Chapter 3 - THE MAIN STUDY
The main study of the Moretti estate looked less like a corporate office and more like a high-security war room mixed with an old-world gentleman's library. Floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves lined the walls, filled with heavy leather-bound volumes, ledgers, and occasional decorative objects that looked entirely too heavy to throw. A massive oak desk sat beneath a wrought-iron chandelier, and a roaring fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the Persian rugs.
When Clara knocked timidly on the double doors ten minutes later, a deep voice commanded her to enter.
She had changed into a fresh, dry maid's uniform—a simple black dress with a crisp white apron—though her hair was still slightly damp around the edges, curling softly against her neck. She stood just inside the threshold, feeling entirely out of place among the priceless antiques and heavy mahogany.
Matteo sat behind the grand desk. He had removed his overcoat, revealing a fitted charcoal vest over a crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up slightly to expose forearms dusted with dark hair and faint, jagged scars—the quiet physical reminders of a life spent at the top of a ruthless criminal enterprise.
"Close the door, Clara," Matteo said without looking up from a leather folder he was reviewing.
She closed it softly, her heart beating a steady, anxious rhythm. She remained standing by the door.
"Sit," Matteo commanded, gesturing toward a leather armchair positioned opposite his desk.
"I'm fine standing, Mr. Moretti—"
"I said sit."
It wasn't a suggestion; it was an order backed by a lifetime of absolute authority. Clara swallowed her pride, walked across the thick rug, and lowered herself into the comfortable leather chair, keeping her hands folded neatly in her lap.
Matteo closed the folder with a sharp snap that echoed in the quiet room. He leaned back, lacing his fingers together over his flat stomach, his dark eyes studying her with clinical precision.
"Leo ran a background check on you the moment you applied for the position through the agency," Matteo began casually, as if discussing the weather. "Elena Vance—or rather, Clara Hayes. You legally dropped your married surname three months ago when your divorce was finalized."
Clara stiffened, her fingernails digging into the fabric of her apron. "That is a private matter."
"Nothing in this city is private, Clara. Especially not the people working under my roof," Matteo said, his tone entirely devoid of mockery. "Your application listed three years of administrative experience at a boutique marketing firm in downtown Phoenix. It did not list why you suddenly packed a single suitcase, left your apartment in the middle of the night, and took a cross-country bus to Chicago under an assumed middle name."
Clara's breath caught in her throat. The room felt suddenly claustrophobic, the roaring fire turning into a suffocating heat. "I broke my contract. I fled an abusive marriage. My ex-husband... Grant... he was connected to people who made local law enforcement look like a joke. If I stayed in Arizona, he would have either put me in the hospital or buried me in a desert."
"Grant Sinclair," Matteo supplied smoothly. "Vice President of a regional construction syndicate. Heavily in debt to loan sharks tied to the Outfit, prone to violent outbursts when intoxicated, currently under investigation by federal prosecutors for financial fraud."
Clara stared at him in utter shock. "How do you know that?"
"My business is knowing every spider in the web," Matteo replied simply. "When a frightened woman with haunted eyes applies to clean my estate using a slightly altered name, my security team performs a thorough audit. I needed to know if you were a plant sent by a rival family, a desperate journalist looking for a scoop, or simply a survivor running for her life."
"And which one did I turn out to be?" Clara asked, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to keep it steady.
"A survivor," Matteo said softly. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the polished mahogany. "Tell me, Clara. Did you really think you could hide out as a domestic worker in Chicago forever? Men like Grant Sinclair don't let go of control easily. They view their wives as property, not people. When property runs away, they eventually come looking for it."
The cold, brutal truth of his words hit Clara like a physical blow. She had spent the last two months convincing herself that she was safe, that the vastness of Chicago would swallow her up, that she could build a quiet, invisible life behind feather dusters and silver polish.
"I didn't have anywhere else to go," Clara whispered, her voice cracking as a single tear escaped down her cheek, though she quickly brushed it away with the back of her hand, hating herself for showing weakness in front of a mafia boss. "I had no money, no support network, and every agency I applied to rejected me until your estate's human resources manager hired me out of desperation because the last three maids quit within a week."
"They quit because my mother's former housekeeper terrorized them," Matteo corrected dryly. "She retired last month. You were hired because you possessed a clean record and a desperate need for employment."
Matteo stood up from his desk. He walked slowly around the mahogany barrier, stopping just a few feet away from her chair. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small, silver-plated card case, extracting a pristine white business card with a single embossed gold letter—M.
He placed it gently on the corner of the small table beside her chair.
"What is this?" Clara asked, looking up at him.
"Insurance," Matteo said quietly. "From this moment forward, your status in this house changes. You are no longer just a maid scrubbing floors and dodging Bianca's petty insults. You are under my direct personal protection."
Clara blinked, stunned. "Mr. Moretti, I don't need charity—"
"It is not charity, Clara. It is an investment," Matteo interrupted, his slate-gray eyes locking onto hers with terrifying intensity. "You understand animals better than my professional staff. You have a spine made of steel disguised beneath a quiet exterior. And Bruno hasn't stopped sleeping outside the door of the staff quarters since you dried him off."
Before Clara could process his words, a sharp, frantic knock sounded at the double doors of the study.
May you like
Before Matteo could grant permission, Leo pushed the doors open, his face carved from stone, breathing heavily.
"Boss," Leo said quickly, casting a sharp glance toward Clara before looking back at Matteo. "We have a problem at the main security gate. A man just forced his way past the perimeter sensors. He's claiming to be Clara's husband, and he's demanding she be handed over immediately."
