Chapter 2 - Beneath the GrandThe private elevator ride down to the sub-basement of the Moretti Grand felt like a descent into another world.
When the doors slid open, there was no hum of housekeeping carts or chatter of hotel guests. Instead, I stepped out onto polished concrete floors surrounded by reinforced security walls, private offices, and men in dark suits who nodded respectfully as Lorenzo walked past. This was the beating heart of his operation—the invisible infrastructure that kept his legitimate hotel empire standing on a foundation of absolute power.
Tobias led us down a short hallway into a sprawling private suite overlooking the dark, churning waters of Elliott Bay. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Seattle skyline, blurred by the steady, gray rain.
"Get her a scotch," Lorenzo instructed Tobias without looking back as he shrugged off his damp suit jacket, tossing it over the back of a leather armchair.
"I don't drink scotch," I said, though my nerves were screaming for something stronger than water.
"You do now," Lorenzo replied smoothly, walking over to a built-in bar. "Tonight, you just told a room full of respectable citizens that you belong to me. That makes you a target for every gossip, reporter, and enemy who wants to test my boundaries. You need something that burns on the way down."
He handed me a heavy crystal glass containing a finger of dark amber liquid. I took it, the chill of the glass biting into my skin, and took a cautious sip. It burned like liquid fire, scorching my throat and instantly clearing the lingering taste of my mother’s poisoned hospitality.
"You're taking this remarkably well," I noted, walking slowly toward the glass wall to look out at the harbor. "Most billionaires would have had security throw an uninvited, hysterical woman out into the rain."
"You weren't hysterical," Lorenzo said, joining me by the window. He stood close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him. "You were cold. And you were furious. I respect fury, Scarlet. It's honest. It doesn't lie to you the way love or family does."
The word family hit a raw nerve. I gripped the crystal glass tighter, my knuckles whitening.
"My sister is marrying the man who cheated on me in the bed I paid for," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "And my mother sat across from me tonight acting like I was the inconvenient guest at my own execution. They wanted me to smile. They wanted me to swallow the humiliation and ask for seconds."
"And instead, you handed them a ghost story," Lorenzo murmured, his eyes reflecting the neon lights of the waterfront. "You told them you were with Lorenzo Moretti. Do you have any idea what that means in this city, Scarlet? People don't whisper about my business; they whisper about who survives it. By tomorrow morning, every high-society drone in Seattle will know you left Bellini's on my arm."
"Then I suppose I'll need to update my resume," I replied dryly, though my heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "Because being fired from my job as an event coordinator is going to happen right around the time the news reaches the front desk."
Lorenzo turned his head, looking down at me with an intensity that made it difficult to draw breath.
"You won't be fired," he said quietly. "In fact, by tomorrow afternoon, your position at this hotel is going to change quite a bit."
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, forcing a mask of cool defiance over the rising panic. "And what position am I getting? Head target?"
"Promotion," Lorenzo corrected, his lips twitching into the faintest ghost of a smile. "If you're going to play the role of my woman in public, Scarlet, you can't be running around organizing flower arrangements for charity galas. You need to sit beside me at the table where the decisions are made."
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed violently in my purse.
I pulled it out. The screen lit up with a text message from an unknown number, followed immediately by one from my mother.
Meredith Hayes: Where are you? Answer me right now, Scarlet. What kind of game are you playing with that dangerous man? Call me before I call the police.
I stared at the screen, a bitter laugh rising in my throat. Not a single text asking if I was safe. Not a single word of concern about the man I had supposedly left with. Just panic over how it looked to her friends.
I held up the phone, unlocked it, and pressed the power button, plunging the screen into total darkness. Then, deliberately, I dropped it onto the glass coffee table.
Lorenzo watched the movement, his dark eyes narrowing slightly.
May you like
"Done running interference?" he asked.
"I'm done running period," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "If I'm going to be a character in your mafia fairy tale, Lorenzo, let's make sure the ending is worth the blood."
