The gunshot tore through the charity ballroom just as Vincent Moretti reached for his 80 year old mother’s hand, and before any of his armed guards could move, his soft-spoken, plus-size contract wife threw herself into the path of the bullet.
Chapter 3
Vincent moved Claire to the one place in Chicago no enemy would expect him to use.
His mother’s house.
Not the Moretti estate.
Eleanor’s original brick home on the Northwest Side, where she had raised Vincent before money changed the family’s address.
The windows were reinforced.
The basement had a secure room.
More importantly, almost nobody outside the immediate family knew Eleanor still owned it.
Claire protested until Vincent threatened to carry her inside himself.
“You wouldn’t.”
He bent toward her.
“Try me.”
For the first time since the shooting, she laughed.
It lasted only a second before pain caught her shoulder.
Vincent immediately stopped smiling.
“Easy.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are not allowed to say that anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s obviously a lie.”
Eleanor sat beside Claire’s bed that evening.
The older woman reached for her hand.
“You foolish girl.”
Claire smiled.
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
Eleanor’s eyes filled.
“I have lived eighty years. You are thirty-two. If that bullet had been coming for me, you should have let it.”
“Mrs. Moretti—”
“Eleanor.”
Claire looked surprised.
“You have called me Mrs. Moretti for three years while beating me at cards every Thursday. Enough.”
Claire’s eyes watered.
Eleanor squeezed her fingers.
“My son is an idiot.”
From the doorway, Vincent said, “I can hear you.”
“That was intentional.”
Claire laughed again.
Eleanor looked at her son.
“She loves you.”
Claire’s face went scarlet.
“Eleanor!”
Vincent became completely still.
His mother smiled with ruthless satisfaction.
“I am old, not blind.”
Then she left.
Silence filled the room.
Claire focused intensely on the blanket.
Vincent leaned against the doorway.
“Is that true?”
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
Vincent almost smiled.
Claire sighed.
“This is not the time.”
“I have had three years.”
“You didn’t want those three years.”
That erased his smile.
She looked at him.
“We had a contract, Vincent.”
“I know.”
“You never promised affection.”
“I know.”
“I knew exactly what I signed.”
“Claire.”
“You were fair to me.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“You were.”
“I ignored you.”
“That isn’t the same as mistreating me.”
“It isn’t enough.”
Claire stared at him.
Vincent crossed the room and sat beside her.
“For three years, I thought not hurting you was the same as treating you well.”
She said nothing.
“I was wrong.”
Claire’s eyes softened.
Before she could respond, Dominic called.
Adrian Vale had been located.
He had not fled Chicago.
That meant the assassination attempt was unfinished.
The Romanos intended to kill Vincent at an upcoming council meeting and frame another family for the attack, igniting a war that would fracture the Moretti network.
Claire’s survival threatened the plan because she could identify Vale.
Vincent’s first instinct was simple.
Hide Claire.
Cancel the meeting.
Kill Vale first.
Claire rejected all three.
“If you cancel, they know you’re afraid.”
“I am afraid.”
The admission silenced everyone in the room.
Vincent looked at Claire.
“I am afraid for you.”
She swallowed.
Dominic pretended to inspect his phone.
Claire said, “Then use me.”
“No.”
“Vincent.”
“No.”
“They already know I’m alive.”
“That does not make you bait.”
“It makes me the one person Vale needs to silence.”
Vincent stood.
“This conversation is over.”
Claire’s expression hardened.
“You cannot spend three years treating me like an independent adult and suddenly become my jailer because you discovered feelings.”
Dominic coughed.
Vincent turned.
“Leave.”
Dominic left immediately.
Claire folded her good arm across her chest.
“You need him alive long enough to identify who hired him.”
“I need you alive longer.”
“Both can happen.”
They argued for twenty minutes.
Claire won.
Not because Vincent liked the plan.
Because he finally understood that loving someone did not give him the right to remove her choices.
The council gathering was moved forward.
Information was deliberately leaked that Claire would attend.
Vale took the bait.
Two days later, he entered a warehouse owned by a Moretti shell company, expecting to meet a Romano contact who had supposedly arranged access to the council hall.
Instead, Dominic’s team arrested him.
Inside his phone were messages, payment records, photographs, and the entire assassination plan.
The Romano family collapsed before a second shot could be fired.
Vincent could have answered betrayal with blood.
For most of his adult life, that was exactly what people expected.
Instead, he used evidence.
Account ledgers were sent to federal investigators.
Corrupt businesses were exposed.
Political allies abandoned the Romanos.
Their leader fled and was arrested in Miami.
The family’s power dissolved within weeks.
Claire watched much of it from bed.
“You didn’t start a war,” she said when Vincent told her.
“I’m getting old.”
“You’re forty-one.”
“Ancient.”
She smiled.
Then Vincent reached into his jacket.
Claire tensed.
“What?”
He placed a thick document on the blanket.
Their marriage contract.
She stared at it.
“The fourth year isn’t finished.”
“I know.”
“Are you terminating it?”
“Yes.”
Her smile vanished.
“Oh.”
The small sound hurt him more than expected.
Vincent sat down.
“Not like that.”
She looked up.
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
