Chapter Eight: Approved by Don Moretti
1297 Words
Belinda
I turned around, wanting to go back to my room, but got the shock of my life.
I didn't know when, but Cassian was at the door of the room. He just sat there, his wheelchair framed perfectly by the doorway, his brown eyes tracking the paper in my hand.
His eyes roamed around my body for maybe three seconds, the scar on his cheek catching the dim light. Then, without a single word, he spun his chair around and rolled down the dark hallway.
My heart pounded against my ribs as I quickly stuffed the file back into the cabinet.
Crap!
He didn't even make a sound when he came in, and I was too deep in what I was reading to notice him.
A minute later, a guard appeared in the open doorway. He didn't touch his gun, and his voice was completely polite, but his posture was as stiff as a freaking board. "Mrs. Moretti, it’s time to go upstairs. Please follow me."
"Right. Of course," I said, wiping my dusty hands on my jeans. I followed him up the concrete stairs, my mind spinning. The guard kept a respectful distance, opening the heavy doors for me, but I didn't trust him for a second. Everyone here was like a camera for Cassian.
By the time dinner started, everyone was back to pretending that everything was fine and nothing strange was going on. The maids set down plates of roasted chicken and vegetables with perfect precision.
Cassian sat at the head of the table, cutting into his meat as if he hadn't just caught his wife digging through his private medical history.
Rafael joined us halfway through the meal. He pulled out his chair, tossing his jacket onto a nearby couch. "Sorry I'm late. The docks had a minor issue with the union reps again, but we smoothed it out, and the shipping manifests were cleared for the week, Cassian."
"Good," Cassian said, not looking up from his plate. "Did you adjust the finance percentages for the Brooklyn crew?"
"Yeah, I handled it this afternoon," Rafael replied. He turned his blue eyes to me, giving me a quick, easy smile. "You okay, Belinda? You look a little pale."
"I'm fine," I said quickly, forcing myself to swallow a piece of chicken. "Just tired."
~~~
Over the next few days, I stopped fighting the system. I sat in the main living areas and simply watched. I noted every single person who walked into Cassian’s office.
I memorized the rotation of the guards at the front gate. I watched how reports were brought to Cassian, who made the major decision.
Even though he couldn't walk, his authority was absolute; there was no going against that. People revolved around him because they feared his mind.
Rafael was different. People were attracted to him because he radiated warmth and familiarity. He laughed with the drivers, slapped the guards on the back, and made everyone feel comfortable.
But watching them together made me see the real danger. Cassian was the ice, and Rafael was the fire, and together they controlled everything. You couldn't defeat one without getting burned or frozen by the other.
My first real opportunity to do something useful came on Thursday when Cassian called me into his study after breakfast.
"We have a dinner next week," Cassian said, sliding a thick stack of folders across the dark wood desk. "I want you to prepare the guest profiles. I need to know their family ties, their business backgrounds, and their current political affiliations."
I picked up the top folder, expecting it to be a test filled with fake information. But as I opened it, I saw real names, bank account numbers, and sensitive blackmail material. He had given me actual confidential access.
"You want me to do this?" I asked, looking up at him.
"You have a mind for business, Belinda. Prove it," he said.
I spent the next six hours locked in the library, analyzing the documents. It felt good to use my brain again instead of just being a trophy wife.
When I submitted my recommendations to Cassian that evening, he reviewed them in complete silence.
His pen moved quickly, crossing out two names and writing brief corrections in the margins, but he kept the rest of my notes.
When he finished, he looked up and examined me intently. His gaze stripped away my defenses, making me feel completely understood.
It seemed my dearest husband wanted to know that the wife he married was actually useful and not just a hopeless bimbo.
Leaving his study, a strange unease washed over me. I realized I felt satisfied. I liked being useful to him. I liked being competent, and that thought absolutely terrified me.
Needing some air, I walked out into the garden later that night. The moon was high, casting long shadows across the gravel path. I spotted a small ember glowing near the stone fountain.
Rafael was leaning against the marble edge, smoking a cigarette. He looked up as my shoes crunched on the gravel, but he didn't close the distance between us.
"You're out late," Rafael said, exhaling a cloud of gray smoke.
"I couldn't sleep," I said, stopping a few feet away. "I've been working on the guest profiles for the dinner."
"Ah, Cassian put you to work," he said, a faint smile touching his lips. "How are you adjusting to your new role?"
"I'm learning," I replied simply.
Rafael’s smile vanished, his blue eyes shifting into something darker, more calculated. He looked at me like he had expected me to complain or cry.
He tossed his cigarette onto the gravel and crushed it with his shoe. "A lot of people think that navigating this family requires choosing sides, Belinda. But most people fail because they make their decisions too soon."
I frowned, taking a step toward him. "What does that mean, Rafael?"
Before he could answer, a guard stepped out onto the patio. "Mrs. Moretti, the Boss is calling for you in the study immediately."
I sighed, looking back at Rafael, but he had already turned his face toward the dark trees, closing himself off again.
I walked back inside and entered the study for the second time that night. I expected Cassian to give me more guest files or advice for the dinner.
Instead, I found a series of property records and political agreements spread across his desk. Cassian’s large hand was resting flat on one of the pages.
He didn't look up at me when I approached the desk. "Starting next week, you will accompany me to selected meetings."
He finally raised his eyes, meeting my gaze. His expression was completely unreadable, cold as marble.
"I understand," I said, my voice steady despite the chill in my veins.
"Good. Go to bed, Belinda," he said, turning back to his papers.
That night, I tossed and turned in my bed, the sheets wrapping around my legs like ropes.
For some reason, my mind kept drifting back to the restricted archive, specifically to that medical file on Cassian's paralysis, but I didn't dwell on it too much before I fell asleep.
***
The next morning, Alberto knocked on my door right after I woke up. He held out a small tray with a plastic card on it.
It was my first official access badge for the estate, complete with a red authorization stamp that allowed me into the main office corridors.
I picked up the badge, flipping it over to check the security code. There was a tiny printout slip attached to the back, an internal routing note that someone had forgotten to detach.
My eyes narrowed as I read the messy handwriting at the bottom.
Approved by Don Cassian Moretti.
- Writer
