Chapter 2 - The Drive to Westchester and the Dark History of the Moretti Estate
The black armored Mercedes-Benz glided smoothly through the heavy evening traffic, leaving the twinkling lights of Manhattan behind as we headed north toward Westchester County.
Inside the climate-controlled cabin, the silence was thick, heavy, and charged with an unspoken electricity.
I sat on the passenger side, staring out the tinted window at the blurring shapes of highway signs and snow-dusted trees, clutching my handbag as if it were a shield against an impending invasion.
Luca sat beside me in the back seat, having dispensed with his suit jacket entirely.
He wore a crisp white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing the faint shadow of dark stubble along his jaw and the quiet, commanding presence of a man accustomed to total dominion over his environment.
Every few minutes, I could feel his gaze drifting from his tablet to my face.
“You’ve been remarkably quiet for the last thirty miles, Emma,” Luca observed, his deep voice cutting through the soft hum of the vehicle’s audio system.
I turned my head to look at him, my wire-rimmed glasses slipping slightly down my nose.
“Remarkably quiet?” I echoed, my voice carrying a sharp edge of disbelief.
“Luca, twenty minutes ago you casually dropped a nuclear bomb on my entire life, announced that I am your fake girlfriend for an ultra-exclusive Moretti family holiday gathering, and informed me that you plan to tell your terrifying, old-school relatives that I am the only woman you would ever choose to marry. And you’re wondering why I’m not chatting about the weather?”
A slow, dark smile touched the corners of his lips—a fleeting expression that made him look dangerously handsome and entirely out of reach.
“It wasn't casual,” Luca corrected smoothly.
“I’ve been considering it for weeks.”
My jaw dropped.
“Weeks?! You’ve been planning to ambush me with a fake relationship for weeks while I was busy organizing your contractor audits and ordering your mother’s floral arrangements?”
“My grandmother’s,” Luca corrected mildly.
“And yes. My family has been pushing for a traditional arranged match within the syndicate circles for over a year. They want to tie Moretti Holdings closer to the older families through marriage. I needed a variable they couldn't control, couldn't vet, and couldn't bully.”
“And you chose your assistant?!” I sputtered, disbelief spiking my adrenaline.
“Do you have any idea what your relatives are going to do to me? They’re going eat me alive! I’m just a middle-class girl from Ohio with student loans and a tiny apartment in Astoria. Your family dines on people like me for appetizers!”
Luca reached out, his warm fingers wrapping firmly around my wrist, stopping my nervous fidgeting in an instant.
His touch sent a sudden, electric shock straight up my arm, making my breath catch in my throat.
“They won't touch you, Emma,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a register so absolute, so chillingly confident, that it brook no argument.
“Because the moment you step foot inside that house tonight, you are under my protection. Nobody in my family crosses a line I draw. Not my uncles, not my cousins, and certainly not my father if he were still sitting at the head of that table.”
The mention of his father hung in the air like a cold ghost.
Vittorio Moretti.
Even years after his passing, his shadow loomed large over the family estate, a legacy of blood, gold, and absolute control.
“What if they don't believe us?” I whispered, looking down at his hand wrapped around my wrist.
“What if they see right through the act?”
“They won't see an act,” Luca replied, his dark eyes burning into mine with an intensity that made it difficult to draw a breath.
“Because you are going to play your part, and I am going to play mine. And by the time dessert is served tonight, my family won't just think we’re together—they’ll believe we’re inseparable.”
The Mercedes turned off the main highway, passing through towering iron security gates flanked by stone pillars and private guards who saluted smartly as the vehicle approached.
Ahead of us, looming through the snowy everglades of Westchester, stood the Moretti estate.
It was a sprawling, stone-and-timber mansion built in the style of an old-world European fortress, illuminated by soft amber lighting that cast long, dramatic shadows across the snow.
As the car rolled to a halt in front of the grand double doors, my stomach twisted into a violent knot.
Luca turned to me, his expression turning deadly serious.
“Are you ready, Emma?”
I swallowed hard, adjusting my glasses, and lifted my chin with whatever fragile courage I had left.
“As ready as I’ll ever be, boss.”
Luca’s dark eyes flashed with something hot and unreadable.
“Tonight, drop the title,” he murmured, leaning in close enough for me to feel the warmth of his breath against my skin.
May you like
“Call me Luca.”
Before I could process the command, the car door swung open, and the freezing December air rushed into the cabin, signaling our arrival at the mouth of the beast.
Related Stories
