Chapter 4 - The Fortress on the Hill
By three o'clock in the morning, the garden cottage was nothing more than a crime scene wrapped in yellow tape and surrounded by fifty armed Moretti enforcers.
We were moved into the main mansion—specifically, into the master suite on the second floor. It was a massive room with mahogany furniture, a grand stone fireplace, bulletproof windows, and a king-sized bed covered in dark silk sheets.
Emma was sitting in the middle of the massive bed, fast asleep, clutching her wooden spoon and the gold button she had salvaged from Alessandro’s coat.
Dr. Vance had cleaned and bandaged my arm where the gunman had grabbed me, while another physician attended to Matteo down the hall. Matteo’s wound was clean—the bullet had passed through the meat of his flank without striking any organs.
I sat on the edge of the bed, wearing a clean, warm velvet robe that Alessandro’s housekeeper had brought me.
Alessandro stood near the fireplace, his shirt changed, his collarbone neatly bandaged beneath a fresh black sweater. He held a glass of dark amber liquor, staring into the flames.
"You can never go back to that cottage," he said quietly.
"I know," I replied, my voice raspy. "I'm sorry, Mr. Moretti. I brought this war to your home."
Alessandro turned around slowly. The amber light of the fire caught the sharp angles of his jaw and the deep, dark intensity of his eyes.
"You didn't bring this war here, Clara," he said, setting his glass on the mantelpiece. "The war was already here. The Valentis have been trying to find a tear in my armor for ten years. They thought they could create one by using you."
He walked over to the bed, stepping softly so as not to disturb Emma. He sat down on the leather bench at the foot of the bed, looking at me with an expression that made my pulse jump in a way that had nothing to do with fever.
"Don Valenti is currently hiding in an armored estate in North Jersey," Alessandro continued smoothly. "He believes his strike team succeeded in taking you. He is expecting a phone call from his men at dawn."
"What will you do when he finds out they failed?" I asked.
"He won't find out from a phone call," Alessandro said softly. "He will find out when I tear the front gates off his estate at six in the morning."
I reached out, my fingers touching the rough wool of his sleeve before I could stop myself. "It's dangerous, Alessandro. He knows you're coming."
Alessandro looked down at my hand resting on his sleeve, then raised his eyes to meet mine. For the first time since I had met him three months ago, the cold mask of the Wolf of the East River slipped away completely, revealing the man beneath—a man who had spent his entire life fighting to protect an empire, only to realize that the empire meant nothing if it was empty.
"Let him know," Alessandro whispered, covering my hand with his large, warm palm. "Let the whole city know that I am coming. They called you my weakness, Clara. They called this child my ruin."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping into a deep, steady hum that vibrated straight through my chest.
"They were wrong. You are not my weakness. You are the only thing in this miserable world worth fighting for."
I stared at him, my breath catching in my throat. "Alessandro... I'm just a seamstress. I have no money, no family, no power..."
"You have more courage in your small finger than every boss in this city," he said firmly. "You survived two years of poverty without selling your soul. You raised a girl who isn't afraid to look the Wolf in the eye and tell him he looks sad."
May you like
He stood up, bending down to press a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead—a kiss that felt like a sacred promise sealed in the dark.
"Rest now, Clara," he whispered against my skin. "When you wake up tomorrow morning, the Valenti family will no longer exist. And you and Emma will never have to worry about a roof over your heads again."
