Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Elena
The atmosphere at the manor had improved. The whispers died down. When I walked the halls now, the maids still looked at me—but the gleeful judgment in their eyes had shifted to something careful. Wary.
Alfredo and Lucia answered to me now. Every morning Alfredo came to the study to report on manor operations. Purchase orders that needed approval. A supplier visiting next weekend. The wine cellar inventory that needed checking.
The tension between us had eased. You'd never know he'd once locked me outside in the rain just to watch me suffer. But I didn't retaliate. I kept things professional. He was just another poor guy who'd given everything to the Moretti family.
Alfredo stayed polite. After his reports, he'd go straight back to Salvador's side.
Lucia waited until he left to speak. "You're being awfully nice to him."
"He's devoted his whole life to this manor," I said flatly. "Bottom line, he's a responsible steward doing his job. I've got no reason to make things harder for him."
Lucia looked surprised. "Elena, you're a nice person."
She taught me the details of running the manor. Which suppliers had the freshest ingredients. What flowers to rotate in for the season. When to pick up Salvador's prescriptions. I learned. Asked questions. She never acted annoyed. Her voice stayed soft, like she was speaking to her own daughter.
"I'm relieved to see you adjusting," Lucia said, running her hand over my hair. "Elena, if anything's bothering you, you can tell me. How have you been feeling lately?"
She handed me a cup of hot chocolate. The familiar mug made me smile for the first time in days. Back when I was just a maid, whenever I was upset or crying in some corner, Lucia would find me. She'd bring me hot chocolate. Try to cheer me up.
I wrapped my hands around the glass. The warmth spread through my fingers. I took a small sip but didn't answer. Too much had happened. Lucia was the first person to ask how I was feeling. Everyone else just gave orders. No one cared about my state of mind.
But even with Lucia, I couldn't tell the truth. My deal with Salvador would stay buried.
Lucia studied me. She sipped her tea. After a long silence, she spoke. "Elena, you can tell me anything. I never had children of my own. When I look at you, I see my daughter. I've been at this manor for thirty years. I've seen everything. There's nothing you need to hide from me."
My grip on the mug tightened.
The words circled in my throat. I couldn't get them out.
"I just feel like..." I looked down at the rim of the cup, voice catching. "Having an heir is harder than I thought it would be."
Lucia didn't speak. She waited.
"Dante doesn't have feelings for me. So he won't touch me. Won't come back to the manor. I'm here alone. There's nothing I can do." I paused. "Sometimes I think I'm going to be stuck in this manor for the rest of my life."
Lucia was quiet for a moment. Then she asked softly, "Why are you so fixated on having an heir? Did Mr. Morreti demand it?"
I froze. Looked up at her.
Her gaze was gentle. No suspicion. No judgment. Just waiting for an answer.
I almost told her everything. But I just smiled and shook my head, denying the correct answer. "No. I just think it's what I'm supposed to do."
Lucia didn't push. She just laid her hand over mine. A silent comfort.
I thought for a moment. When I spoke again, my voice was lighter than I expected. "But I've made peace with it. Even if I'm here for a long time, it's not so bad. I have the greenhouse. I can grow all the flowers I want. And I have time. Time to do the things I actually enjoy."
"Things you enjoy?"
"Yeah." I set down the cup and stood, brushing dirt off my skirt. "Let me show you something."
I took her back to my room and pulled out some clothes from the bottom drawer of the closet. Neatly folded. A linen summer dress. An off-white blouse. A loose gray-blue cardigan. I laid them out on the bed one by one.
Lucia stood beside the bed. She ran her fingers over the fabric of the dress. Examined the stitching at the neckline. She didn't speak, but her expression said everything.
"You made all of these yourself?"
The styles didn't belong to any trendy brand. They were clearly personal designs.
"Yeah." I pulled out a stack of sketches from the drawer. "I draw the designs first. Then buy the fabric. Then cut and sew. I've always loved making clothes. Mom had an old sewing machine. I've been using it since I was little."
Lucia flipped through the sketches. Each page showed a different dress. Penciled notes about waistlines, necklines, thread colors. The handwriting was messy, but every line was drawn with care.
"This one's for you." I held up the gray-blue cardigan and held it against her. "You're walking around the manor all day. Perfect for when it gets cold in the morning and evening. I made it to fit your shoulders. Should be just right."
Lucia took the cardigan and slipped it on. Her face lit up. "It fits perfectly. Thank you, Elena."
That night, the manor was quiet as usual. I did my rounds in the garden. Nothing suspicious. I was about to head back to my room when a sharp screech of tires cut through the silence. I flinched, shoulders tensing.
Dante's car sat at the entrance. But four men got out. Two I didn't recognize were supporting two others—both covered in blood. It was too dark to see clearly. But as they got closer, I realized it was Dante and Marco. Drenched in blood. The metallic stench hit me hard.
"What happened?" I rushed forward and grabbed Dante's cold hand. "Dante, what happened to you?"
The smell of rust overwhelmed me. I wanted to throw up. The scene was horrifying. My hands trembled. The lights in the manor blazed on. Dante and Marco were brought inside. Marco had been shot. Half his shirt was soaked through. His face was white as paper.
The family doctor came running. Dante was surrounded, but he was still conscious. He ordered the doctor to save Marco.
The whole manor erupted. Maids ran back and forth with water and towels. Total chaos.
Dante collapsed back onto the sofa. His suit jacket was gone. His white shirt was stained with blood. The left sleeve had been slashed open. His exposed forearm had a gash still seeping blood. He looked wrecked. His gaze swept the chaotic hall. Then landed on me.
He told everyone to leave, including me. But I didn't move. I walked over and sat beside him.
"Don't bother me. I want to be alone." Dante covered his face with his arm, breathing hard. But I couldn't ignore his wound. That terrible gash. I couldn't imagine how much it hurt.
"I won't bother you. I'll just bandage you up and go." I found the medical kit. It had everything I needed. Dante didn't resist my touch, so I grabbed his hand and carefully disinfected the wound. It looked like a knife wound. Thin but deep.
His arm was covered in tattoos. Now the ink was smeared with blood. He looked every bit the dangerous mafia Don.
I finished disinfecting. Wrapped the wound. Gave Dante a painkiller. Then sat beside him, watching anxiously. "Do you feel better?"
Dante's eyes were heavy with exhaustion and defeat. I didn't know what had happened. The mafia world was dangerous—I'd known that. When I decided to marry him, I'd imagined this moment. I'd prepared myself.
But seeing all that blood, that deep wound—I still couldn't control my fear. This world was too dangerous. Would I end up like this someday?
"What are you staring at?" Dante's voice was hoarse. He glanced at me, helpless.
"How did you get hurt?" I frowned, face full of worry. "Don't you have people protecting you? How did you get injured this badly?"
His eyes darkened at the question. Like a hidden storm was brewing. But he didn't tell me. He just turned his face away. "None of your business. This isn't something you need to know."
Not something I need to know.
Anger flared in my chest. His response was too blunt. Like I was nothing to him. But the fact was, I was his wife. That should mean I had a right to know.
"I want to know." The anger bubbled up. I kept wrapping his bandage, deliberately pulling it tight.
Dante hissed in pain, brow furrowing. He was about to snap at me, but then he saw my eyes—red and welling up. He swallowed whatever harsh words he'd planned. Instead, he grabbed my wrist. "Ease up, Elena."
"We haven't had an heir yet." My voice caught. My eyes, on the verge of tears, glared at him. "If something happens to you, the Moretti family will be in danger. No matter what, you have to protect yourself."
Something I said amused him. Dante suddenly laughed. His grip on my wrist tightened. He pulled me forward. I ended up straddling him.
The air turned charged. My heart raced. The awkward position, the proximity—I was losing my mind.
But Dante just spoke coldly. "Elena, aren't you getting a little too into this role? You love playing my wife, don't you? Did you forget? You climbed into my bed. That's the only reason you got to be my wife. You didn't earn this position legitimately. Don't get too attached to the part."
What a cruel thing to say.
I looked down at Dante's bandaged arm. I wanted to yank the gauze tight. Make it hurt.
Dante caught my glance. He immediately moved his arm away. At the same time, he pushed me off him. His tone was lazy.
"Get some rest, Mrs. Moretti."