Chapter 4 - The Lion's Fortress
Dawn broke over the Hudson River in shades of bruised purple and slate gray.
I woke up not in a dungeon or a cold guest bedroom, but in the center of the massive king-sized bed in Nico’s master suite. The sheets were seven-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton, impossibly soft against skin that had grown accustomed to rough linen and cold hardwood.
Nico had not touched me inappropriately. After our conversation, he had brought me a glass of warm water, placed a fresh set of clothes on the dressing chair, and spent the remainder of the night sitting in the leather armchair across from the bed, his laptop open, quietly issuing orders to his syndicate lieutenants.
When I sat up, the room was empty, but the faint aroma of freshly brewed espresso drifted through the open door leading to the terrace.
I stood up, wrapping the silk robe tightly around myself, and walked out onto the balcony. The estate was vast—forty acres of manicured lawns surrounded by ancient oak trees and a twelve-foot wrought-iron security perimeter topped with razor wire and high-definition surveillance cameras. Armed men patrolled the grounds in pairs, German shepherds padding silently at their heels.
Nico was standing at the terrace railing, dressed in a sharp charcoal three-piece suit, holding a porcelain cup. When he heard my footsteps, he turned.
"Good morning, Nora," he said smoothly. "Did you sleep?"
"A few hours," I admitted, leaning against the doorframe. "It’s the first time in five years I didn't wake up screaming from a nightmare."
Nico’s gaze softened slightly, though his posture remained rigid. He gestured toward a small glass table set with fresh fruit, pastries, and a pot of coffee.
"Eat something. We have a full day ahead of us. At ten o'clock, our legal team arrives. At noon, we meet with the Ferrara inner council."
I walked over to the table but didn't sit. "Nico, your council won't accept this. They know Edmund owes your family eight million dollars. They know Marco died in an incident linked to my father. To them, I am the daughter of the enemy. If you treat me as an ally instead of a prisoner, they’ll see it as weakness."
"Let them," Nico said coldly, taking a slow sip of his espresso. "My council serves at my pleasure. They exist to execute my orders, not question my judgment. And they will quickly realize that you are the most valuable weapon this family has acquired in twenty years."
Before I could reply, the heavy doors of the bedroom swung open. Dante stepped onto the terrace, holding a sleek black tablet. His face was grim.
"Boss," Dante said, nodding respectfully toward me before turning to Nico. "We have a situation. Edmund didn't waste any time."
Nico didn't flinch. "What did he do?"
"He filed an emergency petition in Manhattan Supreme Court this morning at eight sharp," Dante explained, tapping the screen. "He’s claiming Nora was abducted under duress and forced into a fraudulent marriage while intoxicated. Furthermore, he’s utilized his connections with Judge Harrison Vance to freeze three of our legitimate commercial shipping accounts pending an investigation into 'coercive extortion.'"
A cold knot formed in my stomach. "Judge Vance," I gasped, looking at Nico. "Vance is on my father’s payroll. Edmund financed Vance’s re-election campaign through three political action committees in 2024. He owns him."
Nico took the tablet from Dante, his eyes scanning the court filing with mild amusement rather than anger.
"Edmund is playing checkers while the board is set for chess," Nico murmured. He handed the tablet back to Dante. "Contact our contacts at the federal level. Have District Attorney Miller pull Vance’s financial disclosures from the past three years. Let’s see how comfortable Vance feels freezing Ferrara assets when the Department of Justice starts asking about his offshore villa in Saint Martin."
"Already on it," Dante grinned. "What about the media? Edmund called a press conference outside the Ashford Capital headquarters for two o'clock. He’s going to paint you as a savage mobster who kidnapped his beloved daughter."
Nico turned his gaze toward me. His eyes swept over my posture, taking in the bruised exhaustion that still shadowed my face, but also the unmistakable defiance that kept my head held high.
"He wants a press conference?" Nico asked quietly. "Then we’ll give him a show he won't survive. Dante, call Madame Laurent. Tell her to bring her finest evening wear to the estate immediately. Tailored, elegant, and regal."
"What are you planning?" I asked, my pulse quickening.
Nico stepped close, his towering frame casting a protective shadow over me.
"Tonight is the annual Metropolitan Autumn Gala at the Plaza Hotel," Nico said, a dangerous smirk playing across his sculpted lips. "Every billionaire, judge, politician, and syndicate boss in New York will be in that ballroom. Edmund thinks he can use public opinion and corrupt judges to isolate me. Instead, we are going to walk through the front doors of the Plaza together, hand in hand. You will wear a gown that commands the room, and we will watch Edmund’s world begin to crumble in front of the very people whose approval he craves."
"And if he tries to make a scene?" I asked, feeling a strange surge of adrenaline replacing my fear.
May you like
Nico reached out, his fingers lightly brushing the nape of my neck.
"Let him make a scene, my sweet Nora," he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down my spine. "Because the moment he steps out of line in public, he gives me the legal and social justification to tear his throat out."
