Chapter 2 - The Man Behind the Monster
The first thing I learned about Adrian Moretti was that he hated pity.
The second was that he hated hospitals.
The third was that he loved our son.
Not quietly.
Not cautiously.
Completely.
He could spend an entire night sitting beside the crib.
Sometimes he wouldn't even touch the baby.
He would simply watch him breathe.
I once found him asleep in the chair at five in the morning, one hand resting protectively against the crib.
I covered him with a blanket.
His eyes opened.
“You're supposed to be resting.”
“So are you.”
He looked at the baby.
“He wouldn't sleep.”
“He's three weeks old.”
“I know.”
“You're the mafia boss. You can't threaten a newborn.”
He looked at me seriously.
“I considered it.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
He stared.
Then he smiled.
Those moments became dangerous.
Because I started forgetting the contract.
I started seeing Adrian.
The man who secretly ordered flowers for my mother.
The man who remembered exactly how I took my coffee.
The man who pretended not to notice when I fell asleep on the sofa.
The man who sat beside me during every phone call from the clinic.
Then one evening, I found him on the floor.
He had tried to stand.
His wheelchair was behind him.
His hand gripped the edge of the crib.
His face was twisted in pain.
“Adrian.”
“Don't.”
I rushed toward him.
“I can help.”
“I said don't.”
He tried again.
His legs collapsed.
I caught his shoulder.
Together, we fell against the carpet.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
His breathing was ragged.
“Don't look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I'm broken.”
I knelt beside him.
“I don't think you're broken.”
His eyes met mine.
“What do you think?”
“I think you're stubborn.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“That's better.”
I helped him into the wheelchair.
His hand remained around mine for several seconds.
Then the baby cried.
Adrian turned immediately.
He reached for our son.
I placed the baby in his arms.
And there he was.
The feared Adrian Moretti.
Holding a newborn like he was holding the only fragile thing in the world.
Something inside me cracked.
I had spent years believing powerful men were monsters.
Maybe because the men who destroyed my family had been.
But Adrian was different.
Not innocent.
Never innocent.
He had blood on his hands.
I knew that.
But he also had kindness buried beneath all that darkness.
And I was starting to see it.
One afternoon, my mother's doctor called.
“Melissa?”
“Yes?”
“Your mother is responding extremely well to treatment.”
I froze.
“Really?”
“Yes. The medication is working.”
Tears filled my eyes.
I sat down.
“Thank you.”
When I hung up, Adrian was standing in the doorway.
He had heard everything.
“She'll be okay?”
I nodded.
He smiled.
I ran to him.
I didn't think.
I just hugged him.
His arms slowly came around me.
For a moment, we stood like that.
No contract.
No mafia.
No secrets.
Just two exhausted people holding onto a piece of good news.
Then Adrian whispered:
“I've wanted to do that for a long time.”
My heart stopped.
I pulled back.
He looked at me.
Neither of us moved.
Then our son started crying.
We both laughed.
The moment disappeared.
But something had changed.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I kept thinking about his arms around me.
And wondering what would happen when my confinement ended.
Because suddenly, five million dollars didn't feel like freedom anymore.
It felt like an ending.
And I wasn't sure I wanted to leave.
Then, at 2:17 in the morning, Adrian's security alarm screamed through the mansion.
Gunshots followed.
Adrian's expression changed instantly.
He pushed himself from the wheelchair.
“Take the baby.”
“What?”
“Now.”
Men stormed the hallway.
Gunfire shattered the windows.
Adrian grabbed a weapon.
“Melissa, go.”
I picked up our son.
But instead of running upstairs...
I ran toward the library.
Adrian stared at me.
“What are you doing?”
I pulled a book from the shelf.
A hidden mechanism clicked.
The entire bookshelf moved.
Adrian went pale.
“How do you know about that?”
I looked at him.
Then reached beneath my dress.
My fingers closed around an old silver ring.
A ring I had worn since childhood.
I pulled it free.
“My name isn't Melissa Hart.”
Adrian stared at the symbol engraved into it.
The Romano crest.
His face lost all color.
May you like
“My name is Melissa Romano.”
And outside the library, the gunfire grew louder.
