Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm at River Forest
By midnight, the heavy iron gates of the Moretti Estate in River Forest swung open silently under a dark, moonless sky.
The grand limestone mansion sat nestled among fifty acres of private forest, surrounded by high security walls, camera arrays, and twenty armed guards patrolling the grounds. To the outside world, it was an architectural masterpiece of old-money Chicago luxury. To me, it was the fortress where my heart had been broken three years ago.
A fleet of three black armored SUVs pulled up the long gravel driveway, their engines idling quietly in the crisp autumn air.
Inside the lead vehicle, Leo was fast asleep in the backseat, wrapped in a warm wool blanket, guarded by Mia and two of Dante's most trusted personal lieutenants—Marco and Ciro.
I sat in the front passenger seat beside Dante.
Dante wore a fresh black shirt, his heavy leather holster strapped across his shoulders, the dark steel of his custom Sig Sauer gleaming under the dashboard lights.
"Elena," Dante spoke, his hand reaching across the center console to wrap tightly around mine. His grip was warm, strong, and steady. "You stay in the vehicle with Marco until I clear the main hall. Do you understand me?"
I looked at him, searching his gray eyes. "Is she dangerous, Dante?"
"Victoria is desperate," Dante corrected flatly. "And a desperate coward with access to Falcone money is the most volatile weapon in this city. But she will never lay a hand on you or our son again. I swear that on my life."
He raised my hand to his lips, pressing a long, warm kiss against my knuckles, before opening his door and stepping out into the cold night air.
Ten armed Moretti operatives instantly formed a defensive perimeter around the SUV as Dante walked up the wide marble steps of the estate's front entrance.
I watched from the tinted window, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Inside the grand double doors, the main foyer was lit by a massive crystal chandelier.
Standing near the grand staircase, wearing a red silk gown, holding a glass of champagne, was Victoria.
She looked stunning—her dark hair styled flawlessly, her diamond necklace catching the chandelier light. But as Dante pushed open the heavy oak doors and stepped into the foyer alone, her polished, aristocratic smile faltered slightly.
"Dante," Victoria chimed, her voice carrying an artificial, practiced warmth as she walked down the marble steps. "You're late. The council members called twice regarding the shipping manifests for the East Coast docks. Where have you been?"
Dante didn't answer immediately.
He walked to the center of the marble foyer, stopping beside the dark mahogany display table. He pulled off his leather gloves, tossing them casually onto the table.
"I was at O'Hare, Victoria," Dante said smoothly, his voice dropping into a low, lethal register that echoed off the high ceilings.
Victoria froze mid-step on the third stair. Her hand holding the champagne glass tightened. "O'Hare? Why were you at the airport?"
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Dante turned his head, his gray eyes locking onto hers with a cold, terrifying intensity that made the color drain from her cheeks.
"I was picking up my son," Dante stated.
