Chapter 5 - The North Avenue Estate

The transition from a cramped, drafty one-bedroom apartment in a noisy Chicago neighborhood to the North Avenue estate happened with terrifying, militaristic efficiency.
By 10:00 a.m. the following morning, a team of professional movers had packed up our meager belongings—including Lily’s entire collection of plastic dinosaurs and her favorite worn-out blankets—while a sleek, black bulletproof Mercedes transported Lily and me directly to the gates of the Fierro compound.
Lily pressed her nose against the tinted window, her eyes wide as saucers as the car rolled past towering iron gates, through miles of manicured private gardens, and up to a limestone mansion that looked more like a European palace than a home.
“Mommy,” Lily whispered, clutching her stuffed rabbit tightly. “Does a princess live here?”
“No, sweetie,” I replied, my own stomach doing nervous acrobatics as the car came to a smooth stop. “Just us, apparently.”
The heavy oak doors swung open before we even stepped out. Waiting on the grand marble steps wasn't a butler in a tuxedo, but Giovanni himself, dressed in a simple charcoal button-down with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms.
He didn't look like a ruthless corporate overlord in that moment; he looked approachable, grounded, and disturbingly handsome.
As the car door opened, Giovanni walked down the steps and crouched down to eye level with Lily, ignoring the polished marble entirely.
“Hello, Lily,” Giovanni said, his voice entirely devoid of the cold authority he had used in the ballroom the night before. “I’m Giovanni. I hear you like dinosaurs and painting.”
Lily blinked her big, innocent eyes, studying him for a long moment. Then she held up her battered stuffed rabbit. “This is Mr. Hops. He likes dinosaurs too. Do you have dinosaurs?”
“We have an entire library inside with books about them,” Giovanni replied solemnly. “And if you want, we can build a volcano in the backyard tomorrow.”
Lily’s face lit up with a grin that melted every single ounce of defensive tension I had been holding onto since the wedding. She turned her head and looked up at me. “Mommy, I like this house.”
“Of course you do,” I muttered under my breath.
May you like
Giovanni stood up, his amber eyes shifting to meet mine over Lily’s head. There was no theatrical performance here, no audience of snobbish relatives or plotting corporate rivals. Just the quiet hum of a new reality settling around us.
“Welcome home, Jessica,” he said softly.