Chapter 3 - The Fortress on the HudsonForty-eight hours later, I found myself standing inside a limestone mansion overlooking the Hudson River in Riverdale, trying to convince myself I hadn't accidentally signed a Faustian contract.
The estate was breathtaking—vaulted ceilings, towering French doors framing the river, and corridors lined with museum-quality art. Yet, despite the staggering luxury, the atmosphere inside was remarkably domestic. Maria Russo had claimed me the moment Leo dropped me off at the iron gates, steering me straight into a sunlit conservatory filled with orchids and botanical sketches.
"Nonsense, child, you are far too thin," Maria declared, setting down a cup of Earl Grey tea as she inspected my tailored navy blazer—a gift from her personal stylist that fit me with terrifying precision. "Antonio has been working his associates into the ground, and someone needs to make sure he eats vegetables at least once a week."
"Mrs. Russo," I said gently, adjusting the digital tablet displaying her updated medication schedule. "My job is to manage your heart medication, oversee your physical therapy, and ensure your daily routine runs smoothly. Managing your son’s dietary habits is strictly outside my job description."
"In this house, my son is just a very stubborn boy who forgets to sleep," Maria laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "And you, my dear, have the exact same stubborn look in your green eyes that my husband had when he was building this family fifty years ago."
Before I could respond, heavy footsteps echoed across the parquet floor of the hallway. The double doors opened, and Antonio walked in. He had discarded his suit jacket; his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing lean, corded muscle and faint scars along his wrists.
He stopped when he saw me, his dark eyes sweeping over my professional attire with an approving nod.
"I see the uniform upgrade was successful," Antonio remarked, his voice smooth as silk.
"It’s not a uniform, Mr. Russo. It’s professional attire," I retorted, lifting my chin slightly. "And according to my contract, I report directly to your mother, not the head of the household."
A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. "Is that right? Because last time I checked, I sign the checks that fund this entire operation, including your tuition grant at Columbia."
My breath caught. "You already processed the Columbia paperwork?"
"My legal team works faster than university admissions," Antonio said casually, walking over to pour himself a cup of coffee from the silver service. "Your classes start in three weeks. You’ll be taking evening lectures and clinical rotations at New York-Presbyterian. Leo has already arranged secure transport for your shifts."
I stared at him, a mixture of fierce gratitude and deep-seated apprehension warring inside me. "You didn't even ask if I wanted to go back to Columbia right now. You just... decided?"
"I decided that a woman with your mind shouldn't be wasting her life balancing plates for ungrateful bankers," Antonio said, his tone turning dead serious as he turned to face me. He stepped closer, closing the distance between us until the clean scent of his cologne filled my senses. "And I decided that anyone who tries to cage you will have to answer to me."
The intensity in his gaze made my knees weak. For ten years, men in my life had either used me, dismissed me, or expected me to stay invisible. Antonio Russo was looking at me as if I were the most important person in the room—and that terrified me far more than his syndicate reputation ever could.
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"You're playing a dangerous game, Antonio," I whispered, my voice barely audible above the hum of the conservatory heater. "People like you don't collect people like me unless there's a storm coming."
"Let it storm," he replied softly, his hand rising to gently tuck a stray strand of dark hair behind my ear. His fingers brushed my skin, warm and deliberate. "I've weathered worse than a storm, Sophie. I intend to keep you safe through this one."
