Chapter 5 - The Fortress on the HudsonThe Bellamy estate sat atop a jagged cliff overlooking the churning waters of the Hudson River, surrounded by towering iron gates, private security patrols, and thick stone walls that looked like they had been built to withstand a medieval siege.
Bianca sat in the passenger seat of the Maybach, staring out the window at the sprawling, gothic-revival mansion illuminated by amber floodlights. The air inside the car felt heavy, charged with an unspoken tension that had been building since they left the hospital parking garage.
"You kidnapped me," Bianca stated flatly, breaking a twenty-minute silence.
"I relocated you," Tristan corrected without looking away from the winding private drive. "There were three men from the Moretti syndicate staking out your apartment building before we even reached the highway. If I had left you there, you'd be swimming with the concrete shoes by sunrise."
Bianca swallowed hard, knowing he wasn't exaggerating. She crossed her arms, looking down at her scrubs. "And how long am I supposed to stay here? As your prisoner?"
The car rolled to a stop beneath the grand stone portico. Tristan turned off the engine, turned in his seat, and looked at her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"You are not a prisoner, Bianca. You are a guest under my direct protection," he said firmly. "Until I hunt down every last rat who dared step foot near you, you don't leave this property. Am I understood?"
Before she could argue, the passenger door swung open. A middle-aged woman with silver hair pulled into a neat bun and a stern, immaculate posture stood holding a large black umbrella.
"Welcome to the estate, Ms. Carter. I am Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper," the woman said smoothly, her voice carrying a British accent. "Mr. Bellamy has prepared the east wing suite for you. Please, step out of the rain."
Bianca climbed out, feeling completely out of her depth. She was a hospital nurse who lived on takeout pizza and cheap coffee, and now she was being housed in a criminal mastermind’s coastal fortress guarded by men with assault rifles.
She followed Mrs. Gable through massive oak double doors into a grand foyer lined with crystal chandeliers, antique oil paintings, and sweeping marble staircases.
"Mr. Bellamy," Mrs. Gable called back over her shoulder as they walked down a long, carpeted hallway. "He is a difficult man, but he has never brought an outsider into this house. Not in all the years I've worked here. Take that for what it’s worth, child."
Bianca stopped at the doorway of the east wing suite. It was larger than her entire Manhattan apartment, featuring a king-sized canopy bed, a marble fireplace already crackling with warmth floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the dark, stormy river.
"If you need anything—clothes, toiletries, medical supplies—just press the bedside call button," Mrs. Gable instructed politely before slipping out and closing the door.
May you like
Bianca walked over to the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. Lightning flashed across the river, casting jagged shadows over the water. She reached into her pocket, pulled out the silver-embossed business card Tristan had given her days ago, and threw it onto the bedside table.
"You're in too deep, Bianca," she whispered to herself.
