Chapter 2 - The Fortress on Beacon HillThe Maybach pulled through a pair of massive wrought-iron security gates that swung shut with a heavy, mechanical CLANG, sealing out the rain and the dark streets of Boston.
The Conti Estate sat perched on the highest crest of Beacon Hill—a grand, four-story stone fortress surrounded by soaring brick walls, infrared security cameras, and broad-shouldered men in dark suits carrying suppressed automatic rifles.
When the car stopped outside the grand mahogany front doors, Matteo stepped out first, extending his broad, calloused hand to help me down.
I stared at his hand. "I have boots, Conti. I can walk."
A faint, breathtaking smirk touched the corner of his lips—the first real smile I had seen on his face all night. "You're wearing broken heels, Clara. And your feet are bleeding from the glass at the club."
Before I could object, his broad arm swept beneath my knees and around my back, lifting me effortlessly into his arms as if I weighed nothing at all.
"PUT ME DOWN!" I hissed, my face flushing hot despite the freezing rain.
"You really need a new catchphrase," Matteo rumbled smoothly, carrying me through the grand marble foyer toward a sweeping double staircase.
The interior of the mansion was breathtaking—a cathedral of warm mahogany, soaring archways, and glowing crystal chandeliers. Standing near the bottom of the stairs was an elderly, distinguished housekeeper in a black apron—Mrs. Martha—holding a silver tray with warm towels and hot tea.
"Mr. Matteo!" Mrs. Martha gasped, taking in his bloody temple and the wet waitress in his arms. "My lord! What happened at the venue?!"
"Julian Vane made his move, Martha," Matteo reported flatly, carrying me into a cozy, firelit sitting room on the second floor, gently setting me down into a plush velvet armchair near the hearth. "Have Dr. Vance meet us in the master suite to check her ankles. And bring up a warm meal."
"Right away, sir," Martha bowed quickly, hurrying down the hall.
Matteo dropped onto one knee flat on the rug before my chair. He reached out, his broad hands carefully, reverently taking off my soaked, broken work shoes, exposing my bruised, glass-cut feet.
I winced, pulling back slightly, but his grip remained gentle and firm.
"Why didn't you tell me about the land lease, Matteo?" I whispered, watching his dark hair catch the amber light of the fire as he used a warm cloth to wipe the dirt from my ankles. "Why let me work double shifts at the Velvet Room for forty dollars?"
Matteo looked up, his storm-gray eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my heart leap against my ribs.
"Because your father wanted you to have a normal life, Clara," Matteo confessed softly, his thumb gently stroking the skin near my heel. "He didn't want you dragged into the filth and violence of my world. I paid your mother's medical bills through an anonymous charitable foundation for ten years. But three weeks ago... Julian Vane uncovered the trust records."
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He stood up, towering over my chair, buttoning his vest, his posture shifting back into that of an absolute, sovereign commander.
"Julian knows that if he kills you, the land lease defaults back to the municipal bank he controls," Matteo said. "Which means as long as you draw breath... you are the most dangerous woman in Boston to his syndicate."
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