Chapter 2 - The Fortress in the Woods
Rain drummed a steady, hypnotic rhythm against the high arched windows of a secluded stone estate nestled deep within the Wisconsin pine forests.
I woke up to the scent of cedarwood, lavender, and antiseptic ointment.
My body throbbed with an all-consuming ache, but the dull agony in my fractured ribs was nothing compared to the hollow abyss carved into my chest.
I placed a trembling hand over my flat stomach.
The baby was gone.
Tears burned down my cheeks, soaking into the silk pillowcase as silent, ragged sobs shook my broken body.
"Cry if you must, Claire," a deep, gravelly voice spoke from the shadows near the hearth.
I turned my head slowly, wincing as the sharp pain flared along my collarbone.
Dante Moretti sat in a heavy leather armchair, wearing a dark turtleneck and sipping black coffee.
His rugged face bore the harsh lines of a man who had walked through hell and clawed his way out through the dirt.
"Why did you help me, Dante?" I whispered, my voice cracked and hoarse.
"You haven't seen Vincent in four years. You vanished before we ever married."
Dante set his porcelain cup down onto the wooden saucer without making a sound.
"I didn't do it to hurt Vincent," Dante said quietly, his eyes steady and unblinking.
"I did it because four years ago, Vincent locked me inside a shipping warehouse in Sicily to ensure our father’s syndicate crown fell into his hands."
My breath caught in my throat, my eyes widening through my tears.
"Vincent tried to kill you?"
"Vincent does whatever serves his immediate pride," Dante replied with a bitter, humorless smirk.
"Back then, it was power. Today, it’s Sophia Reynolds."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out an encrypted tablet, sliding it across the side table toward my bed.
"You think that fire was an accident, Claire?"
I stared at the tablet, my fingers trembling as I reached out to tap the screen.
"What are you talking about?"
May you like
"Lake Forest fire department ruled it an electrical malfunction within twenty minutes of extinguishing the flames," Dante said, his voice dropping into cold, lethal iron.
"Because Vincent’s bought-and-paid-for fire marshals wrote the report before the ashes were even cold."
