Chapter 4 - The Shadow of the Moretti
The atmosphere inside the Tribeca study turned instantly toxic.
Two of Matteo’s private security detail stepped into the room from the side hallway, their hands resting discreetly beneath their tailored jackets. Julian Moretti’s two bodyguards didn't flinch, their hands remaining inside their heavy coats.
Matteo took a single step forward, towering over Julian.
“You have five seconds to remove your feet from my property, Julian,” Matteo said, his voice dropping into a quiet, lethal register that made the hair on the back of Isabella’s neck stand up. “Before I have my men drop you into the Hudson River.”
Julian’s smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of pure, unadulterated malice. He adjusted his leather gloves, stepping backward toward the open doorway.
“Your father was a proud man too, Matteo,” Julian sneered softly. “And we all remember how his story ended on a cold dock in Brooklyn. Watch your back. And watch your pretty translator.”
Julian turned and marched out of the building, his heavy footsteps echoing down the grand spiral staircase.
Isabella sat frozen behind her desk, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the wood. The quiet, academic world she had built over the last month had suddenly collapsed into the violent, terrifying reality of the Romano family’s heritage.
Matteo turned around immediately. He didn't look angry; he looked focused, his mind calculating fifty moves ahead.
He walked over to her desk, closed the antique journal, and picked it up.
“Signora Rossi,” Matteo called out toward the hallway. “Initiate Level Three security protocols. Clear the staff from the building for the rest of the week. Contact Marcus and have the armored vehicle brought to the private basement entrance.”
“Right away, Mr. Romano,” Signora Rossi replied, rushing down the hall.
Isabella stood up, her hands trembling slightly. “Matteo... who was that man?”
“Julian Moretti,” Matteo answered, his eyes locking onto hers with intense gravity. “The head of the syndicate that murdered my father twelve years ago. He knows what these journals contain, Isabella. He knows that if we present Don Vito’s translated deeds to the international arbitration court in Rome next month, his entire criminal empire loses its legal infrastructure.”
“And now he knows I’m the one translating them,” Isabella whispered, panic rising in her chest.
Matteo stepped close to her, reaching out to gently cup her face with his warm, strong hand. His thumb traced the line of her cheekbone with unbelievable gentleness, grounding her against the rising fear.
“I will not let them touch you, Isabella,” he swore softly, his grey eyes burning with an absolute, unwavering promise. “Do you hear me? Not a single hair on your head will be harmed while I draw breath.”
Isabella looked into his eyes, seeing the absolute certainty behind his words. The fear in her chest began to give way to something far deeper—a quiet, dangerous trust in the man standing before her.
“Where are we going?” she asked softly.
May you like
Matteo pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping a single button.
“To my private estate in Upstate New York,” he said. “Where no one can reach us.”
