Chapter 3 - The Name Moretti
Damien returned ten minutes later.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes.”
“You don't look all right.”
“I'm fine.”
Vivien folded her arms. “You know, most people who pretend to be someone's fiancé at least try to make the story believable.”
He studied her. “What would make it believable?”
“Knowing something about you. Where you live. What you do. Whether you have siblings. Basic things.”
“I'm from Chicago. I have one sister. I own several businesses.”
“What kind?”
“Logistics. Hospitality. Real estate.”
“That's vague.”
“It's accurate.”
“Do you have a criminal record?”
His eyes rested on hers.
Vivien gave a short laugh. “That was a joke.”
“Of course.”
He offered her a fresh glass of water.
She took it.
“Are you always this difficult?” he asked.
“Only when I'm trapped at a wedding with a man who refuses to answer simple questions.”
“Then I should tell you something simple. I didn't come here as an escort.”
Vivien's stomach dipped.
“I know.”
“I was waiting for someone.”
“Who?”
“Someone who is now avoiding me.”
“Because of me?”
“Possibly.”
She stared at him. “I'm sorry.”
“Don't be. You made the evening more interesting.”
He said it so casually that she didn't know whether to believe him.
A waiter approached and told them the bride and groom were requesting all guests for the formal dinner. Damien guided her toward the table.
Their place cards were beside one another.
Vivien looked at the seating arrangement. “Did you arrange this?”
“No.”
“Then someone believes we're actually engaged.”
“Someone is observant.”
The dinner began with speeches. Adrian's father spoke about family legacy. Celeste's father spoke about partnership and shared futures. Every few minutes, Vivien caught Adrian looking in her direction.
When the dessert plates arrived, a man at the next table leaned toward Damien.
“Mr. Moretti, I didn't expect to see you in person.”
Damien nodded. “Mr. Harlan.”
“Your people have been trying to reach me.”
“They know where to find you.”
The man swallowed. “Perhaps we can speak tomorrow.”
“Tonight would be better.”
“Not here.”
Damien's gaze turned cool. “Then you should have chosen a different hotel.”
The man looked toward Vivien and lowered his voice.
“Of course.”
He excused himself.
Vivien waited until he had gone. “What kind of business do you really do?”
Damien looked at her. “The kind that requires people to keep their word.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It can be.”
A small silence settled between them.
Then Damien leaned closer. “I need you to do something for me.”
Vivien's heart began to beat faster. “What?”
“Stay beside me for the next ten minutes. Don't leave the ballroom alone. If anyone asks, tell them we're going to the hotel bar after dinner.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't want you caught in a conversation that has nothing to do with you.”
“Damien, what is happening?”
He looked toward the far end of the room. A man in a navy suit had entered through the service doors. The gold anchor tie pin glinted beneath the chandelier.
“That man,” Damien said, “is not here for the wedding.”
Vivien glanced at him. “Who is he?”
“Someone who has been moving money through companies owned by the Sinclair family.”
She felt the blood drain from her face.
“Are you accusing the bride's family of something?”
“I'm telling you to be careful.”
“Why would you tell me?”
“Because you walked into my evening and made yourself part of it.”
“That isn't fair.”
“No,” he said quietly. “It isn't.”
The man with the anchor pin approached the head table and whispered something to Celeste's father. The older man stiffened.
Adrian stood.
Then he looked directly at Damien.
The expression on his face was no longer jealousy.
It was fear.
Vivien followed his gaze.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
Damien did not answer immediately.
Then he said, “My family has a reputation.”
“What kind of reputation?”
“The kind people lower their voices to discuss.”
Vivien's fingers tightened around her napkin.
She had heard of the Morettis. Everyone in Chicago had. Their name appeared in business journals beside hotel acquisitions and shipping contracts. It also appeared in rumors about unions, protection rackets, and men who disappeared after crossing the wrong people.
She looked at Damien's calm face.
“You're a mafia boss.”
He did not deny it.
Vivien pushed her chair back.
“Please don't make a scene,” he said.
“Don't make a scene? You let me walk around telling people we're engaged.”
“You were the one who grabbed my arm.”
“I thought you were a hired escort!”
“I gathered that.”
She stood.
Damien rose too, but did not touch her.
“Vivien, listen to me.”
“No. I need to leave.”
He looked toward the doors. “Not yet. The man by the service entrance has been watching you.”
“Why?”
“Because Adrian told him who you are.”
Vivien turned.
Across the room, Adrian was speaking to the man with the anchor pin.
Then Adrian looked up and smiled at her.
It was the smile he used whenever he had already decided how a story would end.
Vivien realized she might have walked into something far more dangerous than an awkward reunion.
The name Moretti had always been a rumor in Vivien's world. It appeared in articles about hotel acquisitions and shipping companies, then disappeared into gossip about old Chicago families. She had never connected the public businessman to the criminal stories whispered over late-night drinks.
Now she was sitting across from the man at the center of those rumors.
“Are you going to hurt Adrian?” she asked.
Damien looked at her steadily. “No.”
“Because of what he did to me?”
“No.”
“Because of what he's doing with those companies?”
“I want him investigated. If he has committed crimes, he should answer for them. I don't need to hurt him.”
“Do you always get what you want?”
“No.” A brief pause. “But people often assume I do.”
Vivien watched him. “That must be convenient.”
“It can also be lonely.”
She had not expected him to say that.
He explained that the Moretti organization had grown out of his father's control of freight routes, construction contracts, and private security. Some of those operations had become legitimate businesses. Others had not. When Damien took over, he began closing the parts that relied on intimidation and replacing them with documented contracts.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I saw what it did to people who had no choice.”
“And your family let you?”
“Some did. Some didn't.”
“Is that why you have a security team?”
“Partly.”
She looked down at her tea. “I don't know if I can be around that.”
“You don't have to decide tonight.”
“Would you let me walk away?”
“Yes.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Vivien studied his face, searching for the hidden condition. She found none.
“Then why tell me the truth?”
“Because you deserve to know what you stepped into.”
She leaned back. “I stepped into it by accident.”
“I know.”
He told her that he had come to the hotel to meet a financial intermediary who claimed to have evidence against a network moving money through the Sinclair family's property companies. The intermediary had been using Adrian's business as a front. Damien's people had tracked the payments for months, but they needed original records.
“Why would the man bring them to a wedding?” Vivien asked.
“Because the groom's family was part of the network. He believed the wedding would give him cover.”
“Did Adrian know?”
“I suspect he knew more than he admitted.”
“And Celeste?”
“That's still unclear.”
Vivien thought about the bride's bright smile and the way her fingers had trembled when Damien introduced himself.
“Maybe she knows,” Vivien said. “Maybe she doesn't.”
“Either way, she deserves facts before judgment.”
She looked at him, surprised by the fairness.
“That's not what I expected you to say.”
“What did you expect?”
“Something colder.”
“I'm capable of coldness. I try not to make it my only language.”
For the first time, Vivien wondered what kind of man Damien might have been if he had been born into a different family.
Then she remembered the warning card in his pocket.
“Someone knows I'm here,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And I don't know whether I can trust you.”
“You shouldn't trust me because I tell you to. Watch what I do.”
He stood and offered her his hand.
“Let's get you home.”
Damien told her that his sister, Alessia, had left the family business years earlier. She now ran a small restaurant in Milwaukee and refused to attend most family gatherings.
“Do you see her?” Vivien asked.
“When I can.”
“Does she hate what you do?”
“She hates what our father did. She worries I will become him.”
“Are you?”
“I don't want to.”
“That's not the same as saying you aren't.”
He accepted the distinction. “No. It isn't.”
Vivien was quiet for a moment. “I think that's why I believe you when you say you're trying. You don't ask me to pretend the past doesn't exist.”
“I wouldn't ask that.”
“Good. Because I wouldn't.”
He looked at her with a new kind of respect. “You have a habit of saying exactly what you mean.”
May you like
“It's a habit I had to learn.”
Outside the restaurant, the city traffic moved steadily through the rain. Damien offered to walk her to the car. She accepted, and for the first time that night she did not feel the need to keep a careful distance.
