Chapter 3 - The Gates of the Caruso Estate
The Maybach slowed down as it approached a set of towering wrought-iron gates adorned with an intricate, gothic crest of a soaring hawk clutching a dagger.
Armed guards in tactical gear stepped out from the security booth, their assault rifles lowered only the instant they recognized the license plate and caught a glimpse of Damian in the back seat.
The gates groaned open, revealing a sprawling, fortress-like estate set deep within the heavily wooded hills of Westchester County.
It wasn't just a house; it was a limestone mansion surrounded by sprawling lawns, high stone walls, and patrolling K-9 units that looked like they could tear a man's arm off without breaking a sweat.
"Welcome to your new cage, Clara," Damian murmured, his tone devoid of warmth as the car glided up the circular driveway and came to a smooth stop in front of massive double oak doors.
"I am not your prisoner," I retorted, though the sight of the armed guards outside made my stomach twist into painful knots. "I have an apartment. I have a job—well, I probably don't have that job anymore thanks to you—but I have a life."
"You had a life," Damian corrected smoothly as the driver opened his door, stepping out to open mine. "As of ten minutes ago, your apartment in Brooklyn is being sanitized by my security detail, and your name has officially been scrubbed from every public database in the country. To the world outside these gates, Clara Monroe ceased to exist at 8:45 PM tonight."
"Are you insane?" I gasped, trying to pull away as he reached into the back seat and effortlessly scooped Leah into his arms.
The little girl stirred, letting out a soft whimper of protest at being moved away from me, her green eyes fluttering open.
"Mama..." she mumbled sleepily, her little arms reaching out blindly in my direction.
Damian froze for a fraction of a second, a flicker of raw, undisguised pain crossing his impenetrable features before he locked it back down behind his cold, mafia-boss facade.
"I've got you, little bird," he murmured, his voice softening just enough for me to hear the broken edges beneath the steel.
He turned back to me, extending a gloved hand. "Get out of the car, Clara. Unless you want my men to carry you inside like a sack of potatoes."
I glared at him, my teeth gritted so hard my jaw ached, but I knew when I was outmatched.
I slid out of the plush leather interior, the crisp autumn night air hitting my face like a splash of ice water.
As I stood beside him on the stone steps of the mansion, the heavy oak doors swung open, revealing an interior that looked less like a home and more like a European museum—marble floors, grand staircases, glittering crystal chandeliers, and paintings that looked like they belonged in the Louvre.
A middle-aged woman with silver hair pulled back into a severe bun and wearing a traditional housekeeper's uniform hurried out to meet us, her eyes widening in absolute shock when she saw Damian holding Leah—and then widening further when she saw me standing beside him.
"Mr. Caruso," the woman gasped, bowing slightly. "We didn't expect you back so soon, and—oh, sweet saints in heaven, is that Miss Leah?"
"Get the guest suite on the third floor prepared," Damian commanded, walking past her without breaking stride. "And call Dr. Vance's emergency private number. Tell him Damian Caruso wants a video conference within the hour, or I'll personally bring my collection of antique butcher knives to his Swiss chalet."
The housekeeper swallowed hard, casting a nervous glance in my direction as I followed close behind them. "Yes, sir. Right away, sir. And... and the young lady?"
"She stays with me," Damian said flatly over his shoulder. "Keep her locked in the west wing until I figure out whether she's an assassin sent by the Moretti family or the biological mother of my child."
"I am neither!" I shouted at his back, my temper finally snapping under the sheer exhaustion and absurdity of the situation. "I told you, I'm a waitress! I don't know any Morettis! I don't even know what you're talking about!"
Damian stopped at the base of the grand double staircase, turning around so fast I nearly collided with his chest.
May you like
He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that made it impossible to look away.
"Prove it," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. "Because right now, every coincidence points straight to treason. And in my world, treason is paid for in blood."
