Chapter 3 - The Safehouse on the RidgeThe black armored SUV tore through the winding mountain roads north of Seattle, climbing higher into the dense evergreen forests until the city skyline disappeared behind a shroud of gray mist. In the back seat, Dante sat propped up against a pile of tactical pillows, his face pale and slick with sweat from the exertion, but his dark eyes fixed entirely on me.
We had evacuated my house just minutes before a local police unit—bribed or tipped off by the Rossi family—arrived to find it surrounded by Dante’s private security detail, who had intercepted the hit squad before they could breach the front door. Kate and Mia were already safely inside the convoy, traveling in a separate, decoy vehicle headed toward a secure compound overlooking the sound.
"I am so sorry, Claire," Dante murmured, his voice strained as the SUV hit a bump in the gravel road, making his chest wound flare with pain. "I never wanted the violence to touch your world. The moment I heard they tracked you down, I knew my precautions had failed."
"Your precautions were a joke, Dante," I said, staring out the frosted window at the towering pines. "You thought you could lock me away in a domestic bubble while you played warlord in the shipping yards. Look where it got us. My daughter is hiding in a panic room because your enemies know my name."
"They won't touch her," Dante said, and for the first time, the tone in his voice wasn't a plea—it was the cold, terrifying certainty of a monarch declaring law. "The Rossi family thinks they can muscle into Seattle by cutting off the head. They don't realize that the head has already found something worth dying for."
The vehicle slowed to a halt before a massive iron gate embedded in a thick stone wall. The gates swung open automatically, revealing a sprawling, ultra-modern glass-and-steel fortress built into the side of the cliff, completely hidden from the main road.
As soon as the SUV parked, the rear door opened, and I saw Kate stepping out, holding Mia’s small, trembling hand.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I scrambled out of the car, ignoring the cold mountain wind, and sprinted across the cobblestone courtyard. "Mia!" I cried out, dropping to my knees just as my six-year-old daughter broke away from Kate and launched herself directly into my arms.
"Mommy!" Mia sobbed, burying her face in my neck, her little body shaking. "Men were banging on the door. I was so scared."
"I've got you, sweetheart, I've got you," I whispered, holding her tight, kissing her golden curls while hot tears streamed down my cheeks.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind us. I looked up and saw Dante standing near the SUV, leaning heavily against Mateo for support. He had stopped ten feet away, staring down at the little girl in my arms with an expression so overwhelmingly raw and broken that it tore straight through my remaining defenses.
May you like
Mia pulled back from my neck, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve, and turned to look at the stranger standing in the courtyard. She tilted her head, her dark brown eyes—framed by the exact same golden flecks as her father's—studying the tall, silver-tempered man in the dark jacket.
"Mommy," Mia whispered, pointing a small finger at Dante. "Why does that man look like the pictures of grandpa in our photo album?"
