Chapter 4 - Beyond the Velvet DrapesThe remainder of the wedding reception was a blur of whispered gossip, terrified glances from my extended family, and an overwhelming sense of surrealism. No one dared approach Table Twelve. My aunt Sophia looked as though she wanted to apologize, but the mere presence of Giovanni standing beside me—his hand resting possessively at the small of my back as we shared a quiet corner of the terrace—kept everyone at a safe, respectful distance.
When the clock struck ten, I gently pulled my hand away from his arm and looked up at him under the cool Chicago moonlight.
"The charade worked," I said, trying to steady my breathing against the cold wind coming off Lake Michigan. "Tyler is gone, my family is terrified to speak to me, and you successfully dodged your aunt's matchmaking ambush. You can drop the act now, Mr. Fierro."
Giovanni pulled a sleek black leather cardholder from his inner jacket pocket, extracted a heavy card embossed with gold lettering, and handed it to me.
"It wasn't entirely an act, Jessica," he said quietly.
I looked down at the card: Giovanni Fierro — Managing Director, Fierro Capital Holdings. In the bottom corner, a direct, private mobile number was handwritten in sharp ink.
"What is this?" I asked, frowning.
"An insurance policy," Giovanni replied, leaning against the stone balustrade of the terrace. "Your ex-husband has signed three fraudulent corporate loans over the last two years using forged spousal consent signatures. When I had my legal team investigate him after noticing his erratic behavior at your table, we found he listed you as a co-guarantor without your knowledge. If his firm collapses—which it will, by Monday morning—creditors are going to come after your personal credit, your apartment, and your custody rights to Lily."
My blood ran cold. The warmth of the evening vanished, replaced by a sudden, sickening wave of nausea.
"He... he wouldn't," I whispered, though my mind instantly recalled the stack of mail Tyler had once forced me to sign without reading three years ago during a bitter custody dispute over medical bills. "He couldn't."
"He did," Giovanni confirmed gently. "And because I intervened tonight, Tyler is going to try to retaliate. Men with fragile egos and mounting debt do not walk away quietly when they are publicly humiliated by someone they consider inferior."
"So what do you suggest I do?" I asked, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound strong. "Run? Hide?"
"No," Giovanni said, stepping closer, his amber eyes holding mine with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. "You accept my protection. You keep the ring on your finger. And you let me handle the men who think they can destroy what is mine."
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"I am not yours, Giovanni," I retorted, though my pulse raced at the implication.
"Not yet," he murmured, a faint, rare smile touching the corners of his lips. "But by sunrise tomorrow, every tabloid in Chicago will have photographs of Giovanni Fierro’s secret wife. And nobody—least of all a two-bit corporate thief like Tyler—will ever dare touch you again."
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