Chapter 9 - EXILE AT THE LAKE
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The estate at Lake Geneva was unlike the imposing fortress in Chicago.
Nestled deep within seventy acres of dense, towering pine woods, the grand stone lodge sat on a private peninsula jutting into the dark, mist-covered water.
Surrounded by heavy wrought-iron fencing, security cameras concealed in the trees, and a private boat dock, it was designed as a sanctuary for the Moretti family during times of crisis.
We arrived just as twilight painted the sky in shades of bruised purple and charcoal gray.
Michael stepped out first, his hand resting on the grip of his holstered sidearm as he surveyed the perimeter.
Ten men in dark tactical gear stood at attention along the stone walkway, their faces grim and disciplined.
"Perimeter clear, Mr. Michael," the head guard reported with a crisp nod.
"The boat patrols are active on the water side."
"Good," Michael replied curtly.
"No one sleeps tonight."
He opened our car door and helped Teresa out, wrapping his arm around her frail frame.
"Welcome to the lake house, Mama. You haven't been here since you were sixty."
Teresa looked up at the towering timber lodge, a bittersweet smile touching her tired lips.
"Your father loved this place," she whispered, leaning her head against Michael’s shoulder.
"He used to fish off that dock until midnight, listening to baseball on the radio."
"He built this house to keep you safe, Mama," Michael said softly, guiding her up the broad cedar steps.
I followed closely behind, carrying Teresa’s overnight bag and the small velvet pouch containing her husband’s gold cufflinks, which she refused to let out of her sight.
The interior of the lodge was warm, dominated by a massive stone fireplace that stretched up to the vaulted timber ceiling.
A roaring fire was already crackling in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the hardwood floors and leather armchairs.
"Hannah, take the master bedroom on the second floor with Mama," Michael instructed, unbuttoning his tactical vest.
"There are two adjoining rooms connected by a heavy oak door."
"I'll be down here in the den monitoring the perimeter monitors."
"Understood, Mr. Michael," I said.
I spent the next hour helping Teresa settle in.
I unpacked her simple clothes, drew a warm lavender bath for her, and combed out her long, beautiful silver hair as she sat before the dressing table mirror.
Her hands, usually so steady when kneading bread or sewing buttons, still had a faint, nervous tremor.
"Hannah, child," Teresa said softly, looking at my reflection in the glass.
"Yes, Mrs. Moretti?"
"You shouldn't be caught up in this madness."
"You're a sweet girl from a good family."
"You belong in a quiet home with a kind husband, not running from gunfire with mafia boys."
I smiled gently, laying the silver-backed brush on the marble vanity.
"My father always told me that family isn't about blood, Mrs. Moretti."
"It's about who stands beside you when the roof caves in."
"Last night, your son stood up for you against people who thought their money made them gods."
"And this morning, you didn't leave my side when the glass shattered."
"I'm exactly where I want to be."
Teresa turned around in her chair, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, and pulled me down into a fierce, motherly embrace.
"You have the heart of a lion, Hannah Sullivan," she murmured into my hair.
"My Luca is a hard man. The world made him that way after his father was killed."
"He had to become stone so he wouldn't shatter."
"But when he looked at you this morning... I saw my boy again."
My cheeks flushed with a sudden, warm heat, my heart skipping a beat against my ribs.
Before I could answer, a loud, sharp knock rattled the bedroom door.
Michael poked his head in, his face tense and pale under the amber lamplight.
"Hannah. Come downstairs for a second."
"Is everything all right?" I asked, stepping out into the hall.
"Luca is on the secure line," Michael said quietly, closing the door behind me.
"He wants to speak with you."
My stomach did a nervous flip as I followed Michael down the winding timber staircase into the dimly lit den.
On the large wooden desk, an encrypted satellite terminal displayed an audio waveform pulsing in steady green lines.
Michael gestured toward the receiver and stepped out of the room, closing the door to give me privacy.
I picked up the heavy black handset, my fingers tightening around the plastic.
"Mr. Moretti?"
"Hannah."
Hearing his deep, gravelly voice through the line sent an unexpected wave of relief washing over me.
"Are you and Mama settled in?" he asked, the background noise behind him humming with the distant rumble of city traffic and sirens.
"Yes, sir. She's resting in the master suite. The fire is lit."
"And you?"
"I'm fine, Mr. Moretti. Dr. Vance’s bandages are holding up."
There was a brief pause on the line, the heavy silence stretching between us like a taut wire.
"The Five Families meeting just concluded," Luca said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy tone.
"Salvatore Bellini demanded my execution for breaking the betrothal and attacking Lorenzo."
My breath hitched in my throat.
"What did the commission say?"
"They told Salvatore that if he brought another gun onto Moretti territory, they would authorize me to wipe the Bellini bloodline off the map."
"The commission saw the security footage from the dining room, Hannah."
"They saw Vanessa forcing an apron onto my mother."
"Even in our world, among men who kill for territory, there are sacred lines you do not cross."
"A man who cannot defend his mother cannot be trusted to honor an alliance."
"Salvatore has lost all support."
A massive weight lifted from my chest, but the tension in Luca’s voice warned me that the danger hadn't passed.
"If he lost the commission's support, why are you still in Chicago?" I asked.
"Because a cornered rat is at its most venomous," Luca replied coldly.
"Vanessa took five million dollars from her father’s secret accounts two hours ago and vanished."
"She didn't run to Europe, Hannah."
"Our informants say she hired an independent crew of mercenaries from Detroit."
"Men who don't care about mafia commission rules."
"Men who only care about cash."
Cold dread pooled in the pit of my stomach.
"She's coming after Teresa," I whispered.
"She's coming after both of you," Luca corrected sharply.
"Michael has the house locked down, but I'm not taking chances."
"I'm leaving Chicago now."
"I'll be at Lake Geneva before dawn."
"Until I get there, keep the transponder in your hand."
"If anything looks wrong, if a light flickers on that lake, you take Mama into the reinforced storm cellar behind the pantry."
"Do you understand me?"
"I understand, Luca," I answered, using his first name without realizing it.
A soft, heavy exhale came through the satellite line.
"Keep her safe, Hannah."
"I'll be there soon."
The line went dead with a click.
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I stood in the darkened den, holding the receiver, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows toward the black, fog-choked waters of Lake Geneva.
As I watched, a tiny, rhythmic blink of a red laser light glinted from the tree line across the bay, disappearing as quickly as it had arrived.
