Chapter 4 - The Mask Slipping
The morning after the blizzard, the tension in Chicago reached a boiling point.
Marcus Moretti, the head of the rival Moretti crime family, had taken Elias’s forced retirement as a sign of weakness. Believing the fearsome "Don of Chicago" was now a helpless invalid, Moretti had launched a series of aggressive raids on Marchetti shipping docks and distribution centers across the city.
In the Ashford mansion, Sienna and Margaret were sipping mimosas in their sunroom, reading the morning papers.
"Look at this," Sienna laughed, tossing a high-society tabloid onto the glass table. "They’re calling Elias the 'Phantom of Oak Brook.' They say his new bride is locked in the estate acting as his nurse."
Margaret smiled coldly, adjusting her silk robe. "Let them say whatever they want. Maeve is playing her role perfectly. St. Jude’s confirmed Patrick’s surgery was paid in full, and the Marchetti family hasn't questioned 'Avery’s' identity for a second."
"I almost feel sorry for her," Sienna said, though her face held only satisfaction. "She’s stuck with a crippled monster while I’m heading to Paris next week with Julian."
"She’s a servant girl who got three hundred thousand dollars for her brother," Margaret snapped. "She should be thanking us on her knees."
What neither woman knew was that two miles away, in a heavily fortified basement beneath the Marchetti estate, Elias was standing in front of a giant digital map of Chicago, dressed in a black tactical suit.
Salvatore Marchetti, Elias’s sharp-featured uncle, sat on a leather sofa, watching his nephew pace back and forth with effortless grace.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Elias," Salvatore warned, taking a drag from his cigar. "Moretti is mobilizing eighty men. He thinks you're stuck in a chair, so he’s planning a direct assault on this estate within forty-eight hours to finish you off."
"I know," Elias said, a dark, satisfying smile appearing on his face. "I gave him the floor plan myself through a leaked server."
Salvatore shook his head. "And what about the girl? The fake Ashford?"
Elias stopped pacing. His face softened for a fraction of a second before turning back to stone. "Her name is Maeve."
"I don't care if her name is Saint Mary," Salvatore growled. "She lied to you. She walked into this house pretending to be an Ashford heiress while taking money from her mistress! She’s part of their fraud!"
"She took the money to save her brother's life!" Elias snapped, his voice thunderous, echoing off the concrete walls. "She didn't take a single dime for herself! While Sienna Ashford was throwing my ring on a counter because she didn't want to push a wheelchair, Maeve Donnelly spent three weeks holding my hand in the dark, defending my honor against my own doubts!"
Salvatore stared at his nephew in utter shock. In thirty-four years, he had never heard Elias defend a human being with such raw, explosive passion.
"You love her," Salvatore whispered, stunned.
Elias didn't deny it. He turned back to the digital tactical map, his fists clenched. "She thinks I’m a paralyzed man who needs her protection. I am going to let Marcus Moretti bring his army to my doorstep. And when this is over, I am going to show Maeve who I really am."
"And if she runs when she finds out you lied to her?" Salvatore asked quietly. "A girl like that... she values honesty above everything, Elias. You tested her. You turned her into an experiment."
Elias went rigidly still. The thought of Maeve looking at him with fear, hatred, or betrayal sent a blade of agony through his chest far worse than any bullet could ever inflict.
"She won't run," Elias said, though his voice lacked its usual absolute certainty. "Because I will give her the one thing no one else ever gave her: my entire life."
That afternoon, Elias returned to his study in his wheelchair.
Maeve was waiting for him with a warm bowl of soup she had personally made in the kitchen. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ribbon, and she looked soft, beautiful, and completely at peace.
"You look tired today, Elias," she said gently, setting the tray on his desk.
"I have a lot on my mind, Avery," he replied, watching her sit in the chair across from him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet jewelry box, sliding it across the desk toward her.
Maeve blinked. "What's this?"
"Open it."
She opened the box. Inside lay a breathtaking necklace—a rare, flawless ten-carat emerald suspended from a chain of brilliant white diamonds. It was worth at least two million dollars.
Maeve gasped, instantly closing the box and pushing it back toward him. "No. I can't accept this."
Elias raised an eyebrow. "Why not? You are my wife. Sienna would have demanded five of those by now."
"I am not Sienna!" Maeve blurted out, her face flushing red. She caught herself, biting her lower lip in panic, realizing she had almost slipped. "I mean... I am not the kind of woman who wants emeralds, Elias. I don't want your money. I just want... I want you to be safe."
Elias looked at the velvet box, then looked up into her anxious hazel eyes.
"You really don't care about the wealth, do you?" he asked softly.
"Money doesn't keep you warm at night, Elias," Maeve said softly, reaching across the desk to place her hand gently over his black onyx ring. "People do."
Elias turned his hand over, entwining his broad fingers with hers. "Avery... there are things about me... things about this house... that you don't understand. Dangerous things."
"I'm not afraid of your world, Elias," Maeve said bravely, squeezing his hand. "As long as I'm beside you, I'm not afraid of anything."
May you like
Elias looked at her, his heart swelling with a powerful, desperate love.
Forgive me, my sweet girl, he thought, staring at her beautiful face. Because tomorrow night, the storm arrives.
