Chapter 8 - The Price of Possession
The sheer physical presence of Alexander Moretti standing at his full height was suffocating. His broad chest, framed by the dark suspenders, rose and fell in slow, rhythmic expansions. The relaxed indifference of a wealthy patron had vanished entirely; in its place stood the sovereign ruler of a criminal empire, radiating an aura of violence so dense it felt like a physical weight pressing down on Derek’s chest.
Derek stumbled another step backward, his back colliding hard with the chest of the lead bodyguard. The guard didn't move an inch; his hand simply came down onto Derek’s left shoulder, fingers clamping like an iron vise, locking Derek in place before the desk.
“Mr. Moretti… please,” Derek stammered, the last vestiges of his aristocratic composure disintegrating into raw, unadulterated panic. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. She’s my wife… under the law, she is my responsibility! You have no legal standing to interfere in a marriage!”
Alexander stepped around the edge of the massive walnut desk.
He didn't hurry. His polished oxfords struck the carpet with a measured, predatory cadence. He stopped three feet from Derek, his dark eyes looking down from a position of absolute, unchallengeable dominion.
“The law?” Alexander asked softly, the corner of his sculpted mouth twitching with dark amusement. “You want to talk to me about the law, Derek?”
Alexander reached out. His large, calloused right hand—etched with black geometric ink that wound around his knuckles—lifted slowly and caught the lapel of Derek’s expensive navy suit jacket. With effortless, terrifying strength, Alexander pulled the younger man forward until their faces were inches apart.
Derek whimpered, the smell of Alexander’s tobacco, bourbon, and cold rain filling his senses.
“Look at me,” Alexander commanded, his voice dropping an octave into a register that made Derek’s teeth vibrate.
Derek forced his terrified eyes upward, meeting the cold hazel fire burning in Alexander’s gaze.
“A man who uses his hands to break a woman because she won't look at him with love is not a man,” Alexander murmured, his tone shockingly gentle, like a priest delivering an extreme unction. “He is a coward who forgot that bone breaks both ways.”
Alexander’s left hand rose and lightly tapped Derek’s chest, directly over his heart.
“You are going to walk out of this restaurant,” Alexander whispered. “You are going to get into your car. You are going to drive to your home in Lake Forest. And tomorrow morning at eight o’clock, you are going to receive a courier from the law offices of Moretti & Vance.”
Derek blinked, tears of pure terror gathering in the corners of his eyes. “A… a courier?”
“Inside that folder will be an uncontested divorce petition,” Alexander said, his grip on Derek’s lapel tightening just enough to lift the man onto his tiptoes. “You will sign every page. You will waive all claims to her family trust, her property, and her name. You will leave the deed to the lakefront house on the counter, take one suitcase of clothes, and board an afternoon flight to Miami. You will never set foot in the state of Illinois again.”
“And… and if I don't?” Derek croaked, his voice cracking on the final syllable.
May you like
Alexander smiled. It was the most terrifying thing Derek had ever seen—a faint, beautiful, perfectly polite smile that promised total annihilation.
“If you don't,” Alexander murmured, releasing Derek’s lapel with a sharp flick that sent the socialite stumbling into the bodyguard’s grip, “my men will pull you from your bed at three in the morning. And you will discover what the dark water at the bottom of Lake Michigan feels like when the ice begins to freeze.”
