Chapter 3 - Whispers in the Marble Hallways
Three days had passed inside the Moretti fortress, days defined by the relentless schedule of feeding newborn twins, changing diapers, and learning the labyrinthine layout of the mansion.
Emma quickly discovered that while she was treated like royalty by the staff, she was also heavily restricted. Armed guards stood at the end of her hallway twenty-four hours a day. When she asked to go down to the kitchen to brew her own tea, a bulky guard named Luca accompanied her every step of the way.
“It’s for your protection, Miss Brooks,” Luca said politely as they walked past a gallery of priceless oil paintings depicting past Moretti patriarchs—men with cold eyes and expensive suits.
“Protection from what?” Emma asked.
“From people who want to finish what was started at St. Catherine’s,” Luca replied bluntly.
On the fourth morning, while the twins were finally sleeping soundly, Emma decided to explore the lower level of the east wing, looking for the library to find a book on infant care.
As she rounded a corner near the back service stairs, she overheard hushed, angry voices coming from a dimly lit study with the door cracked open.
“...if Gabriel finds out about the tampering at the hospital, we’re all dead men!” a frantic voice hissed. It belonged to Marcus Vance, Mrs. Vance’s nephew and Gabriel’s chief financial officer.
“Calm down, you idiot,” replied a second voice—smooth, cold, and dripping with calculated malice. It was Gianni Moretti, Gabriel’s cousin and underboss, a man whose permanent smirk always made Emma’s skin crawl. “Gabriel is blinded by grief and obsessed with those twins. He’s too busy playing wet nurse to notice the ledger discrepancies or the missing security footage from St. Catherine’s.”
“And what about the woman?” Marcus whispered anxiously. “The craft store nobody? The wet nurse? She’s living in the master wing, Gianni! Gabriel looks at her like she hung the damn moon. If she figures out—”
“She’s a nobody from Astoria,” Gianni sneered. “When the time is right, a little accident can be arranged for her too. Just like Isabella.”
Emma pressed her hand over her mouth, biting down hard to stop a gasp from escaping. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Isabella’s death wasn't medical malpractice. It was murder. And Gianni Moretti—Gabriel’s own blood—was the architect.
She backed away slowly, her soft slippers making no sound on the Persian rug. She turned the corner, intending to run back to her suite and lock the door, when she collided straight into a solid wall of muscle.
Gabriel’s strong hands caught her by the waist to steady her. He looked down at her pale, terrified face, his eyes narrowing instantly.
“Emma. What are you doing down here?” he asked, his voice sharp with immediate suspicion. “Why are you shaking?”
Before Emma could answer, the study door clicked open behind them, and Gianni Moretti stepped out into the hallway, adjusting his silk tie with a practiced, arrogant smile.
“Well, well,” Gianni purred, his eyes raking over Emma with predatory amusement. “Cousin... I see you’ve abandoned mourning for domestic entertainment. Is this our new guest?”
May you like
Gabriel’s expression darkened into a terrifying mask of pure ice. He pulled Emma slightly behind his shoulder, placing his massive frame between her and Gianni.
“Keep your eyes off her, Gianni,” Gabriel warned softly, a lethal edge sharpening every word. “She is under my direct protection. Cross her, and you won’t live to see tomorrow.”
