Chapter 3 - THE WAR ROOM AND THE WARNING
Four days passed inside the estate.
Four days of suffocating luxury and absolute isolation. I was assigned a massive master suite on the third floor, featuring a terrace overlooking the Hudson, a walk-in wardrobe filled with new, high-end clothes tailored to my measurements, and a private chef who prepared three nutritious meals a day.
Dr. Sarah Vance—who, despite her shared surname, had no relation to Julian Vance—examined me daily. The baby was healthy, its heartbeat a strong, rapid flutter on the high-definition monitor that echoed through my quiet room every morning.
Yet, despite the comfort, I was a prisoner in a gilded fortress.
Guards stood at every corner of the property. I wasn't allowed access to phones, laptops, or the internet. My only connection to the outside world was Dante Castellano.
Every evening at eight o'clock, Dante would enter my suite. He didn't touch me, nor did he make any romantic advances. He would simply sit in the armchair near my bed, drink a glass of scotch, and talk to me.
He asked about my life before Julian—my upbringing in upstate New York, my work as a senior paralegal at Harland & Wilson, my love for classical literature and dark roast coffee. In turn, I learned about him. He had taken over the Castellano empire at twenty-eight after his father was assassinated by a rival family. He had spent ten years consolidating power, eliminating threats, and building a legitimate business empire of real estate and shipping to cover his family's underground operations.
"You speak of your empire like a heavy burden," I said to him on the fifth night, as rain pattered gently against the balcony glass. I was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a soft grey cashmere sweater Dante had bought for me.
Dante looked up from his glass, a bitter, faint smile touching his lips. "Power is not a privilege, Eliza. It is a cage. The moment you step into this seat, every man beneath you wants your position, and every enemy outside wants your life. You can never sleep with both eyes closed."
"Then why do it?"
"Because if I don't run this city, men like Antonio Moretti will," Dante said, his eyes darkening. "And under Moretti, New York becomes a playground for human traffickers, drug lords, and butchers. I maintain order. I enforce boundaries."
"And Julian?" I asked, the name still burning like ash in my throat. "Have you found him?"
Dante set his glass down on the side table. He reached into his coat and pulled out a sleek black satellite phone, placing it on the mattress between us.
"Three hours ago, Julian made contact," Dante revealed flatly.
My heart skipped a beat. "What did he say?"
"He offered a trade," Dante replied, watching my face closely. "He knows the Morettis are closing in on his location in Montreal. He knows he can't sell the ledger without them killing him immediately after the transfer. So he called me."
"What kind of trade?"
"He wants five million dollars cash, a clear passage to South America, and a fake identity," Dante said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy baritone. "In exchange, he will return the ledger..."
He paused, his amber eyes locking onto mine with terrifying intensity.
"...and he demands that I hand you over to him at the exchange site."
Cold fear rushed through my veins. "He... he wants me back?"
"He doesn't want you, Eliza," Dante spat, his fist tightening until his knuckles turned white. "He realized that you are carrying his heir. In Julian’s twisted mind, having a son gives him legitimacy. He wants to take you to Argentina, lock you in a room, and keep his child under his control."
I began to shake, the reality of Julian's madness washing over me. He didn't just betray me; he wanted to turn me into a permanent captive in a foreign country.
"What... what did you tell him?" I whispered, tears brimming in my eyes.
Dante stood up from the chair. He walked over to the bed, leaning down until his face was inches from mine. The heat radiating from his broad frame was overwhelming, a protective wall of pure, uncompromising muscle and dark authority.
"I told him," Dante murmured, his thumb reaching out to trace the line of my jawline, "that I would meet him at the abandoned docks in Brooklyn tomorrow night at midnight."
"Dante, no!" I gasped, reaching up instinctively to clutch the sleeve of his shirt. "It's a trap! He's working with the Morettis!"
"I know it's a trap, Eliza," Dante said softly, his fingers gently tucking a strand of dark hair behind my ear. "Julian thinks he is playing a game of chess with me. He thinks he can use you as his ultimate pawn."
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He leaned down further, his lips lightly brushing against my temple—a touch so gentle, so filled with fierce, unspoken devotion that it made my heart hammer wildly against my ribs.
"He doesn't understand," Dante whispered against my skin, "that the moment he put your life in danger, he stopped playing chess. Tomorrow night, I am going to wipe Julian Vance and the Moretti family off the face of this city. And then I am coming back to you."
