Chapter 6 - The Morning Audit
The morning light revealed the true scale of the Lincoln Park estate.
When I stepped out onto the private balcony of the east wing at 7:30 AM, the rising sun was painting Lake Michigan in brilliant shades of copper and gold. The crisp autumn air bit sharply against my cheeks, carrying the fresh, clean scent of the lake and damp earth.
A soft knock sounded at my suite door.
"Come in," I called out, wrapping a silk robe tighter around my waist as I stepped back inside.
The door opened, but it wasn't a maid or Aunt Martha.
It was Giovanni.
He had already showered and dressed for the day in a tailored charcoal suit, his dark hair damp and combed back, looking as rested and alert as if he hadn't spent the entire night waging a silent war against the Moretti syndicate. In his hands, he carried a silver tray holding a steaming cup of black coffee, a small glass of fresh orange juice, and a warm croissant.
"Good morning, Mrs. Fierro," he said, setting the tray onto the mahogany table by the window with a faint, amused smile. "I trust the accommodations met your exacting standards?"
"They're slightly larger than my one-bedroom apartment," I remarked dryly, walking over and wrapping my hands around the warm coffee mug. "Though the lack of gunfire during the night was a noticeable downgrade in excitement."
Giovanni chuckled, leaning his hip against the edge of the desk. "Dante cleared the perimeter at four a.m. The warehouse fire was contained, and our captain friend in the police department has already resigned for 'health reasons.' You slept through a very productive morning."
I took a sip of the coffee, letting the caffeine hit my bloodstream before I looked up to meet his amber-flecked eyes. "You're playing a dangerous game, Giovanni. You bring a complete stranger into your fortress, pretend she's your wife to spite your aunt, and meanwhile, rival mobs are blowing up your warehouses."
"You aren't a stranger, Jessica," he corrected quietly, his gaze softening. "And the war with the Moretti family started long before you walked into that ballroom. You just happened to wander onto the battlefield at a very opportune time."
"And what happens when the battle is over?" I asked, my voice dropping into a serious register. "When your lawyers draw up the non-disclosure agreement, and I walk back to my nursing shift at Stroger Hospital? What happens then?"
Giovanni didn't answer immediately. He pushed away from the desk, closing the distance between us until he was standing right in front of me. His tall, imposing frame completely filled my field of vision, warm and solid and utterly intoxicating.
"Who said anything about letting you walk away?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, velvet purr.
Before I could process his words, a loud, frantic pounding echoed against the heavy oak door of my suite.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Jessica!" Aunt Martha’s voice shrieked from the hallway, stripped of all its aristocratic polish. "Open this door immediately! We are ruined!"
Giovanni let out a long, heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I spoke too soon about the morning being productive."
He strode across the room and threw the door open.
Aunt Martha stood in the hallway, clutching a copy of the morning edition of the Chicago Tribune against her chest as if it were a religious artifact, her face the color of spoiled milk.
"Giovanni," she gasped, pointing a shaking finger at the newspaper headline. "Look at this! Look at what your little stunt at the wedding has done!"
Giovanni took the folded newspaper from her hands, his eyes scanning the front-page business section. I stepped up beside him, peering over his arm.
There, in bold, terrifying black print, was the headline:
FIERRO HOLDINGS ANNOUNCES SUDDEN ACQUISITION OF VANCE REALTY; MYSTERIOUS HEIRESS JESSICA HALE NAMED PRIMARY BENEFICIARY.
I froze.
The cup of coffee nearly slipped from my fingers, splashing onto the hardwood floor.
"Vance Realty?" I choked out, staring at Giovanni in sheer horror. "Tyler’s firm? The company that employs my ex-husband and holds my mother's mortgage?"
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Giovanni didn't look panicked. In fact, a slow, terrifyingly calm smile spread across his face as he folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm.
"Well," Giovanni murmured, his eyes locking onto mine with an unyielding, predatory gleam. "It seems my legal team decided to give you a wedding present."
