Chapter 3 - The Fortress in the Clouds
Luca didn't let me leave his side, not even to use the private restroom attached to his office.
When I stepped toward the door, his hand shot out, catching my wrist with firm, unyielding gentleness.
"We move together now, Elena," he said, his eyes scanning the hallway monitors behind his desk.
"Every room in this city has ears until I tear them out."
Within ten minutes, four heavily armed men dressed in identical charcoal suits entered the office without knocking.
They formed a tight diamond around us, their weapons concealed beneath tailored coats as we took the private elevator directly down to the sub-basement.
We didn't take the limousine I had arrived in.
Instead, Luca shoved me into the back of an armored black SUV that smelled of factory leather and cold steel.
He sat so close his thigh pressed against mine, his left hand gripping an automatic pistol between his knees.
His right hand reached across the leather seat and took mine, his thumb rubbing small circles over my trembling knuckles.
"Talk to me," I demanded, looking out the tinted window as the grey towers of downtown blurred past.
"If you want me to trust you, Luca, you have to stop treating me like a piece of glass you keep locked in a cabinet."
He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, inhaling deeply before looking at me.
"The photographs with Bianca Romano were staged," he confessed, each word sounding like pulled teeth.
"Staged?" I echoed, my voice rising in disbelief.
"You spent four nights at the Langham with the daughter of your biggest rival!"
"Bianca was feeding me information about a coup within our own council," he replied fiercely, leaning in close so the driver wouldn't hear.
"Her father died six months ago, Elena."
"The Romano family didn't splinter; they formed a coalition with someone inside my own organization."
I stared at him, trying to parse the truth through my lingering heartbreak.
"She offered to sell me the names of the traitors, but her price was visibility."
"Visibility?"
"She needed the council to believe she was seducing me, that I was compromised and losing control."
"She made you look like a philandering fool to buy time," I realized aloud.
"And it worked," Luca muttered, his eyes narrowing as he stared out at the rainy streets.
"They thought I was distracted by another woman, that I was neglecting the business, that I was vulnerable."
"You were neglecting me!" I snapped, pulling my hand away from his grip.
"You let me sit in that massive house alone for months, wondering what I did wrong!"
"Because keeping you separate was supposed to keep you safe!" he roared, before catching himself and dropping his voice back to a harsh whisper.
"The moment they think you are my weakness, they put a target on your head, Elena."
"And now they put one there anyway!" I said, tears burning the corners of my eyes.
"They know about the baby, Luca."
His jaw clenched so hard I heard the grind of his teeth over the hum of the engine.
"They won't get near either of you," he promised, his voice carrying the weight of a blood vow.
The SUV descended into an underground tunnel beneath a residential tower in the Gold Coast, far from our usual home.
The steel gates rolled shut behind us with a heavy, final clatter that sounded like a prison door locking.
This wasn't our penthouse; this was the safehouse Luca had purchased before we were married, a place scrubbed of public records.
Two guards escorted us up an industrial service elevator directly into a sprawling, minimalist apartment with reinforced ballistic glass.
"No phones," Luca ordered, taking my purse and tossing my personal cell phone into a metal lead-lined box on the kitchen island.
"Vincent is running a sweep on your device to see how it was compromised."
"My phone isn't compromised," I said, leaning against the cold granite counter, feeling the exhaustion deep in my bones.
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I didn't text anyone about the baby, Luca."
He stopped, his dark eyes locking onto mine with surgical precision.
"You told me you went to the clinic two weeks ago."
"I did."
"Did you write anything down? Did you send an email?"
"No," I replied, crossing my arms over my chest to ward off the chill of the empty room.
"I took three home tests first, all positive."
"Then I booked an appointment under a false name at a private clinic in Lincoln Park."
"What false name?" Luca asked, pulling out a small notepad and a pen.
"Elena Miller."
"And the doctor?"
"Dr. Sarah Jennings."
Luca’s expression didn't change, but something in his eyes shifted, a dark recognition that made my skin prickle with goosebumps.
"Jennings," he repeated softly, tapping the pen against the paper.
"Do you know her?" I asked, my heart skipping an erratic beat.
"She’s on the board of Saint Jude’s Children's Memorial," Luca said quietly, staring at the blank wall.
"A board funded primarily by my uncle, Corrado."
The name hit the room like a detonator.
Uncle Corrado was the eldest living member of the family, the patriarch who had stepped aside when Luca took the throne five years ago.
He had always brought me imported chocolates from Sicily and kissed my forehead at Christmas dinners.
"Corrado wouldn't," I breathed, shaking my head in denial.
"He loves you, Luca."
"Corrado loves power," Luca corrected, his tone cold and detached, the mob boss fully taking the place of the husband.
"And under the old bylaws, if I die without a child, Corrado’s eldest son inherits the northern territories."
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"My pregnancy didn't just complicate their plans, Elena."
"It extinguished them."
