Chapter 7 - The Safehouse on the Hudson
Dawn was breaking over the Hudson River, painting the sky in bruises of purple and gray, when the SUV pulled through the wrought-iron gates of an estate in Alpine, New Jersey.
It was a fortress. High stone walls, security cameras humming on every corner, and the familiar, imposing silhouette of a grand neoclassical mansion. The very kind of cage I had run away from six years ago.
“Get them inside to the third-floor secure suite,” Mateo ordered a team of waiting medics and guards as the vehicle doors opened.
“No,” I said, planting my feet on the gravel driveway. “I’m not moving until I know where Adrian is.”
Before Mateo could argue, the roar of a second engine echoed down the drive.
A battered black sedan careened through the gates, smoking heavily from the radiator, its passenger-side window blown out entirely. It skidded to a halt near the steps, tires screaming against the asphalt.
The driver’s door flew open.
Adrian stumbled out, clutching his left shoulder. Blood soaked through the dark fabric of his shirt, staining his hand crimson. He looked exhausted, his hair disheveled, but his eyes were blazing with an intensity that could melt steel.
“Adrian!” I cried out, running toward him.
He caught me by the waist as I reached him, burying his face in my neck for a single, desperate second. The hard, untouchable mafia boss vanished, leaving only a man who had just clawed his way back from the grave.
“Are they safe?” he whispered against my skin.
May you like
“They’re inside. Mateo has them.” I pulled back, pressing my hands against his chest to check the wound. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s just a graze,” Adrian muttered, his gaze locking onto mine. He reached up, his thumb gently tracing the line of my cheekbone, the same way he used to do when we were young and stupid and in love. “Vasiliev won’t be bothering us anymore. Not in this city. Not ever again.”
