Chapter 4 - The Velvet Cage
Hannah spent her first night in the Moretti mansion in a suite larger than her entire two-bedroom apartment in Logan Square. The bed was wrapped in Egyptian cotton, the bathroom featured heated marble floors and a clawfoot tub, and on the vanity sat three sets of designer casual wear, neatly tailored to her exact measurements. Gabriel Moretti was terrifyingly efficient.
At 7:00 AM, a soft tap sounded at her door. When she opened it, she found Noah standing in flannel pajama pants and a gray hoodie, holding Dasher by the foot. He looked up at her through his messy fringe of dark hair, raised two fingers to his temple, and tapped them twice.
Good morning. It was a sign she hadn't taught him; he had invented it himself overnight.
""Good morning, buddy,"" Hannah whispered, kneeling on the carpet so they were at eye level. ""Did you sleep okay?""
Noah nodded once, then held out his hand. He led her down the winding spiral staircase toward the kitchen, completely bypassing the formal dining room where Gabriel sat at the head of a twenty-foot mahogany table, reviewing stacks of shipping manifests with Calvin.
""He doesn't eat in the dining room,"" Gabriel said, lowering his gold-rimmed reading glasses as Hannah entered wearing a soft cream cashmere sweater that hugged her curves and dark denim jeans. His eyes lingered on her for a beat too long before he returned to his papers. ""He prefers the kitchen counter with Mrs. Gable.""
""Children crave cozy boundaries after trauma,"" Hannah said, taking a stool next to Noah. Mrs. Gable immediately placed a plate of buttermilk pancakes, crisp bacon, and fresh berries in front of them, beaming like a proud grandmother.
""Pancakes,"" Noah said.
The fork in Gabriel’s hand dropped onto his porcelain plate with a sharp ring. Calvin snapped his pen in half. Mrs. Gable gasped, dropping her wooden spatula into the batter.
""Pancakes with what, Dasher?"" Hannah asked smoothly, not reacting to the shocked silence of the adults, treating the boy’s voice with utter normalcy so as not to spook him.
Noah pointed to the small ceramic pitcher. ""Sy-rup.""
Hannah poured a generous circle of warm maple syrup over his stack. ""Good boy.""
Gabriel stood up, his towering presence commanding the kitchen. He walked over to Noah, placing a broad, gentle hand on his son’s shoulder. Noah didn't flinch away. For fourteen months, the boy had shrunk from physical touch, but this morning, he leaned lightly against his father’s waist while chewing his pancake.
Gabriel looked at Hannah over the boy’s head. The hardened, cynical edge in the mafia boss’s expression had fractured, replaced by an awe that made his handsome face look startlingly vulnerable. ""Name your price. Whatever salary Calvin wrote down, triple it.""
""I told you yesterday, Mr. Moretti, this isn't about the money,"" Hannah said firmly, dabbing a speck of syrup from Noah’s cheek with a napkin. ""Noah isn't a business transaction. His progress depends on emotional safety. If I stay, it's on my terms.""
Calvin looked horrified that someone dared dictate terms to the most feared syndicate head in northern Illinois, but Gabriel merely raised a dark eyebrow. ""State them.""
""First, no armed guards in the private living quarters when Noah is awake. It keeps his nervous system in a constant state of hypervigilance,"" Hannah stated crisply. ""Second, you eat breakfast and dinner with him, at this counter, every day. No phones. No shipping papers. Third, you stop treating me like an asset in protective custody. If I need supplies for therapy, I go to the store.""
Gabriel crossed his massive arms. ""The first two are accepted. The third is non-negotiable. Sergei Volkov has three crews scouring Cook County for your home address right now. Until I eliminate the threat, you do not leave these grounds without Tiny and an armed escort.""
Hannah frowned. ""Who is Sergei Volkov?""
""The man who ordered the hit that killed Julianna,"" Gabriel answered without a trace of hesitation. ""He controls the Ukrainian docks along the Calumet River. He thinks that because I have a son, my spine is soft. He wanted Noah dead to break me completely. Yesterday, when you knocked his hitman out with a crowd-control pole, you publicly humiliated his best extraction team. He’s proud, he’s violent, and he considers you my weakness.""
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Hannah swallowed hard. ""I'm not your weakness. I'm just an unemployed speech therapist.""
""To the underworld of Chicago, Miss Brooks, anyone living under my roof and making my silent heir speak is either my future wife or my most valuable hostage,"" Gabriel said, leaning over the counter until his breath brushed her ear. ""And right now, I intend to convince them you are both.""
