Chapter 2 - The Glass House
By midnight, the rose garden cottage was surrounded by six armed men in dark tactical gear.
Alessandro had moved us into the primary suite of the main mansion—a sprawling, bulletproof sanctuary on the third floor that no member of the domestic staff had ever stepped inside.
A private doctor hired by Alessandro had already treated my fever, administering an IV drip and confirming my worst fears: my well water in the cottage had been laced with low-grade chemical toxins designed to induce chronic weakness and disorientation without leaving an obvious trace.
I sat on a plush, velvet sofa in Alessandro’s private sitting room, wrapped in a warm cashmere blanket.
Emma was fast asleep in the master bed, her small thumb tucked into her mouth, looking impossibly small against the dark silk sheets.
The heavy mahogany doors opened, and Alessandro walked in. He had changed into a plain black sweater, his sleeves rolled up, revealing thick forearms lined with faint white scars. He held two mugs of hot tea, handing one to me before sitting on the ottoman across from my sofa.
"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.
"Better," I whispered, holding the warm mug between my hands. "The doctor said the fever will be completely gone by morning." I looked up, meeting his dark eyes. "Mr. Moretti... what was written on that receipt?"
Alessandro set his mug on the low table between us. He didn't lie. He didn't try to soften the blow.
"My uncle Vittorio wants my shipping territory," Alessandro said smoothly. "He knew I wouldn't leave this house for a public meeting unless a security breach forced me to. He was planning to use your daughter to stage an abduction inside the main house tomorrow afternoon, drawing me into a trap at the harbor."
My heart stopped. "Emma? They were going to hurt my baby?"
"No," Alessandro said, reaching out to cover my trembling hands with his own broad palm. His grip was firm, warm, and entirely steadying. "They were going to use her to hurt me. Because Vittorio knows something I haven't admitted to anyone in four years."
I searched his face. "What?"
Alessandro looked toward the open doorway of the bedroom, where Emma lay sleeping peacefully.
"Four years ago, my younger sister, Sofia, was killed during a territorial dispute in Brooklyn," Alessandro said, his voice dropping into a rough, low register. "She was nineteen. She had the exact same dark curls as Emma. The same laugh. The same habit of humming that Neapolitan lullaby when she was anxious."
A tear slipped down my cheek. "I didn't know."
"Nobody does," Alessandro replied. "I buried my sister, and I built iron walls around my heart. I hired you three years ago because your resume said you were quiet and kept to yourself. But every time I saw your daughter playing near the rose garden... every time I heard her voice... it broke something inside me that I had spent years trying to keep dead."
He looked directly into my eyes, his dark gaze burning with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"Mrs. Gable was arrested an hour ago," Alessandro continued calmly. "She confessed to taking payments from Vittorio’s lieutenant to doctor your water supply. The laundry receipt was a tracking slip used by Vittorio’s courier."
"What happens now?" I asked, my voice trembling. "We have to leave New York, don't we?"
Alessandro stood up, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the dark, rain-swept harbor below.
"You aren't going anywhere, Elena," he said, turning back to face me. "Tomorrow morning, my uncle thinks his plan is going according to schedule. He expects me to leave the house at noon."
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He reached into his pocket, pulling out a polished silver key, and set it on the table beside my mug.
"Tomorrow," Alessandro said, his jaw tightening into a lethal line, "Vittorio Moretti is going to learn why they call me the Wolf."
