Chapter 2 - The Fortress in the Hills
The rain lashed against the tinted, bulletproof windows of the SUV as we climbed higher into the darkened hills that overlooked the glittering city basin. I knew where we were going without having to ask. Everyone in the city knew the legends about the Ferrara estate—a sprawling fortress of limestone, steel, and high-tech security nestled behind iron gates, surrounded by acres of private woodland.
I kept my hands firmly pressed over my abdomen. The shock of the ambush was slowly giving way to a bone-deep exhaustion, but adrenaline still kept every nerve in my body on high alert.
Matteo didn't take his eyes off me. He sat sideways on the leather bench, watching my every breath with predatory focus. Yet, despite the cold aura of power that radiated from him, there was a strange, uncharacteristic gentleness in the way he reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean linen handkerchief.
He leaned forward. I stiffened instinctively, pulling back against the door.
Matteo paused, his jaw tightening slightly at my flinch, but he didn't retreat. "You're bleeding, Sera. Small scratch on your cheek. From the glass."
Before I could protest, his large, calloused fingers gently cupped my chin. His touch was warm, firm, and surprisingly tender. He dabbed at my cheek with the linen, his gaze flickering down to my lips before locking with my eyes. The proximity brought back the ghost of that rainy night on the balcony months ago—the intoxicating scent of cedarwood, expensive tobacco, and rain that seemed to cling to his skin.
"I can take care of myself," I said quietly, though my voice lacked conviction. "I’m an ER nurse. I treat trauma every single night."
"Not this kind," Matteo replied softly, not letting go of my chin. "You treat the aftermath, Little Doctor. I live in the storm that causes it. And tonight, that storm found you."
"Because of you," I countered, looking straight into his dark brown eyes. "Those men in the garage weren't after a hospital nurse. They were after you."
A flicker of sorrow, instantly swallowed by icy darkness, crossed his aristocratic features. "Yes. They were. Which is why you cannot return to your apartment. You cannot return to St. Agatha’s tomorrow. You belong under my roof now."
"I have a life, Matteo! A career! A home!" My voice rose, the panic bubbling up again. "You can't just abduct me because I'm having your baby!"
"I am not abducting you," he said calmly, though his words were an iron decree. "I am keeping you alive. Whoever ordered that hit tonight knows you were with me. To my enemies, an innocent woman carrying my blood is not a person—she is leverage. They will cut you open to bleed me dry. Do you understand what that means?"
The blunt cruelty of his words struck me like a slap. My stomach churned, and a sudden wave of morning sickness, triggered by fear, surged up my throat. I swallowed hard, turning pale, pressing my palm flat against my mouth.
Matteo moved instantly. "Marco, slow down. Smooth out the turns."
Without waiting for permission, he slid across the seat and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me firmly against his side. "Breathe, Sera. Just breathe. You're safe. We're inside the gates."
Outside, heavy wrought-iron gates swung open automatically, flanked by armed guards in dark tactical gear. The SUV glided up a winding driveway lined with ancient weeping willows and modern surveillance towers, stopping before a massive limestone manor that looked more like a modern castle than a private residence.
The heavy door was opened by another guard. Matteo stepped out first, then turned and offered me his hand. I looked at his palm—the faint white scar from the cut I had stitched three months ago was clearly visible across the meat of his hand.
Reluctantly, I placed my cold fingers into his warm grasp.
The moment my feet touched the stone pavement, my knees gave out from sheer nervous exhaustion. But Matteo caught me before I could fall, scooping me up into his arms effortlessly as if I weighed nothing at all.
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"Put me down! I can walk!" I gasped, mortified as armed men averted their eyes respectfully.
"You've been on your feet for a twelve-hour shift, survived an assassination attempt, and you're carrying my child," Matteo said, his voice echoing in the grand, vaulted marble foyer as he carried me inside. "You aren't taking another step tonight, Sera. Get used to it."
