Chapter 3 - The Boardroom Shadow and Sofia's Venom
By nine o'clock that morning, I had already vacated the suite through the hotel’s rear delivery exit.
I had navigated the city long before I met Adrian Moretti, and I knew how to vanish in plain daylight.
I took an underground commuter train straight to the loop.
My destination was not home, but the Bennett Art Restoration Studio, my independent business.
Before I married Adrian, I had built a reputable career restoring antique oil paintings and rare manuscripts.
He had offered to buy me a massive gallery in River North three years ago, but I had flatly refused.
I had insisted on keeping my humble studio on Superior Street, funded entirely by my own savings.
It was the one piece of my life that the Moretti millions had never contaminated.
I unlocked the brass padlock on the studio door and stepped inside.
The familiar smell of linseed oil, turpentine, and dry canvas greeted me.
It was the only space left in this city where I could breathe without choking on Adrian's shadow.
I walked straight to my private safe behind the framed Renaissance portrait on the back wall.
I opened it and withdrew my personal passport, my birth certificate, and my separate bank records.
I needed to secure every document that established my identity independent of the Moretti name.
As I placed the folders into my leather briefcase, the chime above the front door rang out.
I froze, stepping cautiously out of the back office with an iron palette knife hidden inside my sleeve.
Standing in the sunlit gallery was Sofia Russo.
She looked breathtakingly radiant, dressed in an ivory wool trench coat that hung casually unbuttoned.
Her dark hair was styled into effortless waves, and her lips were painted in subtle rose lipstick.
Her left hand rested naturally over her stomach, drawing subtle attention to her flat midsection.
Two burly men in leather jackets lingered outside my studio windows, watching the street.
“You shouldn't have run away to a cheap hotel, Claire,” Sofia said smoothly, strolling into the room.
“It makes you look undignified.”
“And the wife of Adrian Moretti should never look undignified in public.”
I slid the palette knife deeper into my cuff and crossed my arms over my chest.
“How did you find this address, Sofia?” I asked, keeping my voice level.
Sofia offered a condescending smile as she trailed a manicured finger along an antique wooden easel.
“My father owns half the logistics network in Cook County.”
“Do you really think a simple train ride can hide you from the Russo family?”
“You came here to gloat,” I said simply.
“I came here to offer you some practical advice, woman to woman,” Sofia replied, tilting her head.
She closed the distance between us, stopping just three feet from my worktable.
“Adrian belongs to the syndicate, Claire.”
“He belongs to the boardrooms, the dark warehouses, and the families that built this city from blood.”
“You were always an ornament.”
“A beautiful, innocent pet he kept in a glass cage to convince himself he had a soul.”
“Did he tell you that during your forty-minute phone calls?” I countered, raising an eyebrow.
Sofia’s eyes narrowed slightly, the veneer of polite arrogance cracking for an instant.
“He didn't have to say it.”
“He showed it to me in Boston four months ago.”
“He showed it to me in his private suite at the Ritz while you were at home baking bread.”
The words felt like physical daggers digging into my ribs, but I did not allow my eyelids to flicker.
I refused to give this woman the satisfaction of watching me bleed.
“If he showed you so much devotion in Boston, Sofia, why did you have to ambush him on his anniversary?”
I took a slow step forward, looking directly down into her eyes.
“Why did you have to call his personal phone on speaker to trap him?”
“Why did you text me in a panic, claiming it was a wrong number?”
Sofia’s jaw tightened, her smug expression hardening into bitter spite.
“Because Adrian is sentimental,” she hissed softly.
“He felt guilty about ruining your delicate little feelings.”
“He was too cowardly to tell you to your face that his family requires an heir with syndicate blood.”
“My father’s docks and Adrian’s territory are merging, Claire.”
“This child is the future of Chicago’s entire underworld economy.”
“What can you give him?”
“Restored canvases and pretty dinner parties?”
I stared at her, feeling an overwhelming wave of disgust rather than jealousy.
“Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night, Sofia?”
“That you are an empire-builder rather than a common home-wrecker?”
Sofia stepped forward, her hand raising to point an accusatory finger in my face.
“Watch your mouth, Claire!”
Before her finger could touch my collar, my hand moved with lightning speed.
I struck her wrist aside, twisting her arm away with the precise, cold detachment I had learned from surviving three years around violent men.
Sofia gasped in shock, staggering back against an unfinished canvas.
Outside, her two bodyguards took a step toward the glass door, their hands reaching beneath their jackets.
“Tell your dogs to stay outside,” I commanded in a low, dangerous whisper.
“Or I will call 911 and report an armed assault on a private business.”
“Do you think the Chicago police want to explain why Donato Russo’s thugs are harassing Adrian Moretti’s lawful wife?”
Sofia caught her breath, holding her wrist, her eyes flashing with pure venom.
She raised her hand toward the window, signaling her men to stand down.
“You think you are so brave, don't you?” Sofia sneered, adjusting her coat.
“Adrian will never sign those divorce papers.”
“Not because he loves you, but because his pride will not allow him to lose.”
“He will lock you away in a countryside estate before he lets you walk free.”
“Then he will have to lock away my corpse,” I answered without hesitation.
“Because I will never sleep under the same roof as that man again.”
“And as for you, Sofia…”
I leaned in, meeting her furious gaze with absolute ice.
“You might carry his bloodline in your womb.”
“You might even get his father’s old captains to bow to you at Sunday dinners.”
“But you will always know the pathetic truth.”
“You had to force a pregnancy test onto a speakerphone just to get him to look in your direction.”
“He kept you hidden in his trash bin like a dirty secret.”
“And when he looked at that ultrasound last night, he looked like he wanted to vomit.”
Sofia’s face turned an ugly shade of crimson.
She opened her mouth to scream an insult, but the sudden roar of a high-performance engine cut her short.
A matte-black Mercedes Maybach pulled up aggressively to the curb, mounting the sidewalk directly behind Sofia’s guards.
Mateo stepped out from the front passenger seat.
Behind him, the rear door opened.
Adrian Moretti stepped onto the pavement.
He was not wearing his corporate suit.
His dark dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his hair was disheveled, and his right hand was wrapped tightly in white medical gauze.
The terrifying aura radiating from his tall frame made Sofia’s two bodyguards instantly back away with their hands raised.
Sofia turned pale, stepping backward toward the exit.
May you like
Adrian didn't even look at her as he crossed the threshold of my studio.
His dark, burning eyes were locked entirely on me.
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