The Wife He Underestimated Chapter 05
The helicopter touched down on the Moretti estate lawn at dawn.
I stepped out, breathing in the scent of old roses and older money. The main house rose before me–three stories of Italian Renaissance architecture,
built by my great–great–grandfather in 1897. Home.
Father was waiting on the terrace, exactly as I knew he would be. Vittorio Moretti, in his customary three–piece suit, silver hair perfectly groomed
despite the early hour.
“Tesoro.” He embraced me, switching to Italian. “Finally.”
“Finally,” I agreed.
We walked inside together. The house staff had prepared breakfast in the conservatory–my favorite room, all glass and light and potted lemon trees.
Alessandro was already there, reviewing documents on his tablet.
“The prodigal daughter returns,” he said in English, grinning.
“I was never lost, Ale. Just temporarily misplaced.”
“In a penthouse in Manhattan with a man who didn’t deserve you.”
“Yes, well. I’m correcting that error now.”
Father poured espresso from a silver pot. Real Italian espresso, thick and dark and perfect. I’d missed this.
“Tell me what you need,” he said simply.
“London office. Small team. I want to start my own fund–boutique, specialized, targeting emerging markets and tech startups that are too risky for
traditional firms.”
“You’ll need capital.”
1 have my trust fund.”
“Isabelle, your trust fund is $800 million.”
“Then I have enough.”
Alessandro looked up. “You’re really doing this? Building from scratch?”
*1 built Marcus’s empire from scratch. This time, I want the credit.”
Father studied me over his espresso cup. “Marcus will try to stop you. Or worse, he’ll try to win you back.”
“Let him try”
“And when he discovers who you really are?”
5
“He already has. I got a message from his lawyer this morning. They’re scrambling.”
“Good.” Father’s smile was sharp. “Let them scramble. And Isabelle?”
“Yes?”
+45 Coins
“The board voted yesterday. Your seat is ready. They’ve been waiting five years for you to take your rightful place.”
My rightful place.
Not as Marcus Steele’s wife. Not as anyone’s shadow.
As Isabelle Moretti. Heir to the Moretti dynasty.
“I’ll take it,” I said. “But on my terms. I want autonomy over the investment division. Complete control. No interference.”
“Agreed.”
“And I want to clean house. Anyone who questioned my capabilities because I’m young, or female, or because I ‘wasted‘ five years on a marriage–they
go.”
Alessandro whistled low. “Ruthless, I like it.”
“I learned from the best,” I said, looking at Father.
He raised his cup in salute. “To new beginnings. And to teaching Marcus Steele what it means to lose a Moretti.”
We drank to that.
Later, alone in my childhood bedroom–now converted to a sleek home office–I opened my laptop.
Emails flooded in. Welcome messages from board members. Reports from the European offices. Investment opportunities waiting for my
And buried among them, one from Marcus.
Subject: We need to talk.
I deleted it without reading.
Then I opened a new document and began drafting my first official memo as Director of Investments for Moretti Group.
To: All Division Heads
From Isabelle V Moretti
review.
Re: Strategic Realignment
Effective immediately, I will be assuming full control of the investment division. Please prepare quarterly reports for my review. I expect detailed analyses of all current holdings, pending acquisitions, and rejected opportunities from the past three years.
We’re going to do things differently now.
Regards,
5
I.M.
I hit send and closed my laptop.
Through the window, I could see the estate grounds stretching out–perfectly manicured, timeless, powerful.
This was my world. It always had been.
I’d just forgotten for a while.
But I was remembering now.
And Marcus Steele was about to learn that divorcing Isabelle Moretti was the biggest mistake of his life.
