CHAPTER FOUR: A FAVOUR

"Where are you, Cara mia?"

The voice on the other end was smooth, deep, rich, the kind that came from years of expensive whiskey and Cuban cigars. She could practically taste the luxury in his tone, relaxed and confident. 

"Waiting for you," she replied, letting just a hint of impatience lace her words. An obvious flirt.

Elena barely had time to process his laughter before Patrick's next words caught her completely off guard.

"You look stunning in that dress, cara mia."

She froze, the warmth of his voice blindsiding her. It wasn't the compliment itself, she had been told she looked good before, countless times and she knows she does. But, it was the effortless way he said it. Like it was a fact, not a flattery.

"What the hell?" she muttered under her breath, her face heating up. But Patrick, ever the amused one, only chuckled on the other end of the line.

"The car's outside," he added. "I'm waiting."

Elena frowned and moved to the window, parting the blinds slightly. Her pulse jumped when she saw it, a black Bentley Mulsanne with tinted windows parked discreetly at the curb, its chrome grille glinting under the streetlights.

What was it with men like him and Xavier always sneaking up on her, acting all mysterious and dangerous?

She suppressed a shiver of unease. This was Patrick, after all, not some stranger. He was dangerous, yes, but not to her. Still, the way he operated quietly always put her on edge. 

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her purse and made her way outside.

The moment she slid into the luxurious car, Patrick's cologne filled her senses, dark, smooth, with the faintest trace of cigars underneath. Familiar. Comforting.

"Look at you, all dressed up," she teased, leaning in for a quick hug before settling into her seat. She always made sure to compliment him first, a habit she knew he secretly liked. "You look like a princess, Patrick."

"A princess?" He smirked, exuding that cool confidence he always carried. "And you, cara mia, always know how to make a man feel special."

She laughed, shaking her head.

Patrick tapped the driver. The driver, a very muscular man in a tailored suit, met his eyes in the rearview. "Avanti."

They chatted for a while, their conversation flowing easily like it always did. Then, as the car smoothly glided down the street, he turned slightly, eyes glinting with amusement.

"Where would you like to eat?"

Elena thought for a second before responding. "Anywhere that would make you feel secure and safe."

Patrick let out a deep, knowing chuckle. "Secure and safe?" he repeated. "Cara mia, I'm always secure and safe."

His words dripped with humor, but they both knew it wasn't entirely a joke. In his world, you had to be extremely careful inorder to keep your life.

Still smiling, he muttered another word in Italian to the driver before glancing up at the rearview mirror. The driver gave a subtle nod of affirmation.

Elena didn't need to ask to know what that meant. Patrick had already planned ahead.

The car pulled up in front of a restaurant, not just any restaurant, but a quiet, high-end Italian spot that looked untouched by the chaos of the city outside. As they stepped inside, she took in the dim lighting, the polished marble floors, well-arranged tables with a slow piano piece playing. It was idea 20 by the popular Gibran Alcocer and the faint aroma of garlic and freshly baked bread in the air. Not to forget, the lone waiter, a gaunt man with scarred hands who led them to a secluded booth.

Patrick held out her chair. Old world manners from a man who'd once broken fingers for touching his jacket.

"You cleared the place," Elena observed.

"Own it, actually." 

Of course he did, she should have known.

This was Patrick Machiose, 

Son of Pattrini Machiose, the man who controlled the underground like a puppeteer with invisible strings. The man whose influence ran deep in every gambling den, every exclusive club, every illegal enterprise the city's elite liked to pretend they knew nothing about.

And Patrick?

He was the heir to all of it.

A man who worked in the shadows, kept his movements careful and calculated. Because in a world like his, the ones who made the most noise were the first to disappear.

Still, despite everything he was, he wasn't cruel. At least, not with her.

The single waiter on duty approached their table with a polite nod. Patrick ordered first, effortlessly switching to Italian as he requested pasta. Then, turning to Elena, he lifted an eyebrow as if asking what she wanted.

She gave a small smile. "Same as you."

Their drinks had already been poured, rich red wine sitting elegantly in crystal glasses. They fell into conversation, the easy kind that came from years of knowing each other.

But eventually, she had to start.

She exhaled softly and set her glass down.

Her brother's unexpected call, telling her to tread carefully and how he would hate to see her end up as collateral damage. Her job at Moretti Enterprises. The first day Xavier didn't show. Her meeting earlier today, the way he spoke to her, how infuriatingly rude he was.

Through it all, Patrick listened. Silent, his expression unreadable, but there was always that small smile. The kind that said he was processing, calculating.

She didn't leave anything out. Not even the gala happening next Friday and the preparations they were making at least the ones she could remember. How Gabriella DeLuca had acted, everything. If she was going to ask for his protection, she knew this was the price she had to pay. 

And just as she was about to bring it up, Patrick beat her to it.

"You need a watchful eye," he mused. "And you need to be careful about what you say. How you act."

A chill ran down her spine, but she nodded. This was exactly what she'd wanted, guidance.

Yet, something nagged at her.

Patrick was invested in this, more than she expected. He didn't even glance at his phone, didn't rush her like most men in his position would have. He sat there, completely focused on her.

"I'll have eyes at the gala," he said finally, pushing his plate aside. "Discreet. No one you'll notice."

Elena narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

Patrick laughed, low and rough. "Because I like knowing you're still breathing."

She frowned. Both laughing while raising a glass.

He was a good man. Truly.

Then, suddenly, his phone vibrated.

Elena paused, watching as he checked the screen, his lips twitching upward at whatever he saw. If she guessed, a coded message. He was a busy man after all.

After a moment, he turned back to her, smiling. "You have nothing to worry about," he assured her. "I'll be checking in on you, but for now, I have to go."

Disappointment flickered in her chest, but she nodded.

Patrick stood, walking around the table until he was beside her. He reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips in a slow, almost teasing kiss.

"Stay. Finish your wine. The car outside will take you home." 

Exiting, he said. "Cara mia, see you later."

And then, just like that, he was gone.

Leaving Elena alone, wine glass in hand, thinking about what she'd just set into motion.

Elena stared down at her plate, appetite long gone.

The candlelight flickered, casting shadows over the polished table. Patrick had left on an urgent note. Leaving her alone with a car packed outside ready to take her home.

Reaching for her clutch, her fingers brushed against something unfamiliar beneath her napkin.

A phone.

Not hers.

Elena exhaled, flipping it over in her palm. The screen was blank, but there was no question who had left it.

Patrick never played a game without making sure he was the one holding all the pieces.

The night air was cool against Elena's skin as she stepped outside. The Bentley's driver was already waiting, standing by the open door, hands clasped in front of him. He gave her a slight nod as she approached, his expression unreadable beneath the glow of the streetlights.

"Thank you." She said as she entered the car, the door clicking shut behind her. The driver said nothing as they glided through midnight streets, his gloved hands steady on the wheel. 

The Bentley's leather seats still held traces of him. Elena exhaled, barely aware that her fingers had drifted to where he had sat. A small, almost reluctant smile played at her lips before she caught herself, shaking off the thought.

This wasn't the time for distractions.

By the time the car pulled up to her building, she had already started replaying the day's events in her head. She stepped out, waving 'thanks' at the driver as she closed the door. Her heels clicking against the pavement as she approached her doorstep, her mind working through every detail as she entered the lobby.

Xavier's interrogation.

Gabriella's action.

Victor's call.

And Patrick.

She stepped into her apartment, locking the door behind her with muscle memory alone. Kicking off her heels, she padded across her room, slowly taking off each piece of clothing and jewelry she had worn. 

At her desk, the burner phone Patrick had given her sat cool in her palm. It felt heavier than it should have. She sighed, flipping it over once before slipping it into her drawer.

Then, a thought struck her.

Xavier's car. The Aston Martin.

Something about it had nagged at her since she left the restaurant. She opened her laptop, fingers moving quickly as she scoured through car registrations and auction records. If she could find anything at all, even though it was slightly related.

Then, she saw an image of a car, almost similar to his. A black Aston Martin. But her focus wasn't on the car itself. It was on the license plate.

SLIGHT 3.

The customized plate glared back at her from a years-old society blog. "Moretti heir's mysterious new ride sparks speculation—"

Elena frowned, tilting her head. What the hell did that even mean?

Her fingers drummed against the desk as she searched deeper, digging through archived articles, auction records, anything remotely connected to the Moretti family's assets. It was methodical, the way she worked, peeling back layers of carefully curated information.

Then, she saw something. 

A social media post.

#MorettiLegacy.

Her breath caught.

This wasn't supposed to go public until next week. Yet here it was, circulating under the radar. Were these leaks intentional, or had someone jumped the gun?

She clicked on the post, eyes scanning for details, but before she could dive deeper, the phone beside her chimed.

She barely glanced at the screen before picking it up, expecting some news alert—

Then she saw the message.

Moretti Enterprises HR

Congratulations.

We are pleased to inform you that you have been chosen as the new Executive Assistant of Moretti Enterprises. Your start date is Monday, at which time you will assume full responsibilities. 

Elena leaned back, her grip tightening on the phone as the words sank in. It was happening.

After months of careful planning, of biding her time and playing her part, the doors had finally opened.

The pain.

The sacrifices.

Every carefully measured step she took despite her doubts.

All of it was finally worth something.

She stood, moving to the kitchen in a daze. The glass felt cool in her hands as she poured herself a drink, the amber liquid catching the light.

For the first time in a long time, she felt good about allowing herself a moment.

A moment to breathe, a moment to acknowledge that she had won this round.

She raised the glass to her lips, savoring the burn as it slid down her throat. Then, just as she set it down, her phone chimed again. Another message.

But this one wasn't from Moretti Enterprises.

Unknown: Congratulations on getting into Moretti Enterprises, sis.

Elena stilled, glass slipping from her hand. Her fingers hovered over the screen, her pulse slowing her breathing.

Victor.