Page 9 of Hidden Empire

My eyes widen, and I look to Dante, preparing myself for him to lash out. I’m almost more shocked by the expression on his face than I am by Matteo’s bold words. He’s shaking his head, lips flattened into a line, but there’s amusement in his eyes.

“Lucky for you since your existence is a result of my… love life.”

Matteo cackles at this, tossing his head back and roaring with delight. “Love life,” he repeats, chuckling. “Already censoring yourself, that’s perfect.”

“I’ve never had siblings, no,” I answer with a shrug.

“Until now,” Matteo chimes, smiling.

I hope.

Tensions seem to dissipate, and easier conversation begins to flow. My stomach settles as I finish my soup and crackers, but I don’t ask for more. There’s no way I’m risking throwing up surrounded by my potential family.

Matteo is the leader of most of the conversation, which is a bit of a relief since I can’t remember most of their names. I’m especially thankful that he doesn’t pry into the damage on my hands, nor anything too deeply personal. I’m quizzed on my favorite things. Color (red), food (french fries), drinks (apple juice), and other little things that I sort of black-out while answering. It feels too much like a dream to relish in it, but I can’t stop it from happening. It’s the most calm dinner I’ve had in—well, ever.

Armani, I’m like ninety percent sure that’s his name, asks some questions as well. Is my hair dyed? Nope. Do I have social media? Couldn’t even if I wanted to, but I just tell him no. He’s covered in tattoos, and he asks if I have any myself. Dante looks almost worried until I explain that I don’t. No piercings either. You need money for those things, so I’ve never even asked myself if I’d want them.

I catch myself smiling until footsteps draw my attention, and I suck in a nervous breath, finding that Doc has returned already.

Somehow an hour since having my blood taken has passed. I can’t remember a single time in my life before now when I sat at the dinner table for an hour just enjoying a conversation. Then again, I’ve never been a part of a table so big and full before, either. A small stack of white paper is passed to Dante without a word.

The test results are given with only a simple nod. The smile that lights up Dante’s face as he scans the printed result fully cements it.

I’m Dante Moretti’s daughter. I have a dad, and he’s glad to have me.

If this is a dream, I never want to wake up.

Chapter 4

Jade

Half of my brothers have to leave after dinner. Though they seem reluctant to do so, I’m sure they have great reasons. This was an entirely unexpected development for them, and I can tell they seem like busy men.

I wish they would have told me their names again before parting, but the apologetic looks are enough for me to know I’ll see them again. While some leave, others stay. Notably Apollo, Armani, and Matteo, who I assume all live here.

It’s a bit awkward bidding the group who leaves goodbye. We don’t hug or shake hands, but I wonder if maybe it would have been nice to. There isn’t much time to dwell on it as I’m offered a look at where I’ll be staying.

“This is your room,” Dante—Dad—tells me. He picked a room on the second floor of his ginormous home without blinking. Like he knew exactly where he would want to put me as soon as he laid eyes on me. “We can change anything in here to fit your style if you want. It hasn’t been used in ages, it could do with an update.”

An update? Really? Royalty could stay here comfortably.

A bed that could surely sleep five of me sits against the furthest wall, stacks of pillows resting against a luxurious upholstered headboard, dressed with silky sheets and soft blankets. Matching dressers, drawers, and side tables settle around the space, perfectly arranged to keep the room open but cozy.

Each wall is painted a rich and creamy hazelnut color, accented with gold-framed paintings and sconces. There are two doors on either side of the bed, both cracked open to show a peek inside. A bathroom and a closet that could be three closets.

The marble floor beneath my feet isn’t black and white like I’ve seen before; it’s like toffee. A cream-colored base and caramel-brown accents breaking through it as lightning might break through the sky. It’s like a coffee with too much milk decorated with slashes of light maple syrup. I feel like I should be arrested for stepping on something so lovely with my tattered sneakers.

I blink, wondering if my eyes are working properly. There’s no way this whole place is mine. It’s huge.

I mean, it literally has a chandelier. A fucking crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the ceiling.

“This room is for me? Are you sure?”

“If you like,” my father says carefully, as if he isn’t sure that he’s saying the right thing. “We have other guest rooms, but they aren’t as furnished, and they’re farther from our rooms. Is there something you don’t like about it?”

“It’s too much,” I reply frankly. “I don’t need this much space. Does anyone need this much space?” I’m not complaining, necessarily. I just can’t imagine that there isn’t another purpose it could be better used for. Is this what rich people deal with? Too many big-ass rooms that some of them sit unused for years?

He gives a little laugh of relief. “Space isn’t exactly something we’re lacking in, sweetheart. Trust me, it’s not too much.”

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