Chapter 4 - The Guest Wing
By midnight, the Moretti estate was bathed in quiet shadows.
Outside, a bitter Chicago snowstorm had begun to howl, sending white flakes swirling against the tall glass windows of the Gold Coast mansion.
Clara Carter was safe, resting comfortably in a luxurious second-floor guest bedroom under the care of Dr. Vance and Vera. Boyd Carter had been dealt with—Rhett's lieutenants had visited the house on 47th Street, ensuring the man would never set foot near Clara or Lena again.
In the master suite, Lena sat on the edge of the large Four-poster bed. She had been given a soft silk robe to wear while her uniform was being washed.
The door swung open, and Rhett stepped inside. He had removed his suit jacket, wearing only a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing his own dark, intricate tattoos and battle scars.
He carried a tray with two mugs of steaming tea and a small dish of honey.
"How is she?" Lena asked immediately, standing up.
"She’s sleeping," Rhett replied, setting the tray on the nightstand. "Marcus gave her a mild sedative for the pain in her shoulder. She’s safe, Lena. For the first time in twelve years, she can sleep without locking her door."
Lena let out a long, shaky breath, feeling the crushing weight she had carried for years slowly lift from her shoulders. She looked at Rhett, standing tall and dark in the soft amber light of the bedroom lamps.
"Why are you doing this?" Lena asked softly, walking over to him. "You don't know me. I'm just a maid's daughter."
Rhett looked down at her pale face, his dark eyes intense and unreadable. "You came here to protect your mother, knowing the risk. You carried the marks of a bomb my enemies set, and you never asked for a dime of compensation. You're stronger than any man I employ, Lena."
He reached out, his long fingers gently picking up her right hand. He raised her forearm, brushing the soft silk sleeve back to reveal the neat, pale surgical scars running along her skin.
He didn't flinch. He didn't look away. He lowered his head and pressed a warm, soft kiss directly onto the silver scar tissue near her wrist.
Lena’s heart skipped a beat. A warm shiver ran down her spine, starting from her arm and spreading through her entire body.
"Rhett..." she whispered, her voice trembling.
"These scars aren't ugly, Lena," Rhett murmured against her skin, raising his eyes to meet hers. "They are proof that you survived what was meant to destroy you. They make you beautiful."
Lena looked into his dark, fierce eyes, seeing no pity, no judgment—only an intense, raw desire that made her breath catch in her throat.
For three years, she had hidden her body under long sleeves, ashamed of the jagged lines left by the explosion, terrified of men who used their strength to harm. But standing in front of Rhett Moretti—a man who commanded Chicago's shadows—she felt completely safe.
"I spent three years hiding," Lena whispered, stepping closer to him, her chest pressing lightly against his. "I don't want to hide anymore."
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Rhett’s hand moved up to the nape of her neck, his broad palm cupping her head gently. "Then stay here with me," he growled softly. "Let me protect you."
Before she could answer, his lips covered hers in a deep, possessing kiss that shattered the last of her defenses.
