Chapter 6 - Sanctuary in the Pines
By dusk, the penthouse was no longer safe.
Leo had intercepted three separate encrypted communications indicating that Victor Moretti had placed surveillance on the perimeter of the building. With Julianna in Moretti’s custody and fraudulent legal documents granting him power of attorney, Moretti was preparing to make a move—either through corrupt judges or through black-market mercenaries.
Dante didn't wait for the hammer to fall.
Under the cover of a torrential downpour, an armored SUV convoy slipped out of the underground garage, using dummy routes through Queens before heading north.
Three hours later, the iron gates of a secluded estate in the Hudson Valley swung open.
The property was known as The Pines—a three-hundred-acre compound surrounded by dense forest, razor-wire fences, and state-of-the-art security outposts. The main house was a sprawling stone lodge built from dark cedar and fieldstone, glowing warmly against the rainy darkness.
"We stay here until Leo tracks Moretti’s extraction cell," Dante said as he helped me out of the SUV. The rain lashed against his black trench coat, but he held an oversized umbrella over Sophia and me, ensuring not a single drop touched either of us.
Sophia was fast asleep against my shoulder, completely exhausted from the emotional dam that had broken earlier that morning.
Inside, the lodge was nothing like the cold, granite penthouse in Manhattan. A massive fieldstone fireplace roared in the great room, casting amber light across worn leather couches, thick wool rugs, and walls lined with thousands of leather-bound books. It smelled of pine needles, cedar smoke, and aged whiskey.
"Mrs. Gable is having the master bedroom and the adjoining nursery prepared," Dante said, shaking out his coat. "The perimeter is guarded by twelve ex-special forces operators. No one gets within two miles of this property without Leo knowing."
"And Julianna?" I asked softly, shifting Sophia’s weight in my arms. "What happens to her?"
Dante’s jaw tightened. "My intelligence team is triangulating Moretti’s private properties in upstate New York and New Jersey. Julianna was foolish to think she could negotiate with a snake like Moretti, but she is still Sophia’s mother. I will bring her back alive."
He paused, his gray eyes softening as he looked down at his sleeping daughter. "Even if she doesn't want to stay with me... she deserves to tell Sophia goodbye properly. Not from the barrel of a gun."
A deep respect for this man settled into my bones. Most men of his stature, betrayed by a spouse who had concealed an extortion plot, would have washed their hands of her. Dante was willing to mobilize a private army to give his daughter closure.
"I’ll put Sophia to bed," I murmured.
"Room at the top of the stairs," he nodded. "I'll join you in a moment."
After tucking Sophia beneath a thick goose-down comforter and leaving the antique nightlight on beside her bed, I walked down to the kitchen.
The lodge kitchen was a rustic paradise—copper pots hanging from heavy oak beams, an iron farmhouse sink, and a commercial Wolf range. Finding solace in what I knew best, I set about making something to calm the frayed nerves of the house. I found flour, brown sugar, oats, and fresh green apples in the walk-in pantry. Within forty minutes, the lodge was filled with the intoxicating, buttery scent of baked apple crisp bubbling beneath a crunchy cinnamon crust.
I was pulling the cast-iron skillet out of the oven with a pair of thick towels when Dante walked in.
He had changed out of his suit into a dark charcoal wool sweater and worn dark denim. Without the sharp armor of his corporate tailoring, he looked younger, more human, but no less imposing.
"You bake when you're stressed," he observed, leaning against the doorframe, a faint, genuine half-smile touching his mouth.
"I bake when the world doesn't make sense," I countered, setting the smoking skillet on an iron trivet. "Flour, butter, sugar. If you follow the rules, it always turns out right. People, on the other hand... are unpredictable."
Dante walked slowly into the room. He didn't stop at the other side of the counter. He walked straight up to where I was standing, cutting the distance between us until I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
"I am predictable, Claire," he said, his voice low, resonant, vibrating right through my ribs. "I protect what is mine. Always."
My breath hitched. "I'm not yours, Dante."
His slate-gray eyes darkened, glowing with an ember that made the room suddenly feel five degrees hotter. He lifted his hand. For a second, I thought he was going to touch my face, but his knuckles merely grazed the stray strand of hair falling across my temple, tucking it behind my ear with infinite care.
"You saved my daughter's mind," he murmured, his hand lingering inches from my neck. "You walked into the middle of a war without flinching. You hold her like she’s your own. You may not be mine, Claire Vance... but you are certainly no longer a stranger."
My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my chest. The scent of him—cedar, rain, and raw masculine power—dizzied my senses. I had spent years keeping walls around myself, surviving the harsh grind of the city by keeping everyone at arm's length.
Yet, looking into Dante Russo’s eyes, every defense I had ever built felt like paper before a wildfire.
Before either of us could say another word, Leo’s sharp boots clicked on the hardwood hallway.
Leo appeared in the doorway, his tablet glowing in his hand. He stopped, taking in the close proximity between Dante and me, before clearing his throat awkwardly.
"Boss," Leo said, his voice flat with urgency. "We found her."
Dante instantly stepped back, the intimate air evaporating into cold tactical focus. "Where?"
"An abandoned hunting lodge six miles east of Port Jervis," Leo said, flipping the tablet around. "Thermal imaging picked up four armed hostiles outside and two heat signatures inside the basement. Moretti’s personal transport is parked under a camouflage net behind the barn."
Dante stared at the screen, his jaw locking into stone. "Is Julianna alive?"
"She's breathing," Leo confirmed. "But Moretti just filed an emergency ex-parte motion with Judge Callahan in Manhattan for full temporary custody of Sophia, citing Julianna’s alleged notarized authorization. Callahan is in Moretti’s pocket. He’s signing the order at 9:00 AM tomorrow."
"Then we have six hours," Dante said, his voice dropping into pure ice. "Call the tactical team. We breach at 3:00 AM."
"Dante," I gasped, catching his forearm. "You're going yourself?"
He looked down at my hand on his arm. His expression softened for a fraction of a second, but the sovereign was already back in command.
"Moretti touched my family, Claire," Dante said softly, covering my hand with his own large, warm palm. "He doesn't get to live in a world where I don't look him in the eyes when he falls."
He turned to Leo. "Prep the gear. Claire... stay with Sophia. If anything happens to this house, the panic room is behind the library hearth. Lock it from the inside and wait for me."
"Don't get killed," I whispered, the words escaping my lips before my pride could stop them.
Dante looked at me for a long, heavy moment. Then, he leaned down and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to my forehead.
"I have too much to come home to," he murmured.
May you like
And then, he was gone into the rain.
***
