Chapter 4: The Lion's Den

The Moretti Enterprises building rose forty-three stories into the Manhattan sky like a steel and glass monument to power. Standing on the sidewalk, craning her neck to see the top, Elara felt like David approaching Goliath—except she'd forgotten to bring her slingshot.

She clutched her worn copy of Eterno against her chest, the book's familiar weight both a comfort and a shield. The Bryant Park meeting yesterday had never happened. She'd waited for two hours, watching every face that passed, but C_Moretti had never shown. The only thing she'd gained was a growing certainty that whoever was behind the username was connected to this building, this family, this man whose name dominated the business section of every major newspaper.

Julian Moretti.

The lobby was all marble and intimidation, designed to make visitors feel small and unimportant. Elara's vintage cardigan and literary-themed t-shirt felt wildly out of place among the sharp suits and clicking heels of people who belonged in this world of corporate power.

"Can I help you?" The receptionist's smile was professional but cold, her eyes already dismissing Elara as someone who'd obviously taken a wrong turn.

"I'm here to see Julian Moretti."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, but—"

"Mr. Moretti doesn't take walk-in meetings. If you'd like to schedule—"

"Tell him it's about Helena Rosso."

The receptionist's fingers paused over her keyboard. For just a moment, her professional mask slipped, revealing something that looked almost like fear.

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Elara Vance. From The Last Chapter bookstore. He'll know why I'm here."

Five minutes later, Elara found herself in an elevator shooting toward the top floor, her reflection multiplied in the polished walls until she looked like an army of nervous book bloggers preparing for battle. The elevator music was classical—something dramatic and foreboding that seemed to match her rapidly beating heart.

The doors opened directly into a reception area that screamed wealth and power. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of Manhattan, and the furniture looked like it belonged in a museum. Everything was sharp angles and clean lines, the complete opposite of her cozy, cluttered bookstore.

"Ms. Vance?" A woman in an impeccably tailored suit approached her. "Mr. Moretti will see you now."

Elara followed her through double doors into an office that was less a workspace and more a statement. The view was even more spectacular from here, and the desk—a massive thing that looked like it could seat a small dinner party—dominated the room. Behind it sat Julian Moretti, and Elara's breath caught in her throat.

He looked exactly like she'd imagined Carmine Rossini would look in real life. Dark hair that was perfectly styled but looked like he'd run his fingers through it, sharp cheekbones, and eyes that were so dark they were almost black. He was tall—she could tell even sitting down—and there was something about the way he held himself that suggested barely contained power.

He also looked like he wanted to murder her.

"Ms. Vance." His voice was as cold as his expression. "I understand you've been making yourself a nuisance."

Elara lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated despite the fact that her knees were shaking. "I've been asking questions about a book. If that makes me a nuisance, then maybe you should ask yourself why."

Julian leaned back in his chair, studying her with the kind of intensity that made her feel like a specimen under a microscope. "You've been spreading lies about my family on the internet. You've harassed people with your wild theories. And now you're here, in my office, uninvited and unwelcome."

"I haven't lied about anything. I've simply pointed out the similarities between Eterno and your grandparents' story."

Something flickered in his eyes at the mention of his grandparents, but his expression remained neutral. "My grandparents have been dead for years. Whatever romance novel you're obsessed with has nothing to do with them."

Elara pulled out her phone and opened the digital version of Eterno. "This is what the book says now. Sanitized, passionless, boring." She held up her paperback. "This is what it originally said. Raw, passionate, real. Someone changed it, and I think you know why."

"You think a lot of things, Ms. Vance. Most of them appear to be wrong."

"Then prove it. Tell me about Helena Rosso. Tell me why mentioning her name got me into this office in five minutes when you supposedly don't take walk-in meetings."

Julian stood up abruptly, and Elara took an involuntary step backward. He was even taller than she'd thought, and there was something about his presence that filled the room like a storm front. He moved around the desk with predatory grace, and suddenly he was standing far too close to her.

"You want to know about Helena?" His voice was soft, dangerous. "She was my grandmother. She died when I was twelve, and she was the kindest, most gentle woman who ever lived. Whatever sick fantasy you've cooked up about her has nothing to do with reality."

Elara's heart was pounding, but she held her ground. "J.D. Harrow dedicated Eterno to 'H.' Your grandmother's initials. The male protagonist is named Carmine—your grandfather was Carlo. The female protagonist is Isabella—your grandmother was Helena, both Italian names starting with vowels. The story is set in the restaurant business—your family owned restaurants before moving into security and logistics."

"Coincidences."

"Are they?" Elara opened her paperback to a specific page. "Listen to this: 'Isabella traced the scar on Carmine's left shoulder, a reminder of the night his father's enemies came calling.' Your grandfather had a scar on his left shoulder. I found a newspaper photo from 1959 where it's visible."

Julian went very still. "You've been researching my family."

"I've been researching a book that someone desperately wants to keep from being read in its original form. A book that someone is willing to hire expensive lawyers to suppress." She met his dark gaze without flinching. "A book that was written by someone who knew your grandparents intimately."

"Get out."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me the truth. Was Helena Rosso really J.D. Harrow?"

The silence stretched between them like a taut wire. Julian's jaw was clenched so tight she could see the muscle jumping, and his hands were fisted at his sides. For a moment, she thought he might actually throw her out physically.

Instead, he walked back to his desk and pressed a button on his phone. "Maria, cancel my 4 o'clock. And hold all my calls."

He turned back to Elara, and something in his expression had shifted. The cold fury was still there, but underneath it, she caught a glimpse of something that looked almost like pain.

"You want the truth?" he said quietly. "The truth is that my grandmother wrote one book in her entire life. She wrote it in secret, published it under a pseudonym, and spent the rest of her life terrified that someone would connect it back to her."

Elara's breath caught. "She was J.D. Harrow."

"She was a woman who fell in love with a dangerous man and was brave enough to tell the world about it, even though it could have gotten them both killed." Julian's voice was rough now, stripped of its earlier coldness. "She wrote about their love story because she needed the world to know that what they had was real, that it was worth fighting for."

"Then why change the book? Why sanitize it?"

"Because some people in my family believe the past should stay buried. Because there are things in that book—truths about how my grandfather made his money, about the choices he made to protect his family—that certain people would prefer remain fiction."

Elara felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into an abyss she hadn't known existed. "Your family wasn't just in the restaurant business."

Julian's smile was sharp and completely without humor. "My family has been in the protection business for three generations, Ms. Vance. We protect people, property, interests. Sometimes that protection requires methods that wouldn't look good in a romance novel, even a dark one."

The implications hit her like a physical blow. The Moretti family wasn't just wealthy—they were connected to the kind of world that Eterno had only hinted at. The kind of world where love stories came with body counts and happily ever afters were earned at gunpoint.

"You're telling me I've been investigating the Mafia."

"I'm telling you that you've been playing with fire, and you're lucky you haven't been burned yet." Julian moved closer again, and this time Elara couldn't make herself step back. "My grandmother's book was published once, exactly as she wrote it. That was enough. The sanitized version protects everyone—her memory, my family's privacy, and naive little bookstore owners who don't understand what they're getting into."

"But people deserve to read the real story. They deserve to know—"

"They deserve to stay alive," Julian cut her off. "And so do you."

The threat was subtle but unmistakable. Elara looked into his dark eyes and saw something that made her stomach drop. He wasn't just trying to scare her—he was trying to save her.

"Who's C_Moretti?" she asked quietly.

Julian's expression didn't change, but she saw him tense. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Someone with that username has been commenting on my blog. They seem to know things about your family, about the book. They set up a meeting that never happened."

"Stay away from Bryant Park," Julian said quietly. "Stay away from my family. Delete your blog posts, forget about the book, and go back to your quiet little life."

"And if I don't?"

Julian walked back to his desk and picked up a single leather-bound book. Even from across the room, Elara could see it was old, the leather cracked and worn with age.

"Then you'll learn exactly how this story really ends," he said. "And trust me, Ms. Vance—you won't like the final chapter."

He pressed his intercom button again. "Maria, please escort Ms. Vance to the elevator."

As Elara was led from the office, she clutched her copy of Eterno and tried to process everything she'd learned. Helena Moretti had been J.D. Harrow. The book was based on truth. And the truth was dangerous enough that someone was willing to kill to keep it buried.

But as the elevator doors closed and she caught one last glimpse of Julian Moretti standing in his office window, looking like a dark angel surveying his kingdom, one thought echoed in her mind:

He hadn't denied being C_Moretti.