Chapter 4 - The Lion’s DenThe Moretti estate in the exclusive Barrington hills looked less like a residential home and more like a fortified European fortress. High wrought-iron gates topped with security cameras swung open silently as Victoria’s armored sedan rolled up the winding, tree-lined driveway.
As the car came to a stop in front of the grand stone entrance, the heavy oak doors opened, and Nikolai stepped out onto the porch to greet us.
He wore a dark charcoal overcoat, the cold Chicago wind catching his dark hair. When he saw me step out of the car wearing the midnight-blue silk gown and a tailored wool coat, his dark eyes swept over me with a look of intense, unmistakable approval.
“You look formidable, Evelyn,” Nikolai said, extending his hand to help me up the stone steps.
“Formidable is required when you’re walking into a room full of wolves,” I replied, slipping my hand into his steady, warm grip.
“Fortunately,” Nikolai murmured as the heavy front doors swung open to reveal the opulent, high-ceilinged foyer, “you brought the apex predator with you.”
Inside the grand dining hall, the atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife. Seated around a massive mahogany dining table were six elderly men—the veteran capos and board directors who controlled the Moretti family council—along with Julian, Serena, and my father, Arthur Hart.
The moment Nikolai and I entered the room arm-in-arm, the buzzing conversation at the table died a sudden, violent death.
Julian choked on his water, coughing violently as his eyes bulged out of his head. My father stood up so fast his chair screeched loudly against the hardwood floor. And Serena—wearing a smug, triumphant smile that vanished the second she saw me—froze in place.
“Nikolai!” our father stammered, his face turning an alarming shade of pale red as he pointed a shaking finger at us. “What is the meaning of this? Why is... why is she here? This is a private Moretti family council meeting!”
Nikolai didn't even glance at my father. He guided me smoothly to the head of the table, pulling out the primary seat to my left before taking his own place at the absolute center of power.
“Arthur,” Nikolai said, his voice dripping with cool, lethal authority. “Watch your tone when you speak to my future wife.”
The dining hall erupted into chaos.
Three of the elderly council members began shouting at once, demanding explanations, while Julian stood up, his face twisted in jealous rage.
“Are you out of your mind, Nikolai?!” Julian shouted, slamming his palms onto the mahogany table. “She’s my ex-fiancée! You can’t just bring her in here pretending—this is sick! Serena and I are the ones getting married! We’re uniting the families!”
Nikolai didn't flinch. He slowly lifted his gaze from the menu card on the table and locked his obsidian eyes directly onto his younger brother.
“Sit down, Julian, before I have security remove you from my house,” Nikolai said, his voice dropping an octave into a tone so terrifyingly calm that Julian instinctively took a half-step back. “You made your choice at the Halston Hotel. You traded stability for a shiny distraction. But the Moretti syndicate and our financial holdings do not reward poor judgment.”
Serena clutched Julian’s arm, her voice trembling with manufactured outrage. “Evelyn, how could you sink this low? Just because Julian broke off things with you doesn't mean you have to throw yourself at his brother out of spite!”
I finally spoke, my voice cutting through the noise with the icy precision of a surgeon’s blade.
“Spite, Serena?” I asked, stepping forward slightly so the chandelier light caught the midnight-blue silk of my dress. “I didn't throw myself anywhere. I simply realized that when trading up in Chicago, it’s always best to deal with the CEO rather than the intern.”
Laughter—dry, harsh, and deeply appreciative—erupted from old Don Salvatore, the longest-serving member of the Moretti council.
“Well said, girl,” Salvatore rasped, leaning forward on his cane, his cloudy eyes twinkling with sharp intelligence. “The boy has spirit. More than Julian ever showed.”
Julian’s face flushed a deep, humiliated crimson. “She’s manipulating you! Both of them! The Hart family real estate trusts are tied to my acquisition deal—they don't have the legal authority to ally with Nikolai without my—!”
“Actually, Julian,” I interrupted sweetly, pulling a neatly folded legal document from my small leather clutch and sliding it across the mahogany table directly toward old Salvatore, “as the sole surviving primary trustee of the Hart estate, my signature is required to release those assets.”
May you like
I looked straight into Julian’s horrified eyes.
“And as of ten minutes ago, my signature has been officially transferred... exclusively to Nikolai Moretti.”
Related Stories
