Chapter 2 - The Fake Wife Moved Into His Penthouse And Broke Every Rule He Had
The shooting was over in four minutes.
No one died.
The attacker escaped through a service entrance.
But one thing became immediately clear.
The target had not been Salvatore.
It had not been Elena.
It had been Nico.
Rachel was driven to the penthouse under armed protection.
She expected to be nervous.
Instead she was angry.
Nico walked into the living room at two in the morning, still wearing his tuxedo.
She stood by the window.
"You knew this could happen."
He removed his cufflinks.
"I knew there was a possibility."
"Diane said dangerous situations weren't part of the arrangement."
"I lied."
Rachel stared at him.
He expected fear.
He got disappointment.
"That's worse."
"I know."
"Why didn't you cancel the contract?"
"Because if I canceled it, my father would force the marriage anyway."
Rachel folded her arms.
"So you hired me without telling me the full risk."
"Yes."
"You used me."
His face tightened.
"Yes."
She looked away.
Nico had been threatened, shot at, betrayed and hunted since childhood.
He knew how to handle hatred.
He did not know how to handle the look in Rachel's eyes.
She was not afraid of him.
She was hurt.
"I want out."
He went still.
"Rachel."
"No."
"I'll double your fee."
"I don't care about the fee."
"Triple."
She laughed bitterly.
"You really think money fixes everything."
"In my experience, it fixes most things."
"Then your experience is pathetic."
He stared.
No one talked to him like that.
No one.
Rachel walked toward the bedroom door.
"Give me tonight."
"For what?"
"To decide whether tomorrow I leave."
He nodded.
She stopped.
"One thing."
"What?"
"If I stay, you tell me the truth about the danger."
"Everything."
"Everything."
"Everything."
She disappeared into the guest bedroom.
Nico remained alone.
He walked to the bar.
Poured whiskey.
Then poured another.
He hated himself for caring whether she stayed.
The next morning, Rachel appeared in the kitchen wearing an oversized Sabatini sweatshirt she had found in the guest room.
Nico was drinking coffee.
She looked at him.
"Did you sleep?"
"No."
"Good."
He looked up.
"I didn't either."
She sat across from him.
"I'm staying."
He exhaled slowly.
"On conditions."
He nodded.
"No lies about danger."
"Agreed."
"No controlling who I speak to."
"Agreed."
"No pretending in private."
He paused.
Rachel watched him.
"Meaning?"
"If we're angry, we say we're angry."
"Agreed."
"If we're uncomfortable, we say so."
"Agreed."
"And if something feels wrong, I don't need your permission to leave the room."
He nodded.
"Agreed."
She held out her hand.
He shook it.
Their hands remained together for half a second too long.
They both noticed.
Neither mentioned it.
The next weeks became a strange domestic war.
Rachel discovered Nico drank coffee like medicine.
Nico discovered Rachel sang badly while cooking.
Rachel discovered he had a terrifying stare but could not assemble IKEA furniture.
Nico discovered she stole the expensive chocolate from his kitchen and hid it behind the books in the library.
They argued about everything.
The thermostat.
The curtains.
Whether the dog living two blocks away belonged to a neighbor or was obviously homeless.
The first real laugh happened over breakfast.
Rachel had burned toast.
Nico looked at it.
"That appears criminal."
"You would know."
He almost choked on his coffee.
She smiled.
"There."
He pointed at her.
"Don't."
"You smiled."
"I did not."
"You did."
"You're imagining things."
"You're terrible at pretending."
"That's ironic."
She smiled.
"Exactly."
One month passed.
Then two.
The fake engagement became convincing.
Too convincing.
Photographs appeared in magazines.
Rachel sitting beside Nico at charity dinners.
Rachel laughing with his mother.
Rachel wearing his coat.
Rachel resting her head on his shoulder during a flight to Chicago.
The public began calling them New York's mystery couple.
The family began worrying.
Elena Cattaneo remained furious.
Salvatore became increasingly suspicious.
And Nico became increasingly aware that pretending to love Rachel was becoming impossible.
It happened quietly.
One night, Rachel fell asleep on the sofa beside him.
She had been reading.
The book slipped from her hand.
Her head rested against his shoulder.
Nico looked down.
Her face was completely peaceful.
He did not move.
His phone rang.
He silenced it.
He sat there for another hour.
He had never been someone who wanted softness.
Softness made people vulnerable.
Yet with Rachel asleep against him, he found himself wishing time would stop.
The next day, Salvatore summoned Rachel alone.
Nico did not know.
Rachel arrived at the penthouse two hours later looking pale.
"Where were you?"
"Your father invited me to lunch."
Nico went still.
"What did he say?"
"That he knows I'm not Rachel Hail."
His stomach dropped.
"What?"
"He showed me a photograph."
She placed it on the table.
A child.
A little girl with dark hair standing beside a woman.
Nico looked at it.
"Who is this?"
Rachel's hands shook.
"Me."
He stared.
"What?"
"My mother."
She turned the photograph over.
A name had been written on the back.
Clara Moretti.
Nico knew the name.
Everyone in his world did.
Clara Moretti had been an accountant for the Sabatini organization twenty-four years earlier.
She had disappeared after accusing several senior members of embezzlement.
Salvatore had said she ran.
Rachel looked at Nico.
"My mother's name was Clara Moretti."
He felt the room tilt.
"Your father knew."
"I know."
"How?"
"I don't know."
Nico picked up the photograph again.
There was more.
A tiny emblem in the corner.
The old Sabatini crest.
Someone had kept this.
Someone had known who Rachel really was.
And suddenly the fake marriage was no longer a shield against an arranged wedding.
It was something far more dangerous.
Rachel Hail was not a random woman hired from an agency.
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She had been connected to the Sabatini family long before Nico ever met her.
And someone had deliberately placed her in his home.
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