Chapter 6 - BLOODLINES AND BETRAYAL
The Vitali Estate was not a house; it was a fortress disguised as a neoclassical palace. Situated behind fifteen-foot wrought-iron gates on an exclusive wooded bluff overlooking Lake Michigan, the limestone mansion screamed generational wealth and fortified violence.
Guards armed with tactical rifles patrolled the manicured perimeter with German Shepherds. Security cameras tracked our vehicle every inch up the winding private driveway.
When Alessandro escorted me inside, the sheer opulence took my breath away. Soaring ceilings with hand-painted frescoes, sweeping marble staircases, and antique crystal chandeliers hung above polished floors that reflected our footsteps like black ice.
"Show Miss Vance to the East Wing master suite," Alessandro instructed a stern, middle-aged housekeeper standing in the grand foyer. "Ensure the balcony doors are keyed only to my personal biometric override. Have Dr. Keller arrive within the hour."
"Yes, Signor Alessandro," the housekeeper bowed respectfully before turning to me with a cool, assessing gaze. "Follow me, Miss."
"I am not a prisoner, Alessandro!" I shouted, turning back toward him in the cavernous hallway.
He stopped, unbuttoning his suit jacket with effortless grace. "You have food, luxury, medical care, and the protection of fifty armed men. If that feels like a prison to you, Elizabeth, then you haven't seen the dungeons beneath this estate."
Before I could fire back another retort, heavy footsteps echoed from the top of the grand staircase.
"What is the meaning of this commotion, Alessandro?"
A tall, silver-haired man in his late fifties descended the marble steps. He wore an expensive burgundy smoking jacket, leaned on a cane tipped with a silver wolf's head, and carried an aura of oily, venomous arrogance.
Behind him walked a stunning woman with raven hair, emerald eyes, and diamond earrings that caught the chandelier light—Alessia Moretti, daughter of the powerful New York Moretti syndicate and Alessandro’s long-rumored political fiancée.
"Uncle Marco," Alessandro greeted, his tone dropping several degrees into icy formality. "I thought you were in Milan until next week."
"I returned early when I heard rumors that my nephew was raiding low-income apartments on the West Side with half our security detail," Marco sneered, his sharp, predatory eyes locking onto me. He paused, his gaze raking over my face with sudden, intense scrutiny.
A flash of recognition and subtle panic crossed Marco Vitali’s weathered features for a fraction of a second before he masked it with a sneer.
"Who is this stray you've brought into our family home?" Marco demanded.
Alessia Moretti stepped forward, looking at my cheap sneakers and oversized sweater with open disgust. "Alessandro, darling, don't tell me this is the little waitress who caused a scene at the charity gala? Why is she here?"
Alessandro took two steps toward me, sliding a possessive, heavy arm around my waist, pulling me firmly against his side. The gesture was both a shield and a claim.
"She is not a stray," Alessandro said, his voice carrying through the grand foyer like a thunderclap. "And she is not a waitress. Her name is Elizabeth. And she is carrying the next head of the Vitali family."
Marco’s cane slipped an inch against the marble floor. Alessia let out a sharp, choked gasp of horror.
"Are you insane?" Marco hissed, his face reddening with rage. "You have a blood alliance to seal with the Morettis! You cannot disgrace our bloodline with a nameless bastard from the gutter!"
Alessandro’s hand tightened on my hip, his gaze locking onto his uncle with lethal promise.
May you like
"Speak of my child that way again, Uncle," Alessandro warned softly, "and I will have Matteo cut out your tongue before dinner."
***
