Chapter 24: The Weight of the Crown
The drive back from the Navigli district was a silent, tension-filled journey. Adriano sat behind the wheel of the Maserati, his knuckles white as he navigated the rainy streets of Milan. Beside him, Élise clutched the singed leather satchel in her lap, her gaze fixed out the window at the blurred lights of the city.
Every fiber of her being screamed for her to run to head to the airport, to return to the simple safety of her mother's kitchen in Paris. Yet, every time she looked at Adriano's profile the sharp line of his jaw, the raw exhaustion etched into his features she felt a magnetic pull that she couldn't explain. He wasn't just her boss anymore; he was a man who had admitted he was drowning, and she was the only one he was reaching for.
When they arrived at his private penthouse in the heart of the city, the silence only deepened. This wasn't the glass fortress of Varese; this was his true sanctuary a space of dark wood, leather, and walls lined with books.
"You're shaking," Adriano said softly, closing the heavy oak door behind them.
"I don't know who to believe," Élise whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows. "Pedro tells me you're a monster who erased your own sister. You tell me he's a ghost who wants to destroy everything. And I'm just... I'm just the girl who dropped her papers in an elevator."
Adriano walked toward her, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator trying not to spook its prey. He stopped just inches away, the heat from his body radiating through the damp fabric of his shirt. He reached out, his fingers gently lifting the satchel from her hands and placing it on a side table.
"I cannot change the past, Élise," he said, his voice a low, jagged vibration. "And I cannot change the fact that my family is built on a foundation of secrets. But I am not the man Pedro wants you to see. I have spent ten years holding this empire together so that the 'Moretti' name would stand for something other than tragedy."
He led her toward the large, oversized sofa. "Stay. Just for tonight. No gates, no guards. Just the truth."
As the night wore on, the apartment became a cocoon against the world. Adriano didn't try to hide anymore. He sat on the floor by the fireplace, the light of the embers casting long shadows across his face, while Élise sat on the edge of the sofa, wrapped in a cashmere throw he had given her.
He told her about Sofia the sister who had been the heart of the family. He spoke of her brightness, her talent for art, and the way the Vigna del Sole had been her sanctuary. He didn't shy away from the pain; he spoke of the day the vineyard burned, a day caused by a series of reckless choices and a family feud that had spiraled out of control.
"Pedro wanted to take her away to a life she wasn't ready for," Adriano explained, his eyes fixed on the fire. "I tried to stop him. I tried to keep her safe within the walls of our legacy. We fought, and in the chaos... we lost her. Not just to the fire, but to the fallout. My parents erased her name to protect the company's image. I let them do it because I thought silence was the only way to survive the grief."
Élise watched him, her heart aching. For the first time, she saw the "Ice CEO" as a person who had been forged in fire. "And Pedro?"
"Pedro blames me because I stayed," Adriano said. "He thinks that by choosing to lead the company, I chose the money over our sister. He's spent a decade trying to prove that I'm just as corrupt as the people who erased her."
He looked up at her then, his dark eyes filled with a raw, terrifying sincerity. "Then you walked in. You didn't know the history. You didn't know the secrets. You just looked at me and saw... me. And for the first time in ten years, I felt like I didn't have to be a ghost."
Élise felt a wave of mixed emotions. She felt the fear of the power he held, the anger at being manipulated by Pedro, and a growing, undeniable flame of affection for the man sitting before her. She reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she rested it on his shoulder.
"I came to Italy for a job, Adriano," she whispered.
"I know," he replied, leaning his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes as he felt her touch. "But you found a war. And I am so sorry for that."
They didn't sleep much that night. They talked until the sky turned a pale, bruised purple. They went through the contents of the satchel together not as boss and intern, but as two people trying to piece together a broken puzzle.
By dawn, Élise was exhausted, her mind a whirlwind of information. She still missed Paris. She still feared the Moretti name. But as she watched Adriano fall into a light, fitful sleep in the armchair across from her, she realized she couldn't leave. Not yet.
The "Silent Intern" had found a story she needed to finish.