Chapter Twenty-One CHIARA
The penthouse was too quiet without Leo in it. I hated that I noticed.
The silence wrapped around me as I stood in front of the massive bathroom mirror fastening an earring with slightly trembling fingers.
Pale morning light spilled through the marble-and-glass space, catching against gold fixtures and black stone counters polished so perfectly they reflected me back in cruel detail.
I barely recognized the girl staring back anymore. My hair was down now. Always down.
Leo had made that change so naturally it frightened me. One night of his fingers carefully undoing my braid, one low command in that dark voice, and I couldn’t stand putting it back up again.
It felt too tight. Too much like Papa. Too much like the old version of me. I shouldn’t have been changing for him. And yet I was.
My fingertips drifted unconsciously toward my throat, where faint bruises still lingered beneath my silk robe. My entire body heated remembering his mouth there. The way he touched me now felt burned into my skin permanently, like I carried him around even when he wasn’t there.
That was the real danger of Leo Moretti. Not the violence. Not the threats. Not even the lies. It was how easily he made me forget I was supposed to hate him. My stomach twisted. Because for the last two days, every thought inside my head had become about him.
The way he looked holding Sienna. The way he watched me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. The terrifying tenderness that appeared sometimes before vanishing again behind possession and control.
And worst of all? The way he touched me.
Heat flooded my face. God. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
The way his hands gripped my waist. The roughness in his voice when he talked about putting babies in me.
The dark hungry look in his eyes every time he mentioned breeding me like the thought consumed him completely.
A humiliating ache curled low in my stomach. I pressed my palms hard against the marble counter.
No. No, I would not become one of those pathetic women who fell in love with powerful men just because they were obsessed with them.
Leo didn’t love me. He wanted an heir. That was all.
The memory of Angelo’s voice slithered back through my mind. He only married you because he needed a baby. My chest tightened painfully.
Everything made sense now. The possessiveness. The obsession with getting me pregnant. The way Leo talked about children like he’d already decided my body belonged to him.
I wasn’t special. I was useful. The thought hurt far more than it should have.
Angrily, I turned away from the mirror and crossed the bedroom, trying to outrun the sinking feeling in my chest. I yanked open a drawer searching for absolutely nothing when my fingers brushed something stiff tucked beneath a silk scarf.
I froze. The black key card Angelo had given me in secret. For a second, I just stared at it.
The memory rushed back, his mocking smile at the wedding, the way he leaned too close when he spoke, his low poisonous voice telling me Leo only wanted me for my womb.
A way out. That was what Angelo promised me. My fingers tightened around the card. I should have thrown it away. Instead, I turned it over slowly. A phone number was written neatly across the back. My pulse stumbled. The hotel.
I stared at it for a very long time. Then hated myself because the first thought that entered my head wasn’t escape. It was Leo. How his hands felt on my body. How his voice dropped when he called me his wife. How badly I wanted him to touch me again despite everything.
Tears burned behind my eyes, humiliating and unwanted. Because maybe Angelo was right. Maybe I really was stupid enough to fall apart for a man who viewed me as nothing more than a breeding tool. A pretty little weapon against his dead father’s will.
The thought hollowed something inside my chest. I grabbed the card tighter. Then, before I could lose my nerve, I slipped quietly into the hallway.
The penthouse was mostly empty this afternoon. A few guards downstairs. Staff somewhere deeper inside the building. Leo had left hours ago for meetings. Only Sergio remained.
I found him sitting near the kitchen island reading something on his phone while drinking espresso. He looked up when he noticed me. “Morning.”
“I’m getting coffee,” I lied quickly. Sergio narrowed his eyes slightly like he knew perfectly well I was lying but chose not to comment on it. Dangerous man. Not as dangerous as Leo. But close.
He stood after a moment. “I need to take a call downstairs. Stay inside.”
Like I had a choice.
The second he disappeared into the elevator, my pulse exploded. I moved quickly. His phone sat abandoned beside the espresso cup. Every instinct screamed this was a terrible idea. I grabbed it anyway.
My fingers shook so badly I nearly dropped the device while punching the number from Angelo’s card into the screen. One ring. Two. Three.
“About fucking time.” My stomach dropped. Angelo sounded amused already. “You took long enough, cara.”
“I shouldn’t have called,” I whispered.
“No,” he agreed lazily. “But you did.”
I gripped the edge of the marble counter tighter.
“I just…” My throat tightened. “I needed to know if you were lying.”
Angelo laughed softly. Coldly. “About which part?”
The humiliation burned hot across my skin. “About Leo.”
“Oh?” His voice sharpened with interest. “Did cousin Leo finally fuck you?”
Silence betrayed me before words could. Angelo’s laugh deepened. There was no warmth in it at all. “Oh, this is even worse than I thought.”
“Stop.”
“You hesitated,” he mocked softly. “That means I was right.”
My chest tightened painfully. “He’s my husband.”
“And?” Angelo drawled. “You think that means anything to men like us?”
The words landed hard. Cruel because part of me already feared they were true.
“He talks about children constantly, doesn’t he?” Angelo continued casually. “Breeding. Pregnancy. His future heirs.”
I said nothing. Again, silence betrayed me.
“Madonna,” Angelo laughed. “You poor thing.”
“Shut up.”
“You thought he was obsessed with you because you were special?” His voice softened into something almost pitying. “Chiara, he picked you because you’re perfect for producing Moretti heirs.”
Pain sliced through me so sharply I had to look away. I hated that Angelo could hear my breathing change.
“He doesn’t even know you,” Angelo continued. “Not really. Leo sees people as possessions. Assets. Tools.”
“That’s not true.” But my voice sounded weaker now. Uncertain.
Angelo noticed. “Did he tell you he loves you?”
The question stunned me silent.
“Exactly,” Angelo murmured. “Because he doesn’t.”
Something hot and awful burned behind my ribs. I thought about the zoo. Sienna asleep against Leo’s chest. The softness in his eyes when he listened to stories about my mother. The way he touched my hair like it meant something.
But then I remembered the other things too. Good girl. Mine. Obey me. Maybe none of it had ever been about me at all.
“Chiara,” Angelo said softly now. “Do you want to know the worst part?”
I swallowed painfully. “What?”
“He probably likes you.” A quiet cruel laugh followed. “As much as a man like Leo can like anyone.”
My chest tightened harder.
“But men like him don’t love people,” Angelo finished coldly. “They consume them.”
The silence between us stretched long enough for my heartbeat to become unbearable. I gripped Sergio’s phone harder against my ear, staring blankly out across the glittering skyline beyond the penthouse windows while Angelo’s words echoed through my head like poison.
Men like him don’t love people. They consume them.
“You’re quiet,” Angelo observed softly.
“I should hang up.”
“But you won’t,” he predicted.
No. I wouldn’t. And somehow that terrified me most of all. My throat felt tight. “Why are you doing this?”
A low chuckle came through the line. “Because unlike Leo, I don’t enjoy watching beautiful women walk willingly into cages.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “You barely know me.”
“I know enough.” Something in his tone made unease crawl down my spine. Before I could respond, Angelo sighed softly. “There’s something else you should know.”
My stomach tightened. “What?”
“Your father is dying.”
The world stopped. “What?”
“He’s in a private hospital downtown,” Angelo continued calmly. “Multiple organ failure. Internal bleeding. Fever. Pain so bad they’ve had to sedate him repeatedly.”
Ice flooded my veins. “No.”
“I warned you my cousin likes poison.”
The words hit like a slap. My knees nearly gave out beneath me. I caught myself against the marble counter hard enough to hurt.
“He poisoned Papa?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
My pulse roared violently in my ears. No.
Images flashed through my mind. Papa collapsing on the front steps. Sweat soaking through his clothes. Begging Leo for help. And Leo standing there cold and unreadable while Sienna slept safely against his chest.
“You’re lying,” I whispered desperately.
Angelo laughed softly. “Am I?”
I couldn’t breathe.
“He poisoned him with a slow acting drug,” Angelo continued almost conversationally. “That’s Leo’s favorite method. He enjoys watching people realize too late what’s happening to them.”
Horror twisted through my stomach.
“But Papa…” My voice broke. “He…”
“He hurt your mother?” Angelo interrupted smoothly. “Beat you?” A pause. “I’m aware.”
Confusion crashed into terror. “Then why are you telling me this?”
“Because if he can do that to your father,” Angelo said quietly, “what makes you think he won’t eventually do it to you?”
My blood ran cold. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” His tone sharpened slightly. “Chiara, you’ve known Leo for what? A few weeks? And already he has you isolated in a penthouse, dependent on him, emotionally attached to him. You should be frightened by how quickly he got inside your head.”