Chapter 6 - Behind the Iron Gates
The Moretti estate sat behind towering wrought-iron gates on a private bluff overlooking Lake Michigan.
Hannah sat in the passenger seat of Damen’s vintage sedan as it rolled past the stone pillars, watching the sprawling brick manor loom out of the coastal fog. Her mind was racing, a chaotic storm of fear, confusion, and lingering adrenaline.
"I can't stay here," Hannah said as Marco parked the car near the grand front entrance. "I have a job. I have an apartment. I have responsibilities."
"Your apartment was broken into twenty minutes after we left the clinic," Damen said flatly, turning off the engine.
Hannah stopped breathing. She turned to stare at him, her eyes wide. "What?"
"Marcus's cleanup crew cleared your rooms looking for the ledger," Damen said, his voice completely steady as he opened his door and stepped out into the cold night air. He walked around to her side, opening the passenger door and offering her his hand. "They didn't find it, because you hid it inside the false bottom of your nursing bag. But your home is no longer safe, Hannah."
Hannah ignored his outstretched hand, sliding out of the car on her own terms, her boots crunching on the gravel drive. "You went through my bag?"
"I protected it," Damen corrected smoothly, closing the car door. "Just like I am protecting you now. Come inside. We have things to discuss."
The interior of the manor was a museum of wealth and melancholy. High vaulted ceilings, dark oak paneling, and massive oil paintings lined the hallways, but there was an eerie, uninhabited stillness to the place. No servants rushed forward to greet them. No television played in the background.
Damen led her into a massive study lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A crackling fire burned in the stone hearth, casting a warm, golden glow across the room.
"Sit," Damen instructed, gesturing toward a plush velvet armchair by the fire.
Hannah remained standing, wrapping her arms around herself. "Why are you doing this, Mr. Moretti? People like you don't rescue nurses out of the goodness of your heart. What do you want from me?"
Damen poured two glasses of scotch from a crystal decanter on the side table. He didn't drink. He simply held the glass by the stem, staring into the amber liquid before looking up at her.
"Five years ago, my younger sister Sophia worked as a volunteer coordinator at a youth shelter on the south side," Damen said quietly, his voice losing its hardened edge, replaced by something older and much heavier. "She was bright, she was stubborn, and she believed she could save everyone who walked through her doors."
Hannah listened, her defensive posture slowly softening as she heard the sorrow buried beneath his words.
"One night, she came home with bruises under her sleeves," Damen continued, taking a slow step toward the fireplace. "She told me she fell down the stairs at the shelter. I believed her because I didn't want to look closer. I had an empire to run. I had enemies to watch. I thought my rules—my control—would keep everyone safe."
He stopped, his gray eyes locking onto Hannah's with a raw, painful intensity.
"A week later, her car went off the lake shore bridge," Damen whispered. "The police called it an accident. But the last voicemail she left me said she was sorry she couldn't keep running."
Hannah swallowed hard, the knot in her throat tightening until it hurt. "You think I'm her."
May you like
"No," Damen said softly. "You are stronger than she was. You've been surviving monsters that would have broken her in a month. But you have the same fatal flaw, Hannah. You think you can carry everyone else's burdens until your own body gives out."
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