lace & chains

CHAPTER 1 Eva Moretti Part 1 — The Call If my phone hadn’t rung at 6:27 a.m., none of this would’ve happened. I was half-asleep on the couch, still in my pencil skirt and silk blouse from the night before. My hair was a wreck. Mascara smudged under my eyes. And my head was pounding from a bottle of cheap Chianti I’d killed alone around midnight. Corporate lawyer life: glamorous. I blinked at the caller ID. Studio Legale Bianchi & Rossi. My aunt’s lawyers. My stomach twisted. I sat up so fast my coffee mug tipped and rolled onto the rug. Hello? My voice croaked. Signorina Moretti? This is Avvocato Rossi. I’m afraid we need you to come in right away. Is something wrong? A pause. Then, in that careful voice lawyers use when dropping bombs: It’s about your zia Claudia’s estate. By 9:00 a.m., I was sitting in a sleek conference room that smelled like wood polish and espresso. My aunt Claudia’s will was spread across the glossy table. Her lawyer grey-haired, polite, and probably allergic to any emotion adjusted his glasses. I’ll be blunt, Signorina Moretti. Your aunt owned…a business. A rather unusual business. My palms started sweating. What kind of business? Avvocato Rossi cleared his throat. An…adult establishment. The words dropped into the room like a grenade. Excuse me? I blinked. He shuffled the papers again. Specifically, an exclusive, members-only b**m club in the Porta Romana district. Registered under the business name Eros Privato. My mouth fell open. My aunt Claudia. The woman who knitted scarves every Christmas. Who smelled like violet perfume and vanilla cookies. Owned a s*x dungeon? I couldn’t even form words. The lawyer continued. She left it to you, Signorina. Including the building, the business assets, and its financial accounts. I opened and closed my mouth like a fish. He slid a folder toward me. It’s highly profitable. Quite discreet. Though, of course, I understand if you wish to sell it. I stared at him, heart pounding. My voice came out thin. Sell it. Obviously, I’m selling it. I left the law firm in a daze, clutching a manila envelope with the business details. Everything seemed muffled, as if I were underwater, even though Milan was bustling outside with vespas honking and people chatting in fast Italian. I had dedicated my life to earning respect. A good student. A good lawyer. My mother’s perfect daughter. And now I was suddenly the owner of a b**m club? A wave of heat crawled up my chest. Shame. Embarrassment. And god help me a flicker of curiosity. No. Not happening. I shoved the envelope into my bag and told myself I’d never, ever step foot in that place. That evening, I sat across from Sofia my best friend and colleague at our usual trattoria. The table between us was cluttered with plates of tagliatelle and two half-empty glasses of red wine. You look like you just got told you have two heads, Sofia said, twirling pasta. might as well. I told her everything. Well most of it. I left out how the word dungeon had made my stomach twist in ways I wasn’t ready to admit. When I finished, she stared at me, fork halfway to her mouth. Eva. Are you insane? You inherited a secret s*x club and you’re selling it? Yes! I hissed. Of course I’m selling it. I’m a lawyer, Sof. A respectable one. I can’t be tied to…that. Sofia raised an eyebrow. Girl, do you have any idea how much money is in high-end kink? Sofia…. Also, you’ve been single for, like, a year. Maybe you could use a…hobby. I glared at her. I am not taking up bondage as a hobby. She snorted into her wineglass. You’re no fun. That night, I lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. Aunt Claudia. A s*x club. It was like finding out your grandma ran an underground poker ring. Or that your cat secretly had a side hustle. I rolled over and picked up my phone. Eros Privato b**m Club Milan. I hesitated. Then tapped Search. Photos popped up. A sleek red neon sign. Heavy velvet curtains. A discreet brass plaque beside a black door. My chest squeezed tight. I imagined stepping through that door. Dark music pulsing. Men in sharp suits. Women in corsets and masks. The smell of leather and expensive perfume. Heat sparked low in my belly. I hated myself for it. I slammed the phone down. Nope. The next day, I went to the office early, telling myself I’d bury myself in contracts and forget the whole thing. But the envelope burned a hole in my bag. During lunch, I opened it. Inside: Business license Financial statements (ridiculously profitable) A key card A note in my aunt’s looping script: Eva, I know you’re stronger than you think. Don’t live your life afraid of what people might say. Trust yourself. And if you’re ever curious… go see what freedom feels like. I sat there trembling. Aunt Claudia. The woman who taught me how to bake cookies. Who told me men were trouble but passion was worth it. I bit my lip so hard it hurt. By Friday night, I was pacing my apartment like a caged animal. Just go there. Check it out. Then sell it and forget it exists. I dressed in black skinny jeans, a white blouse, and a long coat. Business casual, I told myself. Nothing sexy. My hands shook as I tucked the key card into my pocket. I came here to sell my aunt’s secrets. But the man in the shadows might be about to own mine.