Chapter 4 - The Fortress in River Forest
The Vane estate in River Forest was an imposing, iron-gated stone manor surrounded by ten acres of thick winter forest and high security walls.
Inside, the mansion was grand, furnished in dark mahogany, velvet, and warm firelight, radiating old-world wealth and absolute security.
Sheree sat on a deep leather armchair near a massive roaring fireplace in the primary library, holding a hot cup of chamomile tea that a quiet, elderly housekeeper named Mrs. Gable had brought her ten minutes ago.
The heavy oak doors opened. Nicholas walked in, having removed his coat and suit jacket. He wore a dark wool sweater, though his posture remained as rigid and commanding as ever.
He walked over, sitting across from her in a matching armchair, watching her over the rim of his glass of bourbon.
"You shouldn't have brought me here, Nicholas," Sheree said softly, her hands wrapped around the warm porcelain mug. "I have a life. I have double shifts at the hospital tomorrow."
"Your shifts at County General have been covered for the next two weeks," Nicholas replied calmly.
Sheree blinked, her eyes widening. "You did what?"
"I donated two million dollars to the hospital’s emergency wing twenty minutes ago," Nicholas said, taking a slow sip of his drink. "The chief of surgery personally granted you two weeks of paid administrative leave."
"You can't just buy my life!" Sheree stood up, her amber eyes flashing with genuine anger. "I am not one of your syndicate employees, Mr. Vane! You don't own me!"
Nicholas didn't get angry. He set his glass down, stood up slowly, and walked toward her. His movement was fluid, graceful, and completely devoid of the weakness he had shown on her sofa three nights ago.
He stopped right in front of her, the heat from his body radiating against the cool air of the room.
"I don't want to own you, Sheree," Nicholas whispered, reaching out to gently take her hand, lifting it to his lips, his mouth pressing a soft, lingering kiss against her knuckles. "I want to keep you alive. Julian Moretti knows who you are now. He knows you saved me. Until I finish this war, your apartment isn't safe."
Sheree looked down at their joined hands—his large, powerful hand holding her smaller, delicate fingers with breathtaking gentleness.
"Why do you care so much?" Sheree asked, her voice dropping into a quiet, vulnerable whisper. "You're a mafia Don. You could have sent money to my apartment and forgotten I existed."
Nicholas looked down into her eyes, his expression softening into a raw, profound honesty she hadn't expected from a man of his dangerous reputation.
"Four days ago," Nicholas said, his thumb tracing the soft skin of her wrist, "I was dying behind a dumpster in an alley. I've spent fifteen years surrounded by men who would step over my corpse to take my chair. And then a woman with tired eyes dragged me up two flights of stairs, stitched my flesh together, and told me to hold still."
He stepped closer, his broad chest brushing against hers, his scent—sandalwood, dark leather, and rain—filling her senses completely.
"You gave me my life back, Sheree," Nicholas murmured, his voice thick with an intense, intoxicating warmth. "The least I can do is give you my protection."
Before Sheree could reply, the library door opened sharply. Marco stood at the threshold, his face grave.
"Don Nicholas," Marco said quietly. "Julian Moretti just called an emergency meeting of the Commission at the Grand Hotel downtown. He’s demanding your surrender by midnight, or he attacks the riverfront docks."
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Nicholas’s dark eyes hardened back into cold steel. He released Sheree’s hand, adjusting his sleeves.
"Tell Marco to prep the cars," Nicholas ordered flatly. "It's time to end Julian."
