Chapter 2 - The Fortress on Rittenhouse
The ride to Rittenhouse Square was taken in a bulletproof Mercedes Maybach that smelled faintly of cedar, gun oil, and expensive leather.
I sat in the back seat with Leo still sleeping soundly against my chest, his little fist curled into the front of my white service shirt. Luca sat across from me, a heavy tablet glowing in his lap as he reviewed freight manifests and security reports, though every few minutes his eyes would drift up to check on the boy.
The car glided through the Philadelphia night, turning down a wrought-iron gated driveway that opened into a limestone courtyard surrounded by towering boxwood hedges and stone walls.
It wasn't a house. It was a compound disguised as a historic mansion.
Armed guards stood at the perimeter gates. Cameras scanned the property line. Yet inside, once Viktor opened the heavy oak front doors, the atmosphere was shockingly quiet—vaulted ceilings, marble floors, and warm brass fixtures that looked more like an art gallery than a safehouse for an organized crime syndicate.
"Mrs. Gable!" Luca called out as we stepped into the grand foyer.
An elderly woman with steel-gray hair tied in a neat bun hurried out from a side hallway, wiping her hands on a linen apron. Her anxious expression vanished the second she saw me—or rather, the second she saw the sleeping infant anchored to my collarbone.
"Blessed Mother," Mrs. Gable breathed, crossing herself. "He’s actually sleeping. He hasn't slept for more than forty minutes straight since Tuesday."
"Meet Avery," Luca said, stripping off his suit jacket and tossing it over the back of a velvet armchair. He loosened his tie completely, pulling it free from his collar. Without the barrier of the corporate armor, the stark geometry of the tattoo on his wrist and the rugged line of his scar gave him an even more dangerous, feral edge. "She is... currently serving as his biological security blanket."
Mrs. Gable looked me up and down, her eyes sharp and appraising, but filled with immense relief. "Come with me, dear. We’ll put him in the nursery, and I’ll draw you a cup of tea. You look like you’ve been dragged through a knot-hole."
"I have," I said weakly. "Literally ten minutes ago, I was pouring pinot noir for a corporate litigator who complained about the temperature of his butter."
Mrs. Gable let out a dry, surprisingly warm chuckle. "Well, welcome to the other side of the menu, child."
The nursery upstairs was enormous—larger than my entire studio apartment—with pale blue walls, built-in bookshelves filled with classic children’s literature, and an antique crib that looked like it belonged in a museum.
As I gently laid Leo down in the crib, his little face scrunched up in immediate protest. His eyes fluttered open, his lower lip trembling, and his tiny arms reached up into the air toward me before I could even pull my hands back.
"Ah," Mrs. Gable murmured softly. "Too late. You’re imprinted now."
"Imprinted?" I whispered, staring down at the baby as he immediately quieted the second my fingers brushed his tiny palm. "Is he a duckling?"
"Worse," Luca’s deep voice resonated from the doorway. He was leaning against the doorframe, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing thick forearms corded with muscle and that dark, mesmerizing ink. "He’s a Moretti. We don't let go of what we decide belongs to us."
I turned to face him, the adrenaline of the evening finally catching up to my nervous system, turning into a prickly, defensive heat.
"Look, Mr. Moretti—Luca—whatever we’re calling this," I crossed my arms, standing between the crib and the doorway. "This is insane. I’m a waitress. I have a car with a broken CV joint and an angry landlord. I cannot be a live-in nanny for a mob boss’s kid. I have a shift tomorrow at eleven."
"You don't have a shift tomorrow," Luca said calmly, stepping into the room. He closed the distance between us until he was standing just a few feet away. Up close, he smelled of sandalwood, rain, and danger. "Greg has already been instructed to accept your resignation, and your apartment lease has been bought out by one of my shell companies."
My jaw dropped. "You did what?"
"Your landlord was ecstatic," Luca replied, completely unfazed by my outrage. "He raised your rent by two hundred dollars last week, didn't he? I gave him ten thousand to sign over the deed. You don't live there anymore."
"You bought my apartment building?!"
"Just your unit. And the one above it, for security."
I stared at him, my mind spinning. "You are completely, clinically insane. You can't just kidnap a waitress and buy her apartment building because your baby likes her shoulder!"
"I didn't kidnap you," Luca corrected softly, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intense, paralyzingly direct focus. He took another step closer, lowering his voice so Mrs. Gable could barely hear as she quietly slipped out of the room. "I made you an offer you couldn't refuse. And trust me, Avery—compared to what I usually do to people who interfere with my business... offering you forty grand a month tax-free to sit in my house and hold my son is practically charity."
Forty thousand. A month. Tax-free.
My brain stalled. My rent was twelve hundred. My car payment was three-fifty. I had forty-three dollars in my checking account.
"Forty... thousand?" I squeaked.
"Per month," Luca confirmed, his lips curving into a very slow, very dangerous smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Starting tonight. You want the car fixed? We’ll buy you a new one. You want your student loans paid off? Give me the account numbers. But Leo stays with you, and you stay here, where I can keep you both safe."
"Safe from what?" I demanded.
May you like
The smile vanished from Luca’s face. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
"From the people who want to use my son to get to me," he said quietly. "And from the realization, Avery... that once you step into my world, walking back out the front door is no longer an option."
