Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary on the HillThe Maybach glided through the iron security gates of the Gallagher Estate perched high on the crest of Gold Coast at 3:00 AM.
The estate was a grand, stone fortress surrounded by high brick walls, private infrared security cameras, and broad-shouldered men in dark suits carrying suppressed automatic weapons.
When the vehicle stopped outside the grand mahogany front doors, Roman stepped out first, extending his broad, calloused hand to help me down.
I stared at his hand. My worn work shoes felt soaked, my feet throbbing from nine hours on the concrete floor.
"Mr. Gallagher," I hesitated, pulling my thin jacket close. "I can't stay here. I have to go home, pack my things before David—"
"David won't be setting foot inside your apartment building again, Clara," Roman interrupted smoothly, his gray eyes holding mine with an unshakeable, sovereign authority. "My operators cleared your personal belongings out twenty minutes ago. They are already unpacked in the east wing master suite."
My jaw dropped open in utter shock. "You moved my things without my permission?!"
Roman stepped closer, his broad frame blocking the cold night wind, his thumb reaching out to stroke my jawline with an unexpected, agonizing tenderness that made my pulse take a wild, dangerous leap against my ribs.
"I don't leave things I value in places where rodents can touch them," Roman murmured softly into the night air.
Before I could process his words, Roman leaned down, sweeping his broad arm beneath my knees and around my back, effortlessly lifting my body into his arms as if I weighed nothing at all.
"ROMAN!" I gasped, my face flushing hot as my hands instinctively clutched the lapels of his heavy wool coat. "Put me down! I can walk!"
Roman stopped dead in his tracks on the marble steps.
He looked down into my face, his storm-gray eyes burning with an absolute, heat-filled intensity that made my breath hitch in my throat.
"You called me 'baby' in front of my entire crew, Clara Vance," Roman whispered, his deep voice carrying an unyielding, eternal weight. "You made every man in that room realize I had a weakness. The least you can do is let me carry you inside."
My heart hammered so violently against my ribs I thought it would burst through my sweater. I buried my face into the crook of his warm neck, smelling the rich cedarwood and amber scent of his skin, as he carried me through the grand marble foyer up the sweeping double staircase.
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He set me down gently into a plush velvet armchair beside a roaring stone fireplace in a warm, firelit master suite.
The most feared mafia boss in Chicago knelt flat on the oriental rug before my chair, reaching out his long fingers to unlace my wet, broken work shoes, taking them off my bruised feet with a reverent care that brought sweet tears to my eyes.
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