Chapter 1 - The Blood Pact That Chained Us
The phone line went colder than a frozen grave. My mother’s ragged breath scraped against the receiver, stripping away whatever naive illusions I had clung to during my three years inside Adrian Moretti’s gilded cage.
“Claire, listen to me very carefully,” she whispered, her voice trembling like dry autumn leaves. “Your father didn’t die of heart failure. He owed thirty million dollars to the Moretti syndicate after his shipping empire collapsed. Before he perished in that warehouse fire, Adrian bought out the debt under one single condition—that you become his lawful wife. The day you walk away from that marriage, the syndicate seizes every remaining asset, every trust fund, and throws our entire family into the gutter. He owns us, Claire. He has owned your soul since the very beginning.”
A sick, metallic taste filled my mouth. The romantic dates, the bespoke diamond bracelets, the soft way he kissed my forehead before going out into the Chicago night to orchestrate violence—none of it was a fairy tale. It was a collateral management strategy. He hadn’t rescued me; he had collected me like a prized vintage car.
I dropped my phone onto the pristine white hotel duvet and stood up, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling glass window. Down below, rain lashed against Michigan Avenue in violent, jagged sheets. Even through the torrential downpour, I spotted the sleek black Cadillac Escalades idling silently along the curb. Dark figures stood beneath enormous umbrellas, guarding the hotel perimeter like silent gargoyles.
His men. His wolves.
Suddenly, the electronic lock on my penthouse door clicked open.
My heart hammered against my ribs as the door swung inward. Adrian stood in the doorway, soaked in rainwater and reeking of burnt gunpowder and cheap floral perfume. His tailored jacket was drenched, clinging to his massive chest, and his knuckles were raw and split. In his right hand, he held a wet manila envelope.
“Did you honestly believe a luxury suite at the Drake could hide you from me, Claire?” His voice was a guttural growl, low and dangerously quiet. “I told you once, and I will not repeat myself: you are a Moretti. You leave when I put you six feet underground, and not a single second sooner.”
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“Don’t come near me,” I whispered, backing toward the balcony door. “I know about my father’s debt. I know the entire marriage was a transaction to keep your syndicate’s books balanced. And now your little pet Sofia is carrying your heir. Go build your empire with her.”
Adrian’s jaw clenched so hard a vein throbbed violently along his neck. He threw the envelope onto the glass coffee table, shattering an empty tumbler. “Sofia Russo is a lying serpent who played her final card tonight. But if you think I’m letting you walk out of my life because of a cheap setup, you don’t understand what a monster you married.”
