Chapter 4 - Whispers in the Orchid House
The morning sickness hit Norah like a physical blow at 6:00 AM.
She spent twenty minutes on her knees in the marble bathroom of her master suite, her throat burning, her stomach heaving with a violent emptiness. When she finally managed to stand, she found a glass of ice water and a small plate of dry saltine crackers resting on the counter. Beside them was a small, handwritten note in elegant, sharp cursive:
Eat. The doctor will be here at noon. — M.
By ten o'clock, the confinement was already driving her mad. The estate was massive, but every hallway was patrolled by men in identical dark suits who bowed their heads respectfully but never let her out of their sight. Seeking some semblance of peace, she walked down to the glass conservatory—the orchid house—that Matteo’s mother had built thirty years ago.
The air inside was warm and thick, smelling of damp earth, blooming jasmine, and the sharp, clean scent of cut stems. Norah sat on an iron bench near a massive cluster of white cattleya orchids, her hands resting over her stomach.
"You shouldn't be hiding in the damp, child," a sharp, aristocratic voice spoke from the entrance.
Norah turned to see Bianca Moretti—Matteo’s aunt and the matriarchal elder of the family. Bianca was seventy years old, but she stood as straight as a spear, her silver hair pinned into a flawless chignon, her dark silk dress rustling as she walked down the stone path.
"Aunt Bianca," Norah said, rising quickly. "I was just... getting some air."
"Matteo has placed twenty new men on the perimeter wall," Bianca said, her dark eyes narrowing as she looked Norah up and down with the practiced scrutiny of a woman who had survived three mafia wars. "Silas is cleaning blood out of the back of the SUV, and the kitchen staff is whispering that you refused your morning eggs. Tell me, Norah, should I be ordering black silk for a funeral, or white linen for a baptism?"
Norah’s hand stayed on her stomach. There was no point in denying it to Bianca; the old woman knew the scent of a secret before it was even spoken. "A baptism, Aunt Bianca."
Bianca’s stern face didn't soften, but her shoulders dropped by a fraction of an inch. She sat down on the iron bench, gesturing for Norah to join her. "A child. Matteo’s child. This changes everything, Norah. You were a contract bride—a political shield to keep your father’s creditors from selling his docks. But a child makes you the foundation of this house."
"Matteo doesn't want a foundation," Norah whispered, looking down at her emerald ring. "He wants order. He told me the child is a vulnerability."
"Matteo is a man who was forced to watch his father die in a restaurant parking lot when he was twelve," Bianca said coldly. "He thinks of everything in terms of targets and armor. He will call the child a vulnerability because he already knows he would burn this entire city to ash to keep it safe. Do not mistake his silence for indifference, Norah. A Moretti loves with a knife in his hand."
Before Norah could answer, the heavy glass door of the conservatory swung open. Silas stood in the doorway, his face unusually tense.
"Signora Norah," Silas said, ignoring Bianca completely—a sign of extreme urgency. "The Don requires you in the main study immediately. We have an unexpected guest at the front gate."
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"Who is it?" Norah asked, a cold dread pooling in her chest.
"Silvano Romano," Silas said shortly. "And he brought his lawyers."
