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The next hour seemed to fly by.
It all seemed surreal - them landing safely, the wind whipping her hair around in her ponytail as she exited the plane, her thanking the crew, then getting into a town car that waited for them near the strip along with two other cars.
Morana took it all in - the men, the bulge of the guns under their jackets, the beautiful sunshine, the wind, everything as she looked out the backseat of the car to the passing city, absorbing it in a way she hadn’t before.
She wondered through it all if he had a bike here as well. If he had a sacred space in his bedroom. If his territory was a reflection of him.
She wondered where she would be staying - at the main house as Maroni’s guest or with him.
She wondered about a lot many things as everything seemed to happen in fast forward.
And then the cars stopped.
Morana peeked out from behind the glass, her heart drumming painfully in her chest as she saw the huge wrought iron gate that manned the beginning of the property, lush green grass rolling out far into the edge of a forested area. That beast of an almost-castle loomed farther up ahead the drive
almost ominously, another building farther behind that to the left but nothing else to be seen from this vantage.
The iron gates opened smoothly, four armed men standing near the control room.
Her nerves were shot.
The car went in motion again, moving forward, entering the premises.
Morana felt her heart thundering in her chest as she gazed upon that beast of a house, where everything had been put in motion twenty years ago, where everything had changed course a few weeks ago.
That house had changed her life twice.
And the magnitude of that reality settled upon her like a heavy cloud.
The car slithered closer and closer to the beast.
And then, finally, it came to a stop.
Her heart stopped.
Her eyes locked with his in the rear-view mirror, her inhale stuck in her throat.
“Breathe,” he mouthed.
Morana breathed.
They had arrived.
She was alone.
Sitting in the monstrous living room inside the mansion, Morana was still reeling over how easy it had been to get inside. The sun had been bright when they had emerged from the car. There had been guards all around but no one had reacted to seeing her with the two men. That had surprised her. She had expected to be greeted at the large doors by Maroni and his goons. She had expected guns being pointed and arguments being raised. She had half-expected being told to get lost or to die. What she had not expected was to get out of the car with Dante and Tristan Caine, have the guards greet them with nods of respect, and simply stroll inside the house. What she hadn’t expected furthermore was to be escorted by Dante into the living room, have him give her a reassuring nod, and then for both men to disappear. Not that she wanted to be in their company the entire time. She just hadn’t anticipated being on her own in the den of the enemy right in the first hour.
It had been twenty minutes since she’d seen the men walk deeper into the house to meet Maroni, she presumed. In those twenty minutes, Morana had taken stock of the room - and there was a lot to take stock of. Lush Persian rugs scattered around the monstrous space that was decorated with polished mahogany wood furniture and plush cushions. The walls reflected the same rock-cut exterior of the outside of the house. The room was a cross between rustic and royal - grey rocks and ornate gold, wood, and silk somehow coming together in a way that somehow pleased the senses while sending a chill down her spine. Maroni’s decorator had hit the target for the guests - get them comfortable but not enough to let them forget where they were.
She had also taken note of the cameras mounted at the corner of the ceiling, pointed right at her. Whoever was on the other side definitely got a good look at her leg when she had taken out her knives from her bag and strapped them to her thigh. They were the same knives she had stupidly tried to kill Tristan Caine with - the knives that had been collecting dust in her bag since the night she had gone back to his penthouse. She had never, for some reason, felt the need to bring them out there. That in itself was confounding considering she’d slept with weapons under her pillow every single night under her father’s roof for years. Not once in the penthouse though, not even that first night, not on any night since then.
The realization stunned her. Sitting in this living room, on edge being surrounded by unknown danger, she realized just how safe she had begun to feel in the penthouse now that it was gone. She had let her guards down, a little bit at a time when she thought no one was looking. On paper, she should be shaken for finding safety in the territory of a man who had hated her for twenty years. But paper castles were burned in her world every day. Since the night in the cemetery, she had stopped fighting what she felt and accepted it completely. Her acceptance was going to pave their way. They had enough blockages as it was.
The cool blade pressed against her skin in a way that reassured her. She wondered what it said about her, the fact that she found the lethal weapon comforting. Could that be why Tristan Caine somehow comforted her too? She knew herself enough to admit that. His presence, hell the mere knowledge of his existence, gave her more comfort than anything in her life had.
Her stomach grumbled slightly, breaking her musings. And then she realized something else - no one had come to serve her. From what she knew of the Maroni household, they had an abundance of staff and one of their duties was to greet guests. Yet, she’d been sitting there for over twenty minutes and not seen a soul. It was quiet, too quiet.
Heart starting to race, Morana leaned back deeper into the cushions, crossing one leg over the othe
