Chapter 3 - The Wolves at the Gate
Moving into Giovanni’s sprawling penthouse overlooking Lincoln Park felt like stepping onto an alien planet. There were no peeling wallpapers, no leaky faucets, no flickering hallway lights like the ones in my old one-bedroom apartment. There was only floor-to-ceiling glass, minimalist marble decor, and an eerie, absolute silence that took days to get used to.
Lily, however, adjusted immediately.
Within forty-eight hours, my bright, resilient five-year-old had claimed the sunlit corner bedroom with the bay window, discovered the private indoor pool on the building's top floor, and decided that Giovanni—whom she solemnly addressed as "Mr. Fierro-Giant"—was the coolest person on earth because he knew how to make pancakes shaped like dinosaurs.
I stood in the expansive chef's kitchen, watching through the glass partition as Giovanni patiently helped Lily paint a watercolor unicorn at the marble island, when my phone rang.
It was my mother.
"Jessica? Oh, thank God," her voice trembled through the speaker, breathless and high-pitched. "Have you seen the news? Are you alright? Tyler came by my house this morning looking like a ghost!"
"I'm fine, Mom," I said, leaning against the counter.
"Fine? Jessica, people are saying you married Giovanni Fierro! Do you have any idea who the Fierros are? They own half of downtown Chicago! If this is some kind of sick joke to get back at Tyler, you are playing with fire. Elena Vance has already released a statement to the society columns claiming the marriage is a fraud, and—"
"Mom, breathe," I interrupted, my voice steady. For the first time in my life, I didn't feel the crushing weight of my family’s disappointment. "It’s not a joke. And even if it were, I'm handling it."
"You can't handle people like that, Jess! They'll chew you up and spit you out! Where are you even staying? Did that man drag you to some motel?"
"I'm at his penthouse," I replied smoothly.
A sharp gasp echoed on the other end of the line. Before my mother could start hyperventilating again, I hung up, sliding the phone into my pocket.
As I turned around, Giovanni was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching me with those piercing amber eyes. Lily was happily distracted, coloring a giant rainbow at the table.
"Trouble?" he asked quietly.
"My mother thinks you're a mob boss holding me hostage in a luxury dungeon," I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "And society columns are apparently having a field day calling our marriage a sham."
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Giovanni walked over, stopping just inches away. The scent of cedar and clean soap washed over me. He reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear—a gesture so tender it made my stomach flip.
"Let them talk," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips before rising back to my eyes. "Elena can release all the statements she wants. But tomorrow night is the annual Chicago Symphony Gala, and the entire board of directors expects me to introduce my new wife. Are you ready to show them what a real Fierro looks like?"
