Chapter 5 - A Crack in the Ice
The next morning, the rain had cleared, leaving the city washed in crisp, cold autumn sunlight. I dressed with deliberate care, choosing an oversized cream cashmere sweater over dark leggings and knee-high leather boots. The silhouette hid my bump from casual observers, but when I stood sideways in front of the mirror, the outline was undeniable.
I rubbed my palms over my belly, whispering a quiet reassurance to the life growing within me. “It’s just you and me, little one. We can handle him.”
At 8:30 AM, I walked out of my brownstone. Sure enough, parked across the street was an unmarked black Lincoln Navigator. The driver rolled down the window just an inch, nodding respectfully as I passed. Marco’s men. True to Adrian’s word, they were a silent, immovable wall between me and the rest of the world.
My freelance design meeting was on the 34th floor of a Midtown high-rise. I had spent three weeks pitching an eco-luxury interior concept for a boutique hotel chain called *The Horizon Group*. Winning this account meant financial independence—it meant I wouldn’t need a single cent of Adrian Moretti’s child support to raise our baby with dignity.
When the elevator doors opened onto the executive floor, the receptionist smiled brightly. “Mrs. Bennett? Mr. Vance is expecting you in the main boardroom.”
I adjusted my portfolio case, took a deep breath, and stepped into the expansive glass-walled conference room.
Sitting at the head of the polished walnut table was not Marcus Vance.
Sitting in the high-backed leather chair, wearing a bespoke navy three-piece suit, was Adrian Moretti.
Beside him sat Marcus Vance—the CEO of Horizon Group—looking nervous and holding a stack of freshly printed contracts.
My blood ran cold. “What is this?”
Adrian didn't smile. He rose smoothly to his feet, gesturing toward the empty chair across from him. “Good morning, Claire. Please, have a seat.”
“Mr. Vance,” I said, completely ignoring Adrian, my eyes blazing with fury. “We had an appointment to review my design presentation.”
“Yes, well, there’s been a slight corporate restructuring,” Vance stammered, wiping his brow with a silk handkerchief. “Moretti Capital acquired a seventy percent controlling stake in Horizon Group forty-five minutes ago. Mr. Moretti is now the executive chairman. He insisted on reviewing all independent design vendor contracts personally.”
“You bought the entire company?” I stared at Adrian in utter disbelief. “You bought an entire hospitality chain overnight just to corner me in a boardroom?”
“I saw an undervalued asset with tremendous growth potential,” Adrian replied smoothly, though the intensity in his gaze betrayed the lie. “And I wanted to ensure that Horizon’s flagship properties receive the highest caliber of design work. Mr. Vance, give us the room.”
“Of course, Mr. Moretti,” Vance practically scrambled out of his chair, grabbing his tablet and fleeing the boardroom like a man escaping an executioner. The heavy glass doors clicked shut behind him.
I slammed my leather portfolio onto the table. “Are you out of your mind? Is this a game to you?”
“Sit down, Claire. You’ve been on your feet for an hour, and you skipped breakfast.”
I blinked. “How do you—”
Adrian pressed a button on the conference phone. “Bring it in.”
A side door opened, and a catering assistant wheeled in a silver cart laden with fresh fruit, poached eggs, whole wheat toast, and decaffeinated herbal tea. The assistant set the plate down at the chair directly opposite Adrian, bowed her head, and vanished.
“You’re sixteen weeks pregnant,” Adrian said, his voice dropping into that quiet, terrifyingly intimate register. “The medical literature says your caloric and iron needs increase by twenty-five percent this trimester. Marco’s team reported you only drank black coffee and ate half an apple before leaving your apartment.”
“You’re having me spied on in my own kitchen?”
“I have access to the building’s delivery logs and your neighborhood bodega,” Adrian countered without a shred of remorse. “Sit down and eat, Claire. Or I swear to God, I will carry you to the chair myself.”
I knew he meant it. Trembling with rage, I pulled out the chair and sat down. The smell of the warm toast made my stomach growl traitorously, reminding me that whatever battle I was waging with my ex-husband, my body was building a human being.
I picked up the fork and took a small bite of the eggs. Adrian watched me with laser focus, visibly relaxing as I ate.
“You can’t buy my life, Adrian,” I said between bites, keeping my tone venomous. “You can buy Horizon Group. You can buy the brownstone. You can buy half of Manhattan. But you cannot buy me.”
“I don’t want to buy you, Claire,” he said softly, leaning his forearms against the table. The arrogance had faded from his posture, replaced by something dark, raw, and desperate. “I want to protect you. The Castiglione family had a rogue operative surface in Queens last night. Victor Rossi. He was the head of their wet-work team. He knows the family empire fell because of me, and he knows Vanessa is in federal custody.”
I stopped chewing. The fork felt heavy in my hand.
“Rossi has nothing left to lose,” Adrian continued, his voice deadly serious. “A man with nothing to lose is the most dangerous predator in the world. He knows that hitting me directly is impossible—my security detail is too heavy. But you...”
Adrian reached across the table, his hand stopping just short of touching mine, hovering as if he were afraid I would pull away.
“He knows about the divorce. But if he finds out you’re carrying my child, Claire, he will use you to destroy me. He won't just kill you. He will make sure I watch.”
A cold shiver raced down my spine. The reality of the underworld Adrian operated in—a world I had only ever seen from the sanitized, luxurious edges—was suddenly breathing down my neck.
“So what are you proposing?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Adrian stood up, walking around the perimeter of the vast table until he stood right beside my chair. He looked down at me, his eyes blazing with an unyielding, possessive conviction.
“You move into the estate in Greenwich. High walls. Private security grid. Elite medical wing.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I won't be your prisoner.”
May you like
“Then come back to the 72nd Street penthouse,” he whispered, bending down until his face was level with mine. “One floor down from my offices. Twenty-four-hour biometric security. You will have your own wing. Your own staff. I will sleep on the other side of the building if that’s what you want. But you will be behind bulletproof glass, Claire. Because if anything happens to you or that baby, there is not enough earth in this state to bury the bodies I will leave behind.”
***
