Suite 1406
Chapter 02 - Suite 1406
Storm did not take them upstairs like prisoners.
That mattered to Juliet, though she hated that it mattered.
He asked the hotel manager for a private sitting room. He told security to keep distance. He let Leo walk beside her instead of being guided by strangers in black suits.
Still, every step through the Bellmont lobby felt like a door closing behind her.
Suite 1406 was not a guest room. It was a private reception parlor with cream walls, a blue velvet sofa, a walnut desk, and windows looking down on Madison Avenue. A bowl of green apples sat untouched on the table, arranged with the kind of beauty that made real hunger feel vulgar.
Leo sat on the sofa, silver toy car in his lap.
Juliet stood behind him.
Storm remained near the window.
He had not taken off his black suit jacket. He had not raised his voice. He had not asked to hold the boy or demanded explanations like men in lesser dramas did.
That was worse.
Storm Moretti had always been most dangerous when calm.
“Leo,” he said, “do you like hot chocolate?”
Leo looked at Juliet for permission.
Her throat tightened.
“Yes,” she said.
Storm glanced at one of the security men. “Hot chocolate. Marshmallows if they have them.”
Leo’s eyes widened a little.
Juliet looked at Storm.
“You don’t get to buy his trust with sugar.”
“No,” Storm said. “I get to make sure a six-year-old is warm while adults ruin his morning.”
She looked away first.
That angered her too.
A woman arrived with hot chocolate within three minutes. Leo accepted it solemnly, thanked her, and placed the silver car beside the cup as if it needed a seat.
Storm waited until the door closed.
Then he looked at Juliet.
“Start with why he thinks I am dead.”
Juliet drew a breath.
The truth had many beginnings. None of them were clean.
“Because when I was pregnant, your mother’s attorney gave me a death notice.”
Storm did not move.
“A what?”
“A private death notice. Not public. Not the kind you print in a paper.” Her voice held because Leo was watching her. “It said Alessandro Moretti had died during medical transport after the accident in Corsica.”
Storm’s face changed at the name.
Alessandro.
The name his family used before he became Storm in the press, before the scar behind his left ear, before the nine-month silence after the crash no one explained fully.
“I was not dead.”
“I know that now.”
“When did you know?”
Juliet felt the room tilt.
“When Leo was two.”
His eyes hardened.
She accepted that. She deserved the look, or part of it. Not all.
“I saw a business article. You were photographed at a port opening in Singapore. I called the number I had for your old office. It was disconnected. I sent a letter through Moretti Holdings.”
“I never received it.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Juliet reached into her bag and removed a folded envelope, old and soft at the creases.
“Because it came back with this.”
She handed it to him.
Storm opened it.
Inside was a typed note on thick ivory paper.
Ms. Carmichael,
Mr. Moretti is aware of your claims and rejects any attempt to exploit past acquaintance for financial benefit. Any further contact will be considered harassment.
Marcella Moretti
Chair, Moretti Family Office
Storm read it twice.
His mouth flattened.
Juliet continued.
“There was another letter. From someone named DeLuca. He said if I loved my child, I would keep him away from families that eat boys before they become men.”
Storm looked up.
“Victor DeLuca?”
“I don’t know.”
His hand closed around the paper.
Victor DeLuca had been his father’s oldest lawyer. Dead now. Or so the family said.
Leo sipped his hot chocolate and watched them over the rim.
“Mom,” he said, “is he mad because of the car?”
Juliet’s heart clenched.
“No, baby.”
Storm crossed the room slowly and crouched several feet from Leo, not close enough to startle him.
“I’m not mad at you.”
Leo considered him.
“Grown-ups get mad quiet sometimes.”
Storm looked at Juliet.
She did not explain.
Leo had learned that sentence from life, not lessons.
Storm’s phone buzzed.
He looked at it.
His mother.
Again.
This time, he answered on speaker.
“Mother.”
Marcella Moretti’s voice came through like silk pulled over a blade.
“Storm, I assume you have seen the woman in the lobby.”
Juliet went cold.
Storm’s eyes did not leave hers.
“I have.”
“Good. Do not let her leave until legal arrives. She has been trying to access you for years.”
Leo put down his cup.
Juliet placed a hand on his shoulder.
Storm’s voice stayed smooth.
“Mother, why did you send Juliet a notice saying I was dead?”
Silence.
Small.
Deadly.
Then Marcella laughed softly.
“My darling, ask yourself why she kept it.”
The line clicked off.
Leo whispered, “She sounds like Grandma Vivian.”
Juliet went still.
Storm noticed.
“Who is Grandma Vivian?”
Juliet closed her eyes.
The secret she had carried was not the only one in the room.
“Leo,” she said softly, “show him the bottom of the toy car.”
The boy turned it over.
Storm bent closer.
Etched beneath the silver frame were two letters.
V.D.
Victor DeLuca.
Storm looked at Juliet.
May you like
She nodded.
“The man who warned me,” she said, “also helped deliver your son.”
