice was hoarse. Strained. The words scraped out of him like they hurt.
I reached for him. I didn't care anymore. The heat was unbearable—thick, liquid, coiling low in my belly until every breath felt like it might set me alight. My fingers trembled as they stretched toward him across the sheets.
"Dante..." I whispered. "Please..."
He hesitated. One heartbeat. Two. The muscle in his jaw jumped. Then his restraint snapped.
He crossed the room in two strides, grabbed my wrists, and pinned them above my head.
The mattress dipped under his weight. His mouth crashed into mine—rough, desperate, nothing like I'd imagined.
His kiss tasted like anger and need, like the last frayed edge of control giving way.
I gasped, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into my mouth with a hungry, claiming stroke that made my hips lift off the bed.
My body arched toward him, every nerve screaming.
He pulled back just enough to tear the rest of my dress away.
The fabric ripped at the seams; cool air kissed my skin for half a second before his hands replaced it.
His palms were hot, slightly rough, roaming over my bare skin, claiming every inch—ribs, waist, the soft undersides of my breasts.
When his mouth found my breast, I cried out.
He closed his lips around the tight peak and sucked hard, the sharp pull sending a bolt of heat straight between my legs.
His teeth grazed me, then soothed with the flat of his tongue.
"God, you're so—" He didn't finish. Just dragged his lips lower.
I was trembling, burning, completely at his mercy. His mouth moved down my stomach, open and wet, leaving a trail of fire across the soft plane of my belly. My thighs. He pushed them apart with his shoulders, settled between them like he belonged there, and then—
"Dante!"
He didn't stop. His tongue found me, and the world exploded.
I'd never felt anything like it. The first long, slow lick dragged a broken sound from my throat.
He circled, pressed, licked again—deeper, hungrier—until my hips were rolling against his mouth without permission.
Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me.
I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. My hands fisted in his hair as he worked me over, relentless, merciless.
He held my thighs open when they tried to close, pinned me down with one strong forearm across my hips, and kept going.
When his fingers joined his mouth, sliding inside me—one, then two—I shattered.
I came so hard I screamed his name. The orgasm ripped through me in bright, violent pulses, my body locking tight around his fingers while his tongue kept stroking, drawing every last tremor out of me.
He didn't let up until I was shaking, spent, barely able to move.
Only then did he pull back, his eyes wild, his breathing ragged.
A dark flush rode high on his cheekbones. His mouth was wet.
His hands were still on me—one splayed across my hip, the other stroking slowly up the inside of my thigh, as if he couldn't make himself stop touching.
And I knew—nothing would ever be the same.
I never thought that Dante and I would end up like this.