Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary of the Study
The study was a sanctuary of dark leather, old books, and the comforting scent of cedar and tobacco. Gabriel led Elena to a plush leather sofa near the crackling fireplace, gently pressing her down onto the cushions.
"Sit," he ordered softly.
Elena swallowed hard, her voice shaking as she tried to pull her burned arm away from his sight. "Mr. Moretti, please... I can go home. I don't want to cause any more trouble. I can just... I can resign."
"You aren't resigning, and you aren't going anywhere until a doctor looks at that arm," Gabriel said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He walked over to a wet bar in the corner, grabbed a clean linen towel, and soaked it in a bowl of ice water. He returned to her side, kneeling on the oriental rug before her—a posture that would have shocked any of his rivals in the Boston underworld. The feared Don of the Moretti family, kneeling before a maid.
"This is going to be cold," he warned.
He gently laid the wet towel over her blistering forearm. Elena gasped, her eyes tightly shut as the freezing water fought the searing heat of the burn. Tears leaked from her eyelids, tracking through the soot and dust of the kitchen that still clung to her cheeks.
Gabriel watched her face. He had known Elena worked in the house for about six months, but he had never truly looked at her. She was quiet, almost invisible, moving through the estate like a ghost. Now, he noticed the delicate line of her jaw, the deep, expressive brown of her eyes, and the quiet dignity she maintained even while weeping in pain.
A knock sounded at the door, and Dr. Harrison walked in, carrying a leather medical bag. The old doctor took one look at Gabriel kneeling on the floor and sighed, setting his bag on the coffee table.
"Marco said it was a hot liquid burn," Harrison said, gently lifting the towel to inspect the damage. "Second-degree. It's going to blister, Gabriel, but if we treat it properly, there shouldn't be permanent scarring. What exactly happened?"
"An accident," Elena blurted out quickly, her eyes darting to Gabriel in fear. She knew the rules of the house—what happened inside the estate stayed inside the estate.
"It was an assault," Gabriel corrected her coldly, his eyes darkening as he thought of Camille. "And it will be treated as such. Clean the wound, Harrison. Give her whatever she needs for the pain."
As the doctor worked, applying a soothing antibiotic cream and wrapping the arm in clean white gauze, Gabriel stood by the window, watching the headlights of a town car cut through the rainy night as Camille was escorted off the property. He felt no regret. Only a profound, cleansing sense of relief. For months, he had allowed his advisors to convince him that a marriage to Camille Whitaker was necessary for the family's legitimacy.
He had almost tied himself to a viper.
"All done," Dr. Harrison said, snapping his bag shut. "She needs to rest, Gabriel. No manual labor for at least two weeks. Keep the bandage clean."
"Thank you, Doc. Marco will see you out," Gabriel said. He walked back over to Elena, who was looking down at her neatly bandaged arm. "Elena, you will take the next month off with full pay. I’ll have Marco arrange for a driver to take you to your apartment."
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"Thank you, Mr. Moretti," she whispered, standing up unsteadily. "For... for everything. You didn't have to do that."
"Yes, I did," Gabriel said, his voice dropping to a softer register. "In this house, my word is law. And my law protects everyone under this roof. Remember that."
