Chapter 4 - The Fortress
Matteo dragged me out of the apartment before I could completely break down.
He shoved me into the back of a waiting armored SUV, tossing my terrified cat into my lap.
The vehicle sped through the rain-slicked streets of Chicago, blowing through every red light.
I buried my face in Oliver's orange fur, shaking uncontrollably as the image of my dead supervisor burned into my brain.
We finally pulled into the underground parking garage of a massive, monolithic skyscraper in the center of the city.
Heavily armed men escorted me into a private elevator that required retinal scans to operate.
The doors opened into a breathtaking, multi-million dollar penthouse that overlooked the entire sprawling skyline.
Vincent was sitting in a leather armchair near the window, his chest wrapped tightly in the bandages I had applied.
He looked exhausted, but his posture radiated lethal, terrifying authority.
He apologized for the destruction of my home, his voice surprisingly gentle.
He promised me that as long as I stayed inside this fortress, no one in the world could ever hurt me.
I realized I had absolutely no choice but to accept my new, terrifying reality as a prisoner of the mafia.
Over the next two weeks, I became Vincent's private, full-time caregiver.
I changed his dressings daily, treating his fresh gunshot wounds alongside the horrific, twisted burn scars covering his torso.
He never flinched away from my touch, though his men watched us with undisguised shock.
Slowly, the impenetrable walls around the feared mob boss began to crack.
Late one night, while I was checking his blood pressure, he finally spoke about the fire.
He explained how Isabella had smiled at him before pouring gasoline across the basement floor.
He told me about the agonizing heat, the smell of his own melting skin, and the ultimate betrayal of the woman he loved.
I listened quietly, running a soothing hand over his uninjured shoulder to keep him grounded.
I realized I was the only human being he had allowed to physically comfort him in over a decade.
A strange, beautiful connection began to bloom between us in the quiet isolation of the penthouse.
He started asking about my life, my favorite books, and why I always hid my gorgeous curves behind baggy scrubs.
For the first time in my life, I felt truly seen by a man who demanded the entire world look away.
I was laughing at a dry joke he made about hospital food when the penthouse was plunged into total darkness.
The massive floor-to-ceiling windows were suddenly covered by heavy, automated steel blast shutters.
The piercing scream of the security alarms echoed through the massive living room.
Vincent stood up instantly, ignoring his agonizing wounds as he pulled a heavy pistol from his waistband.
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The biometric locks on the front doors clicked open, completely overriding the multi-million dollar security grid.
Someone with master access inside the network had just opened the gates for Isabella's assassins.
