Chapter 5 - The Haven in the Clouds
Matteo did not take me back to my Brooklyn apartment, nor did he allow me to check into a hotel.
The Suburbans swept through the security gates of a private estate tucked behind high iron fences in Alpine, New Jersey.
The main house was a sprawling stone fortress surrounded by ancient oak trees and sweeping views of the Hudson River.
"A hotel has concierges who can be bought and maintenance workers who can be bribed," Matteo explained as he escorted me through the grand foyer.
"Here, no one enters without retinal clearance and an armed escort."
An elderly woman with gray hair pulled into an elegant bun stepped forward, carrying a clean woolen shawl.
"This is Maria," Matteo said, his voice softening with rare familial affection.
"She has managed this estate since my father was alive."
"Maria, prepare the southern guest suite for Alexandra."
"She is injured, and she requires complete rest."
"Right away, Signor Matteo," Maria said, looking at the purple marks on my throat with deep, sorrowful pity.
She did not ask questions; she wrapped the warm shawl around my trembling shoulders and led me up the curved marble staircase.
The suite was larger than the entire brownstone I had shared with Bradley.
A massive stone fireplace crackled with burning birch logs, casting warm amber light across a king-sized canopy bed.
A private terrace overlooked the mist-covered river below.
Maria ran a hot bath infused with lavender oils and laid out soft cashmere loungewear before quietly closing the oak doors behind her.
For the first time in three years, I was completely alone in a room where no one could kick open the door.
I sank onto the edge of the feather mattress, clutching the velvet box containing my mother's pearls.
The silence in the room was not empty; it was heavy with the sudden absence of danger.
When a person lives in a war zone for years, peace feels like an ambush waiting to happen.
My phone buzzed on the bedside table.
It was a text from an unknown number.
*Harrison knows. You think you're safe with DeLuca? You just signed your own warrant. Watch your back, bitch.*
Bradley was still fighting with his brother’s stolen authority.
I stared at the glowing screen, my hands starting to shake again.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," I called out, my voice still raw.
Matteo entered carrying a silver tray with hot herbal broth and a fresh pot of tea.
He had changed out of his three-piece suit into a black cashmere crewneck sweater and dark trousers, looking less like an underworld king and more like an ordinary, exhausted man.
He saw my trembling hands and the glowing phone screen immediately.
Without asking, he picked up the phone from the nightstand and read the message.
His face did not register anger; it settled into an icy, calculating resolve.
"Bradley is desperate," Matteo observed, setting the silver tray on the low coffee table near the fire.
"Desperate men make mistakes, and mistakes leave paper trails."
"He won't stop, Matteo," I said, looking up at him from the bed.
"You don't know his family."
"His father was a corrupt state senator, his brother controls the precinct detectives, and his firm handles municipal bond portfolios."
"They protect their own by destroying the witness."
Matteo pulled an armchair close to the bed and sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees.
"Then we do not treat this as a domestic dispute, Alexandra," he said quietly.
"We treat this as an audit."
"An audit?"
"You are the best forensic accountant on the Eastern Seaboard," Matteo said, his eyes locking onto mine with absolute, unshakeable confidence.
"You know how money moves."
"Starting tomorrow morning, you and I will dismantle Vanguard Crest’s asset portfolios line by line."
"We will find where Bradley hid his stolen bonuses."
"We will find where Captain Harrison Jenkins parked his union kickbacks."
"We will not hide behind bodyguards, Alexandra."
"We will bury them under federal indictments they cannot bribe their way out of."
For the first time in thirty-six months, the knot of terror in my chest began to loosen.
May you like
Matteo was not offering me pity.
He was offering me a weapon.
