Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary of Shadows
The Duca estate didn't look like a hideout for a mob boss. It looked like a fortress built for an ancient king.
Perched high on the cliffside cliffs of Beacon Hill, hidden behind twenty-foot wrought-iron gates and guarded by dozens of men carrying concealed automatic weapons, the stone mansion loomed against the stormy night sky.
The SUV ground to a halt beneath the grand marble portico. Before the wheels even stopped spinning, Roman was out of the door.
“Take her to the East Wing suite,” Roman barked to a burly guard standing at the grand entrance. “Lock the floor down. No one enters without my personal handprint clearance. Not even my lieutenants.”
“Understood, Boss,” the guard replied, bowing his head respectfully.
I was escorted inside, my soaked sneakers squeaking loudly against the pristine, polished marble floor of the grand foyer. The interior was stunning—soaring ceilings, priceless oil paintings, crystal chandeliers throwing warm light over dark mahogany furniture. But the atmosphere was suffocating. Every man in a suit carried a visible bulge beneath his jacket. Every servant moved in absolute silence.
“Miss,” a young, sharp-eyed woman in a charcoal suit said, stepping in front of me. “I am Elena, Don Duca’s head of internal security inside the manor. Follow me.”
I followed her up a curved marble staircase, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure she could hear it. “Is Ethan going to be okay?” I asked, my voice echoing faintly in the massive hallway.
Elena didn't turn around. “The Don brought the top trauma surgeon from Massachusetts General Hospital onto our private payroll three years ago. If Ethan can be saved, he will be saved here. Worry about yourself, Miss Sterling.”
She knows my last name. They had already run my file. They probably knew my credit score, my high school grades, and my sister’s college dorm room number before we even crossed the city line.
She led me into a massive suite at the end of the hall. It was luxurious beyond anything I had ever seen—a king-sized bed draped in dark velvet, a fireplace crackling warmly in the corner, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the snow-covered grounds.
“There are fresh clothes in the wardrobe,” Elena stated flatly. “The bathroom is stocked. Do not touch the windows; they are triple-pane bulletproof glass wired directly to our silent security grid. If you attempt to open them, the room locks down automatically.”
“I’m a prisoner,” I said, turning to face her.
“You’re alive,” Elena countered calmly. “In our line of work, that’s a luxury.”
She stepped out and pulled the heavy oak door shut. I heard the heavy mechanical click of an electronic lock engaging from the outside.
I sank onto the edge of the plush bed, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I looked down at my palms. Ethan’s dried blood was caked under my fingernails.
Twenty minutes later, the door clicked open again.
I bolted upright, expecting guards or hitmen.
Instead, Roman Duca walked into the room.
He had removed his heavy trench coat and suit jacket. He was wearing a dark charcoal dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing thick, muscular wrists and a faint scar running up his left thumb.
In his right hand, he carried a silver tray with a steaming mug of tea and a bowl of warm water with clean white towels.
“Drink,” he said, setting the tray on the bedside table.
I stared at the tea, then at him. “Is it poisoned?”
A faint, dangerous smirk touched the corner of Roman’s mouth, though his dark eyes remained entirely serious. “If I wanted you dead, Clara, I wouldn't waste expensive tea on you. I’d have left you in the snow.”
He pulled a wooden chair over, turned it around, and sat down opposite me, resting his broad arms on the backrest.
“Ethan is out of surgery,” Roman said softly.
My chest loosened slightly. “Is he…?”
“Two cracked ribs, a severe concussion, and internal bleeding in his abdomen,” Roman reported, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying register. “The doctor stabilized him. He’s sleeping. But he’s going to survive.”
“Thank God,” I breathed out, closing my eyes for a brief second.
“God had nothing to do with it,” Roman said coldly. “You did. You put pressure on his femoral artery with your server apron. Doc said if you hadn't done that, he would have bled out thirty seconds before my trucks arrived.”
He leaned forward, placing a warm, damp towel into my cold, trembling hands.
“Why did you do it, Clara?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching my face with an uncomfortable intensity. “You knew who Ethan was. You knew who I was when I gave you that card at dinner three hours earlier. Any smart girl in Boston would have run the other way.”
I looked down at the warm towel, slowly wiping the dark crimson stains from my fingers.
“Because he’s sixteen years old,” I whispered, tears finally welling up in my eyes from the sheer exhaustion of the night. “Because he was terrified. And because when he looked at me… he didn't look like a mafia boss’s son. He just looked like a boy who wanted his dad.”
Roman stayed completely still. For a fraction of a second, the iron mask of the ruthless Don of Boston cracked, revealing a raw, profound emotion underneath.
Before he could answer, a sharp knock sounded at the door.
Elena stepped in, her expression grim. “Don Duca. Miles Vance just arrived at the main gate. He claims he heard rumors of an incident in the North End and brought twenty of his men to 'reinforce' the estate.”
Roman stood up slowly, his height dominating the room instantly. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by an icy, predatory glare.
“Does Miles know Ethan is here?” Roman asked softly.
“No,” Elena replied. “We brought Ethan in through the underground medical bay. Miles thinks Ethan is dead in the alley.”
Roman adjusted the silver cufflinks on his sleeves. “Good. Tell Miles I will meet him in the study.”
May you like
He turned back to look at me, his gaze sweeping over my pale face one last time.
“Stay in this room, Clara,” Roman warned softly, his voice carrying an absolute promise of violence. “Tonight, you are going to hear how a traitor dies.”
