Chapter 4 - Inside the FortressThe ride to Victor Salvatore’s estate on the Gold Coast felt like passing through a portal into another century.
The estate was surrounded by towering wrought-iron gates, thick ivy-covered stone walls, and private security checkpoints that made the Peninsula Hotel look like a public park. When the black SUV glided through the gates and pulled up to the grand double doors of the sprawling neoclassical mansion, I felt a strange mixture of awe and claustrophobia.
I was trading one gilded cage for another, wasn't I?
As if reading my thoughts, Victor turned to me as he opened the car door. "You are not a prisoner here, Lena. You can walk out those front doors whenever you choose. But while you are inside, no one will ever lay a hand on you again. You have my word."
I stepped out of the vehicle, clutching his heavy wool coat around my shoulders. The night air smelled of lake water and manicured pine.
Inside, the mansion was a masterpiece of dark walnut, polished marble, and museum-quality art, yet it carried an unmistakable aura of a military command center. Guards in discreet suits stood silently at strategic corners, their movements disciplined and precise. Yet, despite the intimidation factor, the atmosphere inside was calm.
An older woman with silver hair tied back in a neat bun appeared in the foyer, her sharp eyes instantly taking in my tear-stained face, my ruined silver gown, and the oversized men’s coat wrapped around my frame.
"Master Victor," the woman said, her voice carrying a slight Italian accent. "I see the evening was eventful."
"Prepare the guest suite on the third floor, Maria," Victor instructed, his tone respectful yet firm. "And have the medical kit brought up. Also, prepare a warm bath and some comfortable clothes."
Maria nodded once, her gaze shifting to me with immense warmth and quiet understanding. "Right away, sir. Come with me, child."
I hesitated, looking back at Victor, who stood near the grand staircase.
"Go ahead, Lena," he said softly. "Maria will take care of you. We can talk in the morning."
For the next hour, the third-floor suite became a sanctuary I hadn't known existed. Maria tended to my bruises with gentle, calloused hands, whispering soothing words in Italian as she applied antiseptic and cool compresses to my ribs and shoulder. She didn't ask prying questions, nor did she judge. She simply treated me like a human being who mattered.
After slipping into a pair of soft silk pajamas Maria had provided, I sat by the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the dark, restless waters of Lake Michigan.
My phone, resting on the bedside table, had vibrated continuously for twenty minutes straight—dozens of missed calls, angry texts, and frantic voice notes from Derek. Threats alternating with desperate pleas.
Where the hell are you? Get back here right now or you'll pay for this!
Lena, please. I'm sorry. I was stressed about the business. Don't do this to us.
You think a mobster wants you? He’s using you, Lena! Come home!
With a trembling hand, I picked up the phone, unlocked it, and pressed a single button: Block Number.
May you like
Then, I powered the device off completely and set it face down on the nightstand.
The silence that followed was absolute. For the first time in five years, the suffocating shadow of Derek Hail was gone. But as I stared out into the dark waters, a new, heavy question loomed large in my mind: Who was Victor Salvatore, and why had he risked a war with Chicago’s elite just to save a broken waitress at a charity gala?
