Chapter 4 - The Iron Gates of Moretti ManorThe wrought-iron gates of Moretti Manor swung open with a heavy, ominous groan, welcoming the convoy of Escalades into a world that felt entirely removed from the noisy, bustling streets of Brooklyn.
Clara sat in the passenger seat of Rico’s lead vehicle, staring out the window in stunned disbelief.
Moretti Manor was a sprawling, fortress-like estate perched on a private cliff overlooking the Hudson River. Surrounded by thick stone walls, armed patrols, and acres of manicured gardens, it looked less like a home and more like a medieval stronghold adapted for the modern mob.
When the car rolled to a stop in front of the grand limestone entrance, Rico didn't wait for a chauffeur. He stepped out immediately, opened her door, and offered his hand.
Clara looked at his hand—large, strong, and stained with the invisible blood of a criminal empire—then up at his face.
“I didn't agree to this, Mr. Moretti,” Clara said, refusing to take his hand as she swung her legs out of the car and stood on her own two feet. “You didn't give me a choice. Kidnapping a civilian and calling it a job offer doesn't make it legal.”
Rico’s eyebrows arched slightly. A faint glint of amusement danced in his ice-blue eyes.
“It’s not kidnapping if you’re getting paid a six-figure salary with full room, board, and armed protection,” Rico replied smoothly, shutting the car door behind her. “Besides, Santino Rossi knows you were at the restaurant last night. If he finds out you have a connection to the Moretti family—even a tenuous one—he won't hesitate to use you to get to me. Inside these walls, you and Leo are untouchable.”
Clara’s breath hitched. She hated to admit it, but he was right. When she had walked out of Il Destino this morning, she had noticed a nondescript sedan parked across the street, watching her apartment building. The danger was real.
“Fine,” Clara said, crossing her arms defensively. “I’ll play along. But the moment Leo goes to sleep, I want access to your library, your financial ledgers, and a secure phone. If I’m going to live in a gilded cage, I need to know what I’m dealing with.”
Rico let out a low, gravelly chuckle—a sound that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.
“Feisty,” Rico murmured, stepping closer until she could smell the expensive blend of cedarwood and amber on his skin. “I like that. Most people wet their pants when I bring them here. You’re trying to negotiate terms.”
Before Clara could retort, Leo came running around the side of the car, holding a dead leaf like it was a sword.
“Clwa! Look! Big leaf!” Leo cheered, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the grand double doors of the manor.
Clara softened instantly, letting the toddler lead her inside.
The interior of Moretti Manor was breathtakingly lavish—high vaulted ceilings, crystal chandeliers identical to the one at Il Destino, priceless oil paintings, and sweeping marble staircases. Yet, despite the luxury, the house felt cold, echoing with the ghosts of a tragic past.
An older woman with silver hair pulled into a tight bun and a sharp, formal black dress stepped out from the hallway. It was Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper who had managed the estate for thirty years.
“Mr. Moretti,” Mrs. Gable nodded stiffly, her critical gaze immediately sweeping over Clara from head to toe, taking in her cheap sneakers and simple denim jacket. “Is this... the new help?”
“This is Clara Vance,” Rico said, his voice dropping into a tone of absolute command that left no room for debate. “She is Leo’s new governess. She will have the master suite on the second floor, directly adjacent to the nursery. Anything she asks for, you provide immediately. Is that clear?”
Mrs. Gable’s eyes widened slightly in shock. The master suite? Adjacent to the nursery? That was Elena’s old wing of the house. No one had set foot in those rooms since the day she died.
“Mr. Moretti, are you sure...?” Mrs. Gable started cautiously.
“Did I stutter, Mrs. Gable?” Rico asked, his voice chilling the air in the foyer by ten degrees.
“No, sir,” the housekeeper replied instantly, bowing her head. “Right this way, Miss Vance.”
As Clara followed Mrs. Gable up the grand staircase, holding Leo’s sticky little hand, she glanced back down at the foyer.
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Rico was standing by the massive stone fireplace, watching her ascend with an intense, burning gaze that felt like a brand on her skin. He wasn't just hiding her from his rivals. He was pulling her into his orbit, wrapping her in his world of shadows and power.
And deep down, terrifyingly, Clara realized a part of her didn't want to run away.
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