Chapter 3 - The Fortress on Hudson and the Whispers Behind Closed Doors
Two weeks later, the discharge was conducted not with a wheelchair out the front doors, but through an underground subterranean exit secured by twelve heavily armed Rossi enforcers.
I was transported in a convoy of three armored, bomb-resistant black SUVs that wound their way out of Manhattan and up along the cliffs overlooking the Hudson River. The destination was the Rossi Estate: a sprawling, gated fortress built of dark stone and reinforced steel, hidden behind twenty-foot wrought-iron gates, security outposts, and dense ancient pine forests.
As my SUV rolled through the gates, I looked out the tinted window with a mixture of awe and trepidation. Surveillance cameras scanned every inch of the perimeter. Armed men in discreet tactical gear patrolled the manicured grounds with trained German Shepherds.
Dominic sat beside me in the back seat. Throughout the forty-minute drive, he hadn't touched his phone once. His eyes were constantly scanning the treeline, his right hand resting casually near the customized Glock holstered beneath his tailored suit jacket.
When the vehicle came to a smooth stop in the courtyard, Dominic stepped out first, surveyed the surroundings, and then opened my door. Before I could even attempt to step out on my weak, trembling legs, he slid one powerful arm beneath my knees and the other around my back, lifting me effortlessly into his chest.
"I can walk," I gasped, instinctively wrapping an arm around his broad neck to steady myself, my cheeks heating up despite the pain in my healing ribs.
"Your surgeon said you aren't supposed to put stress on your lateral sutures for another ten days," Dominic said without missing a beat, his strides long, steady, and remarkably gentle as he carried me up the grand limestone steps. "Do not argue with me about your health, Maya. You won't win."
Inside, the estate was breathtaking. Soaring ceilings with exposed dark oak beams, roaring stone fireplaces, Persian rugs covering polished hardwood, and priceless oil paintings adorning the walls. It was a palace, but it was also undeniably a fortress.
Isabella was waiting in the great hall, a warm, welcoming smile lighting up her face as Dominic carried me toward the private residential wing on the second floor.
"I had the master suite prepared, Dominic," Isabella noted softly as we passed. "The south wing gets the best sunlight. It will help her heal."
Dominic carried me into a massive bedroom suite equipped with a king-sized canopy bed dressed in Egyptian cotton, a private sitting room with a fireplace, and French doors leading out to a terrace overlooking the river. He gently lowered me onto the mountain of pillows, his movements displaying a level of tender care that completely contradicted his lethal reputation.
"This is your home now," Dominic said, stepping back and running a hand through his dark hair. "There is a medical team on standby in the east wing. A private nurse will check your dressings twice a day. Whatever you want—food, clothes, books, medicine—you tell Enzo or my mother, and it will be here within the hour."
I adjusted myself against the pillows, wincing slightly as the deep muscle ache reminded me of the seven bullet wounds healing beneath my bandages.
"And what are the rules of my imprisonment?" I asked, my voice carrying a quiet edge of defiance.
Dominic paused at the foot of the bed, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "This is not a prison, Maya."
"There are armed men with automatic rifles outside my window, Dominic," I pointed out, gesturing toward the terrace. "I'm wearing a ring worth more than the building I grew up in. I'm married to a man I spoke three sentences to before I took a hail of gunfire. Tell me the truth. What am I allowed to do?"
Dominic walked slowly around the bed until he was standing right beside me. He leaned down, placing both hands on the mattress on either side of my hips, trapping me in his magnetic, intoxicating presence.
"Rule number one," he whispered, his voice dangerously low. "You do not leave this estate without me or a four-car security detail. Rule number two: you take your medications and you eat every meal. Rule number three: if you ever feel unsafe, you tell me immediately."
"And if I want an annulment?" I dared to ask, my heart thumping wildly against my bruised ribs as his face hovered inches from mine. "When this war with Costa is over... what happens to this ring?"
Dominic’s eyes darkened, a flash of possessive fire igniting in their depths.
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"In our world, Maya, Rossi men don't get divorced," he whispered, his thumb lightly brushing across the sharp line of my jawline, sending an electric shiver down my spine. "And nobody walks away from me. Get some rest."
With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, leaving me alone with the sound of the crackling fireplace and the terrifying realization that I was falling into the orbit of a man who could easily consume my entire soul.
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