Chapter 2 - The Fortress on the Hill
The armored SUV moved smoothly through the rain-slicked streets of Boston, its tinted windows isolating Meline from the outside world. She sat huddled in the plush leather backseat, wrapped in Lorenzo’s heavy wool coat. It smelled of him—cedar, leather, and blood.
Lorenzo sat beside her, his long legs stretched out, his eyes fixed on his laptop screen as he issued rapid, cold commands in sharp Italian to his inner circle. Standing in the front passenger seat was Mario, his right-hand man, a massive guy with a broken nose who kept checking the side mirrors with intense vigilance.
"We have swept the shop, Boss," Mario reported, turning his head slightly. "The three Lombardi hitmen have been removed. The police have been compensated to file it as a gas explosion."
"And Hayes Bespoke?" Meline asked, her voice cracking. "My grandmother’s shop... my fabrics..."
Lorenzo closed his laptop with a sharp click and turned to her. The harshness in his eyes softened instantly as he looked at her pale face. "The building is secured by my guards. By tomorrow morning, a restoration team will begin rebuilding it. Everything inside will be replaced or restored to its exact condition, Meline. You have my word."
"You ruined my life in five minutes," she said softly, staring at her lap.
Lorenzo did not deny it. "I dragged you into my world the moment I stepped through your door six weeks ago. For that, I am sorry. But I will not apologize for keeping you alive."
"I am a tailor, Lorenzo," she spat out, using his first name for the first time without the formal prefix. "I make coats for rich people! I don't belong in armored cars with mafia bosses who lie to me!"
"I never lied to you," Lorenzo said quietly. He reached out, his large hand resting on the leather seat just inches from hers. "I asked you those questions because I wanted to know what you liked. The roses, the dining, the words... none of it was for Isabella Lombardi. It was all for you."
Meline looked at him, her heart doing a strange, painful flutter. "Why me? Look at me, Lorenzo. Isabella Lombardi is a model. She fits into the society you belong to. I am a plus-size working woman who spends twelve hours a day covered in thread and chalk."
Lorenzo leaned closer, his dark eyes ablaze with an earnestness that made it impossible to look away. "Isabella Lombardi is a hollow shell made of pedigree and vanity. You are fiercely intelligent, breathtakingly talented, and when a man pulled a gun today, you smashed his face with dressmaker’s shears. You possess more beauty and courage than every woman in New York combined."
Meline felt her face burn hot. She turned her head toward the window, unable to process his words as the vehicle turned up the winding driveway of the Moretti estate on Beacon Hill.
The estate was a sprawling historic manor surrounded by twelve-foot wrought-iron gates, security cameras, and armed guards patrolling the grounds with automatic rifles. The heavy gates swung open, allowing the SUV to pull up to the front steps of the limestone mansion.
Lorenzo stepped out first, offering his hand to Meline. She looked at his hand—broad, calloused, marked by subtle scars—and hesitated before taking it. His grip was warm and solid as he pulled her out of the vehicle.
"Welcome to my home," Lorenzo said as the massive mahogany front doors were opened by a butler in a immaculate suit. "You will be safe here."
The interior of the mansion was a breathtaking mix of classic European luxury and modern security. High ceilings, marble floors, and grand oil paintings were flanked by discrete biometric scanners and reinforced steel window shutters.
An older woman with silver hair pulled into a tight knot stepped forward, holding a silver tray with warm tea. "Master Lorenzo. The guest suite has been prepared."
"Thank you, Elena," Lorenzo said. He turned to Meline. "This is Elena, my housekeeper. She will ensure you have everything you need. Your clothes from your apartment are already being fetched by my men."
"You went into my apartment?" Meline asked, her eyes widening.
"Your apartment is no longer safe, Meline," Lorenzo said firmly. "Lombardi knows where you work and where you live. Until I eliminate the threat, you remain here, under my direct protection."
May you like
Meline swallowed hard, looking around the grand entrance hall. "And this... engagement? How long do I have to pretend to be your fiancée?"
"Until the Lombardi family understands that any attack on you is a declaration of full-scale war," Lorenzo said. He stepped closer to her, his tone lowering so only she could hear. "And tomorrow night, we make our first public appearance together at the Boston Symphony Gala. The entire underworld will be watching."
