Forced Bride of Mafia King

CHAPTER SIX THE MOVE

Lena’s POV

The drive to the Morettis' estate took about thirty minutes. Thirty minutes of silence.

Dante hadn’t spoken a word since we left. He sat beside me, still and controlled, like he didn’t need to fill the space. I didn’t speak either. The only sounds were the low hum of the engine and the driver’s hand shifting on the wheel.

When the gates appeared, they didn’t open like normal gates. They were wrought iron, tall enough to make me crane my neck, and they swung inward without a sound.

That’s when I saw it. The estate.

It didn’t look like a house. It looked like a fortress pretending to be a home.

On the drive in, we pass five other manors. Each one is bigger than anything on my street. Each one empty, dark, waiting. All Moretti property.

And then we reached Dante’s house.

It made the others look small. Two stories taller, stonework cleaner, gardens trimmed like someone had spent days on a single hedge. Lights glowed in every window, warm and unwelcoming at the same time. My stomach twisted.

The car rolled to a stop.

For a second, neither of us moved. Then Dante reached for the handle, pushed the door open, and stepped out like the decision to leave was already made for me.

“We’re here,” he said over his shoulder.

I followed. My heels clicked against the gravel, too loud in the quiet.

At the door, a staff member opened it before we even reached the steps. “Mr. Moretti,” he said, bowing his head.

Dante didn’t pause. Didn’t acknowledge him. I kept my eyes down and walked past too, my pulse already too fast.

The inside of the house swallowed sound. Marble floors, high ceilings, a chandelier, and beautiful paintings on each wall

He stopped at the base of the stairs.

“Tell William to take her things to my room,” he said to one of the workers, not even turning around.

He started walking again before the man could answer.

“Wait.”

The word came out smaller than I intended.

Dante stopped. Turned. His eyes were sharp, impatient.

“What?”

I swallowed, the hallway suddenly too big, too quiet.

“Umm.. I’d prefer my own room please.”

His gaze locked on me. It was the kind of look that usually made people look away first. I didn’t though.

“And why would that be?” He asked, voice flat.

The words caught in my throat. I’d never had to explain myself to someone like this before.

“I’m not used to sharing a room”

I said, my voice sounding small.

He tilted his head, studying me.

“You won’t get your own space once we’re married. What then?”

I looked up at him, hoping he’d see it in my face.

“I’m still figuring this out. Please, can I have tonight to myself?”

For a moment, I felt something shift in his expression.

His jaw eased.

” Fine,” He said. “You can have my room. I’ll take the guest room tonight.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He turned and left.

William appeared a moment later and gestured towards the stairs.

“This way, miss.”

I followed William up the stairs, my footsteps quiet against the marble. He stopped at a set of double doors, and I pushed one open and set my suit inside.

“Thank you,” I said.

He gave a short nod and left without another word. The door clicked shut behind him.

I stood there for a moment, taking in the room. It was too big, too still. Dark wood, low lighting, a bed that looked like it hadn’t been slept in. Dante’s room screamed Dante. From the cedar smell in the air, to the ambience of it all, it all felt like him.

I dragged my suitcase to the bed and sat down.

Life with Dante played through my head in fragments. Grunts instead of answers. Long silences in the car. It could be worse. That thought was the only thing keeping my shoulders from tightening any further. I let it go.

A bath would help.

I dug through my suitcase for soap and toiletries, then slipped into the adjoining bathroom. The hot water ran long and loud, washing off the stiffness of the drive and the weight of the house.

When I stepped out, steam clung to my skin. I started getting ready for bed, hair still damp, towel wrapped around me.

Then, I saw something. A faint red pinprick of light, tucked low in the soil of the potted plant by the window.

I stepped closer. Crouching own, my breath caught.

A camera lens stared back at me.

Why is there a camera here?