Chapter 3 - Waking the Heir
The morning sun broke over Sovereign City, casting a golden glow across the manicured lawns of the Moretti estate. Inside the luxurious east wing guest suite, Clara woke up from a dreamless, exhausted sleep. She found herself wrapped in high-thread-count silk sheets inside a room bigger than her entire apartment. A fresh set of clothes—simple, elegant black trousers and a cashmere sweater—was laid out neatly on a velvet chair.
After a hot shower that washed away the grime and terror of the previous night, Clara was escorted down the hall toward the medical wing by Bruno.
The heavy oak door to Lorenzo’s recovery room was ajar.
Inside, the room was bathed in soft morning light. Lorenzo Moretti sat propped up against a stack of white pillows, an IV drip taped to his right hand, a pristine white bandage wrapped around his ribs, and a white gauze pad taped neatly to his left temple.
Up close, without the mud and rain, he was strikingly handsome in a dangerous, rebellious sort of way. Dark, messy hair fell across his forehead, and his sharp, arrogant jawline was shadowed by a day’s worth of stubble.
He was arguing in a low, raspy voice with a nurse who was trying to check his vitals.
“I told you, I don't need the damn pain meds, I need my phone,” Lorenzo snapped, pulling his arm away.
“Mr. Moretti, your father gave strict instructions—” the nurse began.
“My father can go—” Lorenzo stopped as the door creaked open.
His dark eyes snapped toward the entrance. They landed instantly on Clara, who stood in the doorway, caught like a deer in headlights behind the towering frame of Bruno.
Silence descended on the room.
Lorenzo stared at her, his brows furrowing in genuine confusion. He looked her up and down—taking in the cashmere sweater, the clean hair, the wide, apprehensive eyes.
“Who the hell are you?” Lorenzo demanded, his voice raspy from the tube he’d had down his throat the night before. “Are you a new nurse? Because if you’re here to give me more pills, you can walk right back out.”
“I’m not a nurse,” Clara said, stepping cautiously into the room while Bruno remained stationed by the door like a gargoyle.
“Then who are you?” Lorenzo pressed, leaning forward slightly, wincing as his ribs pulled against the stitches. “And why are you in my room?”
“Her name is Clara Rossi, son,” a deep, commanding voice echoed from the doorway.
Vincenzo Moretti stepped into the room, his expression inscrutable as he walked over to the foot of his son’s bed. He placed both hands on the metal railing, looking down at Lorenzo with a mix of fierce paternal pride and profound irritation.
“Clara?” Lorenzo echoed, the name tasting foreign on his tongue. He looked back at her, his eyes narrowing as memory flickered behind them. “Wait... the diner. The alley. You’re the waitress.”
“Yes,” Clara said quietly.
“She found you bleeding out behind the Blue Moon Diner and used your father’s emergency card to call for help,” Vincenzo explained, his eyes fixed on Lorenzo. “If she hadn't made that call, you’d currently be fish food at the bottom of the lake.”
Lorenzo stared at Clara for a long, silent moment. The arrogant, defensive edge in his posture slowly melted away, replaced by a strange, searching curiosity. He looked at her hands—noticeably free of the cheap diner rings, bearing only the faint calluses of someone who worked seventy hours a week.
“You stayed,” Lorenzo murmured, his voice losing its sharp edge. “My dad told me what happened last night. You could have run. Why didn't you?”
“I told your father the same thing,” Clara said, lifting her chin just a fraction. “I’m not a monster. You were dying.”
A slow, unexpected smirk tugged at the corner of Lorenzo’s mouth—a dangerous, charming smile that completely transformed his face.
“Well, Clara Rossi,” Lorenzo rasped, leaning back against his pillows. “It seems I owe you my life. Which, in our family, usually means you’re either going to be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams or locked in a tower forever. Which one is my old man planning?”
Vincenzo let out a short, dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Watch your mouth, boy. You’re in no condition to be charming.” Vincenzo turned his attention to Clara. “Your sister’s transfer to St. Jude’s private wing was completed at midnight. Her doctors assure me she is receiving the best care money can buy. Furthermore, your debt at the diner is cleared, and a stipend has been deposited into a secure account in your name.”
Clara’s breath caught. She stared at the crime boss in stunned disbelief. “You... you didn't have to do all that.”
“The Morettis pay their debts,” Vincenzo repeated firmly. “However... that brings us to the more delicate matter of your current employment.”
Clara blinked. “My... employment?”
“You cannot return to the Blue Moon Diner, Miss Rossi,” Vincenzo said flatly. “The men who ambushed Lorenzo know you were there. They saw you. If you go back to your old life, you become a target. You are a loose end they will try to tie up.”
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Panic surged back into Clara’s chest. “Then where am I supposed to go? I can’t just hide in a mansion forever!”
“You aren't hiding,” Lorenzo chimed in smoothly, his dark eyes locked onto hers with intense fascination. “You’re joining the family business. Or, at least, you’re staying right here under our protection until we root out the rats who tried to put me in the ground.”
