Chapter 4 - The House on the River
By Friday night, a winter gale had settled over the Hudson Valley. Rain had turned to heavy, wet snow that plastered itself against the high arched windows of the Corvelli estate.
Max's house sat three miles north of Hawthorne Junction, perched on a dark granite cliff overlooking the wide, black expanse of the Hudson River. Built of fieldstone and heavy timber in the 1920s, it looked less like a home and more like a fortress designed to withstand a siege.
Inside, the vast living room was illuminated only by the roar of a massive floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace.
Cece sat on a low leather sofa, a thick wool blanket draped over her lap, holding a crystal glass of bourbon that burned pleasantly down her throat.
After the incident on Tuesday, Max had made it clear that leaving her alone in her small apartment near the railyard was no longer an option. DeLuca’s men were watching the town, and Max didn't take chances with things he cared about.
He walked into the room carrying a silver tray with two plates of thick, hand-cut ribeye steaks, roasted garlic potatoes, and bread he had personally bought from the Italian bakery in town.
He had traded his suit for a soft black sweater, his dark hair slightly damp from the shower. Without the formal armor of his jackets and ties, he looked younger, broader, and dangerously intimate.
"I usually eat alone," Max said, setting the tray on the low oak table between them. He sat down beside her—not too close, but close enough that Cece could feel the heat radiating from his shoulder.
"I can tell," Cece said, looking around the cavernous room. "You have six empty chairs at that dining table."
"Seven," Max corrected softly. "I don't like empty chairs."
Cece picked up her fork, taking a bite of the steak. It was perfectly cooked, melting like butter on her tongue. "You cooked this?"
"My mother was from Calabria," Max said, a faint, rare smile touching his lips. "If a Corvelli man can't cook a steak and make a sauce, he gets sent to live with the cousins in Brooklyn until he learns."
Cece laughed—a warm, rich sound that echoed against the high timber rafters.
Max turned his head, his dark eyes catching the firelight as he watched her. The silence between them stretched, but for the first time in weeks, it wasn't heavy with grief or violence. It was thick with something else—a slow, magnetic pull that had been building since she stepped out onto that rainy platform with her blue umbrella.
"You don't ask many questions, Cece," Max murmured.
"My father always said questions are usually just people looking for excuses to judge," Cece replied, setting her plate down. She pulled the wool blanket tighter around her shoulders. "I know what I see."
"And what do you see?"
"A man who built a wall so high nobody can reach him," Cece said quietly, her blue-gray eyes meeting his without a flicker of hesitation. "And a man who is terrified that if he stops waiting on that bench, he'll have to face the fact that he's completely alone."
Max froze.
For three seconds, the only sound in the room was the crackle of the birch logs in the hearth.
Then, slowly, Max reached out. His large, rough hand cupped the side of her face, his thumb tracing the soft curve of her cheekbone. His touch was so gentle it made Cece’s breath catch in her throat.
"I was alone," Max whispered, his voice dropping into a raspy, fierce murmur. "Until a stubborn girl walked out into a storm with a five-dollar umbrella and told me I was getting soaked."
Cece leaned into his palm, her hand rising to cover his. "I'm still here, Max."
Max didn't answer with words. He leaned forward, closing the small space between them, and pressed his lips to hers.
May you like
The kiss wasn't gentle for long. It opened up into something deep, hungry, and fierce—a man drowning in cold shadows finally reaching the surface, and a woman who had spent years caring for everyone else finally letting herself be held.
His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her full, soft body flush against his chest. Cece threaded her fingers through his dark hair, pulling him closer as the storm howled against the glass outside.
