Chapter 2 - Sanctuary on Mulberry
The ride from Astoria to Manhattan passed in near-total silence, broken only by the rhythmic hum of the Lincoln’s tires against the wet asphalt and the soft click of the rain against the tinted windows. Emma huddled beneath the warmth of the blanket, her eyes fixed on the streetlights reflecting off Dante’s strong profile.
He didn't ask questions. He didn't press her for details about how long Marcus had been hurting her or why she hadn't left sooner. He simply pulled a small silver flask from his coat, unscrewed the cap, and offered it to her.
“Brandt,” he said gently. “It will take the edge off until we reach Dr. Mercer.”
Emma took a tiny sip. The liquid burned down her throat, settling into a comforting warmth in her stomach. “Thank you, Mr. Moretti.”
Dante glanced at her, a subtle crease appearing between his dark brows. “Dante. Under my roof, you call me Dante.”
They arrived not at Carmelo’s restaurant, but at an elegant pre-war brownstone situated on a quiet, tree-lined block near Gramercy Park. The iron gates swung open automatically as the car pulled into the private courtyard. Gabe stepped out to open Emma’s door, offering a surprisingly gentle hand to help her navigate the steps.
Inside, the brownstone was a sanctuary of high ceilings, dark mahogany woodwork, and soft, warm lighting. An older woman with silver hair tucked into a neat bun hurried down the grand staircase, carrying a tray of warm towels and medical supplies.
“This is Mrs. Gable,” Dante said, taking Emma’s damp blanket and hand-offering her to the housekeeper. “She manages the house. She will take care of whatever you need.”
“Right this way, my dear,” Mrs. Gable said softly, her eyes full of quiet compassion as she took note of Emma’s pale face and swelling arm. “Dr. Mercer is already in the study.”
Dr. Mercer, a soft-spoken man with wire-rimmed glasses and a calm demeanor, spent thirty minutes examining Emma’s arm in the private study. He set the bone efficiently, applying a rigid splint and securing it with medical wraps before administering a local nerve block that finally quieted the agonizing throb.
“It’s a clean fracture of the radius,” Dr. Mercer explained, wiping his hands as Dante entered the room. “No surgery required, thankfully. But she needs rest, proper nutrition, and absolute peace of mind for the next six weeks.”
“She will have all three,” Dante said firmly. He looked at Emma, who was leaning back against the leather armchair, heavy-lidded from the pain medication. “Mrs. Gable has prepared the guest suite on the third floor. It is quiet. No one enters without your permission.”
“Dante,” Emma murmured, fighting the sleep that threatened to pull her under. “I don't have any money to pay for a doctor. My things... my clothes are still at the apartment.”
Dante stepped closer, leaning over slightly so his voice reached only her. “Your debts do not exist here, Emma. As for your things, Gabe is already bringing what matters. Rest now.”
Mrs. Gable guided Emma up the stairs to a spacious, light-filled bedroom featuring a king-sized bed wrapped in crisp white linens, a working marble fireplace, and large windows overlooking a private garden. The moment Emma’s head hit the soft pillows, the exhaustion of months of terror swallowed her whole.
When she woke, daylight was filtering through the sheer velvet curtains. The clock on the mantelpiece read 2:00 PM. For the first time in three years, she didn't wake up to the sound of stomping boots, glass breaking, or the suffocating dread of Marcus’s temper.
She sat up slowly, testing her arm. The splint felt firm and protective, the sharp pain reduced to a manageable dull ache. Sitting on the nightstand was a small glass of water, a fresh set of silk pajamas, and a folded note written in precise, elegant calligraphy:
Breakfast is available whenever you wake. Come downstairs when you feel ready. — D.
Emma showered carefully, taking her time under the steaming hot water to scrub away the lingering scent of Astoria and fear. She dressed in the soft clothes provided for her and made her way down the carpeted stairs.
She found Dante in his main library on the second floor. The room was lined from floor to ceiling with leather-bound books, oil paintings, and brass floor lamps. Dante sat behind a massive walnut desk, reading through a stack of legal documents. He wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing dark ink tattoos of traditional Roman motifs trailing up his wrists.
He looked up as she stepped across the threshold, immediately putting down his fountain pen.
“Good afternoon, Emma. Did you sleep well?”
“Better than I have in years,” she confessed, staying near the doorway, suddenly shy. “I... I don't know how to repay you for this, Dante. The doctor, the room, saving me last night...”
Dante stood up and walked around the desk, gesturing toward a plush velvet armchair across from his own. “Sit, please.”
Emma sat down, folding her hands tightly in her lap.
“You owe me nothing,” Dante said, his tone tone gentle yet unyielding. “Six months ago, when you worked at Carmelo’s, I saw a woman who was carrying a weight she shouldn't have had to bear alone. I gave you my card because I believe that people who work hard and treat others with grace deserve protection when the world becomes ugly.”
“Marcus was... he wasn't always like that,” Emma whispered, looking down at her bandaged arm. “When we met, he was normal. But then he lost his job, he started drinking, and suddenly everything was my fault. I stayed because I thought I could fix it. Or maybe because I was too afraid to leave.”
“Fear makes prisoners of us all if we let it,” Dante said softly. He leaned back against the edge of his desk. “Marcus will not bother you again. My men spoke to him before he left the city. He signed over the lease of the apartment, and his belongings have been cleared out. He understands the consequences of returning.”
Emma raised her eyes, searching Dante’s face. There was a dangerous edge beneath his quiet manners—a shadow of the criminal legacy her coworkers at Carmelo’s had whispered about. Yet looking at him now, sitting in this quiet room surrounded by books and art, she felt no fear of him. Only an overwhelming sense of shelter.
“Why are you being so kind to me?” she asked directly. “You don't know me.”
Dante looked out the high window toward the rain-washed trees of Gramercy Park.
May you like
“My family built an empire out of taking things from people,” Dante admitted slowly, his voice carrying the weight of decades of history. “My father thought power meant making men bleed. I prefer to use power to keep people from bleeding. Helping you, Emma... it reminds me why I fought so hard to change what my name stands for.”
He turned back to her with a warm, genuine smile that transformed his sharp features. “Now, Mrs. Gable made soup, and you look like you haven't had a proper meal in weeks. Shall we eat?”
