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Yours, by Revenge

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Chapter 2 — The Moretti Mansion

Elena barely slept.

Every time she closed her eyes, she heard Damian’s voice again.

“Your family destroyed mine.”

“And now you belong to me.”

The words wrapped around her chest like chains.

By the time morning arrived, pale sunlight was already slipping through the massive windows of her room, casting soft gold across the silk sheets she had barely touched.

Elena slowly sat up, wincing slightly as exhaustion settled heavily into her body.

For a moment, she forgot where she was.

Then the coldness of the room reminded her immediately.

The Moretti mansion.

Her new prison.

A quiet knock echoed through the room before the doors opened carefully.

“Good morning, Madam Elena.”

Brian entered with his usual composed expression while several maids followed behind him carrying trays of breakfast, clothes, and fresh flowers.

Madam Elena.

The title still felt foreign.

“Mr. Moretti had business to attend to earlier this morning,” Brian informed her politely as the maids arranged everything neatly around the room.

Elena looked up slightly.

“He left?”

Something strange tightened briefly in her chest before she pushed the feeling away immediately.

Why should she care?

“He instructed us not to wake you,” Brian continued. “He said you looked exhausted last night.”

Elena froze slightly.

Again.

That strange gentleness.

It unsettled her more every time.

One of the maids placed breakfast carefully in front of her.

Fresh fruit.

Coffee.

Warm pastries.

Everything perfect.

Too perfect.

Elena stared silently at the expensive meal before finally asking quietly,

“Does this house always feel this empty?”

The maids exchanged nervous glances instantly.

Brian answered carefully.

“The mansion has been… quieter these past years.”

Past years.

Meaning it wasn’t always like this.

Before Elena could ask more, Brian spoke again.

“Mr. Moretti also requested that you familiarize yourself with the estate today.”

Elena blinked.

“The estate?”

“He believes you should feel comfortable in your new home.”

Home.

The word felt wrong.

Still, a part of her welcomed the distraction from her thoughts.

After breakfast, Elena changed into a soft cream-colored dress the maids prepared before finally leaving her room.

The mansion was even larger in daylight.

Sunlight streamed through towering windows while endless hallways stretched before her like something from a palace. Expensive artwork decorated the walls beside old family portraits.

And in every single portrait—

the Morettis looked unhappy.

Elena slowed slightly near one painting.

A beautiful woman stood beside a younger version of Damian.

His mother.

Even through the painting, elegance radiated from her.

But it was Damian that caught Elena’s attention.

He looked younger.

Softer.

His dark eyes lacked the coldness they carried now.

And standing beside his mother…

he almost looked happy.

“Elena?”

She startled softly at the sound of Brian’s voice behind her.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I was just looking.”

Brian’s gaze briefly softened as he looked toward the portrait.

“That painting was one of Mrs. Moretti’s favorites.”

Was.

Elena noticed the past tense immediately.

Before she could ask further, another sound interrupted them.

Male laughter.

Elena turned slightly as two men entered the hall from the opposite corridor.

One of them—

Vincent.

The man from last night.

Beside him walked another unfamiliar man dressed casually in an expensive dark coat, his blond hair slightly messy and his expression far too amused for someone inside this cold mansion.

The moment his eyes landed on Elena, he stopped walking.

“Well,” he said slowly, clearly surprised. “So the rumors were true.”

Vincent sighed immediately.

“Adrian.”

“What?” the blond man said innocently. “I’m being polite.”

Then his gaze returned to Elena, openly curious now.

“You actually married Damian Moretti,” he said. “That might be the bravest or stupidest thing anyone’s ever done.”

“Adrian,” Vincent repeated warningly.

But Elena noticed something strange.

Neither of them carried the careful fear Elena had already noticed in everyone else around Damian.

Which meant they were important.

Very important.

The blond man suddenly smiled and extended his hand dramatically.

“Adrian De Luca,” he introduced himself. “Damian’s unfortunately closest friend.”

Vincent looked exhausted already.

“And the only person capable of surviving after insulting him repeatedly,” he added dryly.

Elena hesitated briefly before shaking Adrian’s hand politely.

The moment she did, Adrian’s playful expression shifted slightly.

Just for a second.

Like he noticed something unexpected about her.

Then—

heavy footsteps echoed from the staircase above.

The atmosphere changed instantly.

Vincent straightened subtly.

Adrian’s smile disappeared.

And Elena felt it before she even looked up.

Damian.

Damian descended the staircase slowly, one hand resting casually in his pocket.

Yet despite the calmness in his movements, the entire atmosphere shifted the moment he appeared.

Power radiated from him effortlessly.

The black dress shirt he wore fit perfectly against his broad frame, the sleeves rolled slightly past his wrists while silver strands of hair fell carelessly across his forehead. Beneath the morning light pouring through the windows, his dark eyes revealed that familiar hidden hazel again.

Beautiful.

Cold.

Dangerous.

Elena immediately noticed the faint scar near his neck disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

Then another across his hand.

Scars.

Proof that the rumors surrounding Damian Moretti were not simply rumors.

Damian’s gaze landed on Elena first.

Only Elena.

And something in his expression softened almost invisibly for a second.

Then his eyes shifted toward Adrian.

The softness vanished instantly.

“Don’t you people have work to do?” Damian asked calmly.

Adrian raised both hands dramatically.

“I was merely welcoming your wife.”

“With your personality?” Damian replied dryly. “That sounds more like harassment.”

Vincent looked seconds away from leaving the situation entirely.

Adrian grinned.

“You wound me.”

Damian stared at him with a look sharp enough to kill.

And somehow—

Adrian still looked entertained.

Finally, Damian’s attention returned to Elena.

He stepped closer until only she could hear him.

“Don’t poke your nose into other people’s business.”

His voice was low.

Controlled.

But Elena caught the warning beneath it immediately.

Then Damian straightened again, expression unreadable.

“And don’t interact with Adrian.”

Adrian looked offended instantly.

“Why do you always say it like I’m a disease?”

“Because diseases spread less chaos than you do,” Damian answered calmly.

Vincent coughed slightly to hide a laugh.

Elena blinked in surprise.

For the first time since meeting Damian…

she realized he was capable of sarcasm.

Adrian pointed dramatically toward Elena.

“You see? This is exactly the emotional abuse I endure daily.”

Damian ignored him completely.

Instead, his gaze lowered briefly toward Elena again, taking in the soft cream-colored dress she wore.

A strange silence followed.

Like he had forgotten everyone else existed.

Then quietly—

almost absentmindedly—

he adjusted a loose strand of black hair near her face before stepping back.

The small gesture stunned her.

So did the fact that Damian himself seemed unaware he had done it.

Vincent noticed.

Adrian definitely noticed.

And judging from Adrian’s expression—

this behavior was unusual even for Damian.

Brian’s expression shifted for only a second.

But Elena caught it.

Surprise.

No—

more than surprise.

Concern.

As if Damian crossing that invisible line unsettled even the people who had known him for years.

Damian seemed to notice the silence a moment later.

His hand lowered slowly.

The softness that had briefly appeared in his expression vanished instantly, replaced once again by that unreadable calmness Elena was beginning to hate.

“Brian,” Damian said smoothly, “prepare the west garden for tonight.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tonight?

Before Elena could ask, Damian was already turning away.

“Wait.”

The word escaped before she could stop herself.

Everyone paused.

Even Damian.

He glanced back over his shoulder, dark eyes settling on her quietly.

Elena swallowed lightly beneath the sudden attention.

“You came back,” she said before realizing how strange it sounded.

Adrian nearly choked trying not to laugh.

Vincent looked directly at the ceiling.

Damian’s eyebrow lifted slightly.

“You sound disappointed.”

“I’m not,” Elena replied too quickly.

“Hm.”

That single sound somehow carried amusement.

Actual amusement.

Adrian looked genuinely alarmed now.

“Oh, this is historic,” he muttered dramatically toward Vincent. “He’s developing emotions.”

“Pray silently,” Vincent answered under his breath.

Damian ignored both of them.

Or pretended to.

His gaze remained on Elena a second longer before he finally spoke.

“My meeting ended early.”

Simple answer.

But something about the fact that he answered at all made Elena uneasy again.

Because Damian Moretti did not seem like a man who explained himself to anyone.

Then his eyes drifted briefly toward the portrait beside her.

The one with his mother.

A strange shadow crossed his expression.

Gone almost immediately.

But Elena saw it.

Pain.

Real pain.

And suddenly the mansion’s silence made sense.

Before she could think further, Damian spoke again.

“You’ll attend dinner with me tonight.”

Elena blinked.

“Dinner?”

“It’s not a request.”

Adrian sighed dramatically.

“There he is. I was worried for a second.”

Damian shot him a cold glance.

“Leave.”

Vincent immediately started walking.

Adrian pointed accusingly toward him while following.

“You see this betrayal?”

“No,” Vincent replied calmly. “I see survival instincts.”

Within seconds, both men disappeared down the hallway, their voices fading into the distance.

Silence returned almost instantly.

Heavy silence.

Damian looked toward Elena again.

“You should stay away from Adrian.”

“You already said that.”

“And yet you still spoke to him.”

Elena crossed her arms slightly.

“You don’t control who I talk to.”

The temperature in the hallway seemed to drop.

Brian wisely stepped back with the maids.

Damian stared at her quietly.

Too quietly.

Then slowly—

dangerously—

he stepped closer.

“Elena,” he said softly, “you should learn something very quickly.”

Her heartbeat stumbled despite herself.

“When I tell you something,” he continued, voice low enough that only she could hear, “it’s usually for your own safety.”

The words should have sounded protective.

Instead, they sounded like a warning.

Elena hated the fact that part of her believed him.

She lifted her chin stubbornly.

“You expect me to just obey you?”

“Yes.”

The answer came instantly.

No hesitation.

No shame.

Elena stared at him in disbelief.

Damian’s gaze darkened slightly at her expression before he suddenly reached toward her again.

She froze instinctively.

But instead of hurting her—

he brushed something gently from her shoulder.

A flower petal.

One of the maids must have missed it earlier.

The intimacy of the small gesture felt far more dangerous than violence would have.

Because violence was easier to hate.

Damian seemed to realize the same thing the moment their eyes met again.

Something tense flickered across his face.

Then immediately disappeared.

Without another word, he stepped away from her entirely.

“Tonight. Eight o’clock.”

And just like that—

he walked past her.

The scent of expensive cologne lingered briefly in the air after he disappeared down the staircase.

Elena remained frozen in place.

Confused.

Frustrated.

And far too aware of the way her heart was beating.

Brian cleared his throat carefully from behind her.

“Madam Elena,” he said gently, “it may be wise not to provoke Mr. Moretti too much.”

Elena looked toward the staircase where Damian vanished.

Then quietly, almost to herself—

“Too late.”

——

Brian guided Elena through the estate slowly, his hands folded neatly behind his back while two maids followed at a respectful distance.

The Moretti estate was far larger than she originally imagined.

It was practically its own private world.

“This wing was built by Damian’s grandfather,” Brian explained as they walked through a long marble corridor lined with towering windows. “The architecture was inspired by old Italian estates.”

Elena glanced around quietly.

Everything inside the mansion felt intentional.

Nothing had been placed carelessly.

Even the smallest details carried meaning.

Her eyes drifted toward a massive black chandelier hanging above the central hall.

The metal twisted together like thorned branches.

“It’s beautiful,” she admitted softly.

Brian followed her gaze.

“That chandelier represents the Moretti family motto.”

“El potere richiede sacrificio.”

Elena frowned slightly.

“What does that mean?”

“Power requires sacrifice.”

The words settled heavily in the air.

Of course that would be the Moretti motto.

Brian continued leading her through the estate until they reached an enormous indoor garden hidden beneath a glass ceiling.

Sunlight poured through the crystal panels above, illuminating rows of white roses arranged around a circular fountain.

Elena slowed immediately.

For the first time since arriving—

something inside the mansion felt peaceful.

“The white roses are maintained personally by the staff,” Brian explained. “Mrs. Moretti loved them.”

Damian’s mother again.

Elena walked closer toward the fountain quietly.

“She died here?” she asked carefully.

Brian went silent for a moment.

“Yes.”

The single word immediately changed the atmosphere.

Elena looked toward him slowly.

“How?”

But Brian’s composed expression tightened almost invisibly.

“I apologize, Madam Elena. That is not my story to tell.”

Meaning there was a story.

A painful one.

Before Elena could ask further, Brian gestured toward the center of the fountain.

A silver crest rested beneath the flowing water.

A wolf surrounded by roses and thorns.

“The Moretti crest,” Brian explained. “Every section of the estate carries a symbol connected to the family.”

Elena stared at the wolf carefully.

“It looks lonely.”

Brian looked genuinely surprised by the answer.

Most people probably said dangerous.

Powerful.

Cruel.

But lonely?

For some reason, Brian’s expression softened slightly.

“You are the first person to describe it that way.”

Meanwhile—

Several floors away, inside the west wing of the estate, the atmosphere could not have been more different.

Damian entered his office without slowing his pace.

The massive doors closed heavily behind him.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline while dark wood shelves lined the walls beside a long black conference table.

Vincent sat near the center reviewing several files.

Adrian lounged lazily in one of the chairs with his boots resting shamelessly atop the table.

The moment Damian entered, Adrian grinned.

“Welcome to your office, Damian,” he said teasingly. “Thought you lost the way.”

Damian ignored him entirely as he removed his gloves calmly.

“Let’s start the discussion.”

Vincent gave a small nod before sliding several documents across the table.

“The siphoned accounts were traced this morning,” he said. “It’s internal.”

Damian’s expression remained unreadable.

“Who?”

Vincent’s eyes darkened slightly.

“Marco Bellini.”

Silence filled the office instantly.

Even Adrian’s amusement faded.

Marco Bellini was one of their senior financial handlers.

Trusted for nearly seven years.

Damian leaned back slowly in his chair.

No anger appeared on his face.

Which somehow felt worse.

“How much?”

“Nearly eight million transferred over six months,” Vincent answered. “All routed through shell companies connected to the Verlicci Syndicate.”

Adrian clicked his tongue.

“That idiot sold himself cheaply.”

Damian’s fingers tapped once against the table.

Calm.

Controlled.

Dangerously calm.

“And Marco?”

Vincent closed the folder carefully.

“We picked him up two hours ago.”

Adrian leaned forward slightly now, the playful expression disappearing completely.

“The Verliccis are preparing something bigger,” he said. “I got confirmation from inside.”

Damian finally looked toward him.

Adrian’s tone turned colder.

“There’s movement near the ports. Weapons shipments.”

Vincent nodded once.

“We believe they’re preparing for retaliation.”

Another silence settled over the room.

Heavy.

Violent.

Inevitable.

For years, the fragile balance between the Morettis and the Verlicci Syndicate had barely held together.

Now it was breaking.

And everyone in the room knew exactly what that meant.

War.

Again.

Damian stood slowly from his chair before walking toward the massive window overlooking the city.

Below them, people moved through the streets completely unaware that blood was already beginning to spill beneath the surface of their peaceful lives.

His reflection stared back at him through the glass.

Cold eyes.

Old scars.

A man built entirely from violence.

Yet strangely—

his thoughts drifted elsewhere for the briefest second.

Soft black hair.

Defiant eyes.

A cream-colored dress standing beneath sunlight.

Elena.

Adrian noticed the shift immediately.

A slow grin spread across his face.