Chapter 4: Behind Locked Doors
1269 Words
The gala was a spectacle of wealth and influence, held in the sprawling ballroom of a historic hotel in Montpelier. Giana arrived on Dimitri Salvatore’s arm, her emerald-green gown a perfect fit, as predicted. Chandeliers bathed the room in warm light, casting shimmering reflections on the polished floors. Yet, despite the opulence, Giana felt like a gilded bird on display.
As they entered, heads turned. Whispers followed.
“Salvatore’s wife? She’s stunning.”
“How long do you think this one will last?”
Giana’s hand tightened on Salvatore’s arm, her nails biting into his suit sleeve. He glanced at her, amused. “Relax. They’re vultures, but harmless.”
“I’m not worried about them,” she shot back, her tone clipped. “I just don’t want to embarrass you.”
His lips quirked into a smirk. “How considerate.”
The night unfolded as Salvatore had outlined—introductions, polite small talk, and standing by his side as he navigated conversations with the city’s elite. Giana played her role flawlessly, smiling at the right moments and nodding in agreement when required. But inside, her resentment simmered.
Later in the evening, Salvatore stepped away to speak with a business associate, leaving Giana alone near the bar. She took the opportunity to breathe, running her fingers along the edge of her glass of sparkling water.
“You must be the infamous Mrs. Salvatore.” The voice was female, smooth as silk, and carried an edge of malice. Giana turned to see a striking woman in a sleek black dress, her eyes cold and assessing.
“And you are?” Giana asked, keeping her tone neutral.
“Victoria Moreau,” the woman replied, extending a perfectly manicured hand. “An old… friend of Dimitri’s.”
“Friend,” Giana repeated, arching a brow. “How nice.”
Victoria’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I couldn’t help but notice how… sudden this marriage was. Tell me, how did you manage to tame him?”
“I wasn’t aware he needed taming,” Giana replied evenly, refusing to rise to the bait.
Victoria’s expression hardened, but before she could say more, Salvatore reappeared. His presence was like a shield, and Victoria quickly excused herself, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she walked away.
“Making friends already?” he asked, his tone dry.
“Your friends are delightful,” Giana replied, her sarcasm evident.
Salvatore chuckled. “Victoria is a relic of the past. Don’t waste your energy on her.”
“Noted,” Giana said, though she couldn’t shake the feeling that Victoria was more than a relic.
The car ride home was tense. Salvatore sat beside her, scrolling through his phone, his expression unreadable. Giana stared out the window, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and white.
Finally, she broke the silence. “Why did you marry me, Salvatore?”
He looked up, his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers. “We’ve been through this.”
“No,” she said, turning to face him. “You’ve told me it’s about appearances, about business. But that’s not the whole story, is it?”
He sighed, setting his phone aside. “You want honesty?”
“It’d be a nice change.”
“I needed someone who wouldn’t complicate things,” he admitted. “Someone who wouldn’t demand love or affection. You were a convenient choice.”
Her chest tightened at his words, even though she had expected no less. “Convenient,” she echoed, her voice hollow. “How flattering.”
“Don’t take it personally, Giana,” he said, his tone almost dismissive. “This isn’t about you.”
She looked away, biting the inside of her cheek to keep her emotions in check. “Of course it isn’t.”
That night, Giana couldn’t sleep. The locked door she’d found earlier in the mansion haunted her thoughts. What secrets was Salvatore hiding? And why did it feel like the key to understanding him lay behind that door?
Determined, she slipped out of bed and padded down the hall, the cold marble chilling her bare feet. The mansion was silent, the kind of quiet that amplified every creak and whisper. When she reached the door, she hesitated, her hand hovering over the handle.
“What are you doing?”
She jumped, spinning around to find Dimitri standing a few feet away, his expression shadowed in the dim light.
“I—” she began, but he cut her off.
“That door is off-limits,” he said, his voice low and firm.
“Why?” she challenged, crossing her arms. “What are you hiding?”
He stepped closer, the intensity in his gaze making her pulse quicken. “This isn’t a game, Giana. Stay away from that door.”
“And if I don’t?” she pressed, refusing to back down.
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might snap. But then he exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “You won’t like what you find.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her more determined than ever to uncover the truth.
The following morning, Dimitri was gone before she woke, leaving a terse note on the bedside table: Business meeting. Don’t wait up.
Giana spent the day exploring the mansion, her curiosity about the locked door growing with every passing hour. She noticed how the staff avoided that part of the house, their eyes darting away whenever she mentioned it.
By evening, she decided she’d had enough. If Salvatore wasn’t going to tell her the truth, she’d find it herself.
When she reached the door again, she found it ajar, as if inviting her in. Her heart pounded as she pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit room filled with boxes and old furniture. At first glance, it seemed unremarkable, but as she stepped further inside, she noticed a series of photographs on the wall.
They were of a woman—a striking brunette with a radiant smile. She looked familiar, but Giana couldn’t place her. Beneath the photographs was a locked drawer. Giana’s fingers itched to open it, but before she could move, a voice froze her in place.
“I warned you.”
She turned to find Salvatore standing in the doorway, his expression cold and unreadable. The tension in the room was palpable as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
“Who is she?” Giana asked, her voice trembling.
For a moment, Salvatore said nothing, his gaze fixed on the photographs. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but laced with pain. “Her name was Alina.”
“Was?” Giana prompted gently.
“She died,” he said simply, his tone void of emotion. “And that’s all you need to know.”
Giana wanted to press further, but the look in his eyes stopped her. There was a vulnerability there, buried beneath the cold exterior, that made her heart ache. For the first time, she saw Salvatore not as a ruthless businessman, but as a man carrying the weight of his past.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
He met her gaze, his expression softening just enough to reveal a hint of gratitude. “Go to bed, Giana.”
Reluctantly, she left the room, her mind swirling with questions. Who was Alina? And what had she meant to Salvatore?
As she lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, Giana realized that her year with Dimitri Salvatore was going to be far more complicated than she had anticipated.
- Writer
