Chapter Seventeen CHIARA
Iwoke to silence. Not the soft, peaceful kind. The kind that felt wrong.
Cold sheets tangled around my legs as I blinked slowly at the ceiling of the bridal suite, sunlight pouring gold through the massive windows overlooking the estate grounds below. For one disorienting second, I forgot where I was. Then I smelled him.
Leo.
Dark cologne and expensive whiskey soaked into the pillows beside me, tangled with the memory of his hands all over my body the night before. Heat crept up my throat. My thighs pressed together on instinct, sore in a way that made humiliation burn through me all over again.
God. I squeezed my eyes shut. The wedding. The vows. His mouth on mine at the altar. The way he touched me afterward like he meant to ruin me from the inside out.
My husband. The word made something twist sharply in my chest.
I turned my head toward the empty side of the bed. The sheets there were already cold. Leo had been gone for a while. Of course he had. Men like him didn’t linger after taking what they wanted.
I pushed myself upright carefully, wincing as soreness pulled through my hips and lower back. My wedding dress was gone, replaced by folded clothes laid neatly across the velvet chaise near the fireplace. Someone had already cleaned the room.
Of course they had. Everything around Leo moved with terrifying precision. Outside the suite, muffled voices drifted through the hallway. Men. Guards. Movement. We were leaving soon.
A strange panic crawled through me at the thought of going back to the city with him. Back to that glass prison in the sky. Back to his world where every door locked from the outside and every person obeyed him without hesitation.
I forced myself out of bed. The marble floor was freezing beneath my bare feet as I crossed the room. My reflection caught in the mirror beside the wardrobe and stopped me cold.
I looked different. Not physically. Not really. But something in my face had changed overnight.
My blonde hair fell loose around my shoulders, tangled from sleep and Leo’s hands. My lips looked swollen. There was a faint purple bruise near my collarbone shaped suspiciously like fingers. Ownership. My stomach turned violently.
I grabbed the silk robe hanging nearby and wrapped it tightly around myself before stepping into the hallway.
The estate buzzed with activity downstairs.
Men in dark suits moved through the grand entrance hauling luggage, speaking quietly into earpieces while staff hurried around them.
Black SUVs lined the circular driveway outside like a funeral procession.
Nobody looked directly at me. But they all noticed me. I could feel it.
The way conversations lowered when I passed. The way guards subtly straightened. The way staff became very interested in the floor.
Not because I was Chiara Ventura anymore. Because I belonged to Leo Moretti now. The realization made me feel sick.
“Good morning, cousin.” My entire body stiffened. I knew that voice.
Angelo Moretti leaned lazily against one of the marble columns near the staircase, looking like sin wrapped in an expensive tailored suit. Dark hair perfectly styled. Sharp jaw. Beautiful smile. Too beautiful. It made him worse somehow. Because underneath all that charm lived something rotten.
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped.
His grin widened.
“That’s what we are now.” His gaze dragged over me slowly. “I was worried marriage might’ve softened you.”
“I’m not interested in speaking to you,” I bit out.
“Pity. I’m fascinated by you.” He pushed off the column and walked toward me with infuriating confidence. “Leo’s little bride.”
I crossed my arms tightly over my chest. “What do you want?”
Angelo’s expression turned amused. Dangerous. “To congratulate you, obviously.”
“I somehow doubt that,” I said.
“You should.” He stepped closer. “You did exactly what the family needed.”
Ice slid down my spine. My pulse quickened. What the family needed. I knew exactly what he meant. The heir. The will. I stared at him carefully. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on.” He laughed softly. “You’re smarter than that.”
Every muscle in my body tightened. He remembered our conversation as well as I did. Angelo tilted his head slightly, studying my face with unsettling interest. “Did Leo tell you about Daddy’s little inheritance game yet?”
I stayed silent. That was answer enough. His smile sharpened.
“Oh, he didn’t.” Genuine delight flickered across his face. “That makes this even better.”
My stomach dropped.
“You know about the heir,” he continued casually. “The firstborn. The trust. The whole pathetic mess.”
I swallowed hard. Leo’s father’s will. Everything tied to a child. A legitimate heir. Angelo watched realization move across my face and laughed under his breath.
“So he really didn’t tell you.” He looked almost impressed. “Interesting.”
“He was going to,” I lied quickly.
“Mhm. Sure,” he laughed. His expression said he didn’t believe me for a second. I hated how smug he looked. Hated how handsome he was while acting like a snake slithering closer to prey.
“You should tell him,” Angelo said lightly. “Unless…” His eyes glittered. “You already know how obsessed he gets.”
A cold shiver crawled down my arms.
“Leo doesn’t scare me,” I snapped.
Angelo barked out a laugh. “That might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“And you,” I bit out, “might be the most disgusting person I’ve ever met.”
“Ouch.” He pressed a hand dramatically over his chest. “That hurts, cara.”
“Good,” I said. “I hope it hurts so much it suffocates you.”
He didn’t appear phased. He stared me up and down. “Yet you still keep secrets from your husband, little Chiara. For me. What a good girl.”
Revulsion crashed through me so fast it nearly made me recoil physically. The words sounded wrong coming from him. Filthy. Slimy. My stomach twisted.
“Don’t call me that,” I hissed.
His eyes sparkled maliciously. “Sensitive subject?”
“You’re repulsive,” I said.
“And yet,” he sighed dramatically, “women usually like me.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“Oh, that’s easy.” He flashed another perfect smile. “I’m gorgeous.”
Unfortunately, he was. That was the problem.
Angelo Moretti looked like the kind of man women ruined themselves for willingly.
Tall. Dark-haired. Effortlessly charming.
But beneath it all, there was something deeply unpleasant slithering under his skin.
Cruelty disguised as humor. Rot hidden behind pretty teeth.
Even Leo felt cleaner than him somehow. The thought horrified me. Angelo leaned closer.
“You know,” he murmured conspiratorially, “if you ever get tired of Leo, there are other options in the family.”
My face twisted. “I would rather die.”
“Careful,” he laughed. “My father might hear you.”
Edoardo Moretti. A vivid image flashed through my mind. The older man from the wedding reception with greasy slicked-back hair, fleshy hands heavy with rings, and eyes that lingered too long on my body whenever he spoke to me.
I remembered the way he smiled. Like he was mentally undressing every woman in the room. My skin crawled.
“Your father is old enough to be my grandfather,” I said coldly.
“And very wealthy.”
“He’s disgusting,” I spit out.
Angelo shrugged carelessly. “He likes blondes.”
I stared at him in horror. “You actually think that’s a selling point?”
“Not particularly.” He smirked. “But he’d definitely enjoy ruining you.”
Something sick rolled through my stomach. “You’re both insane.”
“Probably.” His grin widened. “Runs in the family.”
Before I could respond, movement behind him caught my attention.
Leo.
He stepped through the front entrance surrounded by guards, black dress shirt rolled to his forearms, tattoos peeking beneath the fabric.
His expression was unreadable until his eyes landed on Angelo standing too close to me.
Then something dangerous flickered there. Angelo noticed it too. And smiled.
Angelo’s grin only widened when he noticed Leo approaching. Danger rolled off my husband in waves. Even the guards near the door subtly straightened.
“Careful,” Angelo murmured quietly to me, amusement glittering in his dark eyes. “That look usually means someone’s about to die.”
My pulse skipped. Leo stopped directly in front of us.
“What are you doing near my wife?” he asked calmly. That was the terrifying part. The calm.
Angelo spread his hands lazily. “Talking.”
“I can see that.” Sergio appeared just behind Leo, massive and silent, his sharp gaze flicking between the three of us. For one strange second, I almost felt bad for Angelo.
Almost. Then his hand brushed mine. Quickly. Deliberately. Something small and metallic pressed into my palm before he stepped back smoothly like nothing had happened. My breath caught.
“No harm done,” Angelo said easily. “Relax, cousin. Chiara and I were getting to know each other.”
Leo’s jaw tightened.
“You know,” Angelo added thoughtfully, “she really doesn’t like me.”
“Smart girl,” Sergio muttered under his breath. I nearly choked. Angelo barked out a laugh.
“See?” He pointed at Sergio. “That’s why I like him better than you, cousin.”
Leo ignored all of it. His attention stayed fixed on me. “Did he upset you?”
The question caught me off guard. I curled my fingers tightly around whatever Angelo had slipped me before answering carefully. “No.”
Angelo watched me with obvious interest. Like he was waiting to see if I’d expose him. I didn’t. Not because I trusted him. Absolutely not. But because curiosity burned hotter than common sense.
“Good girl,” Leo murmured distractedly, already reaching for my waist.
The words hit differently from him. That was the worst part. My stomach tightened traitorously as his hand settled possessively against my lower back. Angelo noticed.
Of course he noticed, and a knowing smile tugged at his mouth. Then he stepped backward toward the doorway.