Chapter 3 - THE PROTECTOR
Two hours later, a reinforced black sedan pulled through the heavy iron gates of the Costello estate in Westchester. The property was a massive stone fortress surrounded by fifty acres of dense pine forest, protected by high walls and armed guards stationed every fifty yards.
Dominic personally opened the car door for Penelope.
She stepped out, clutching his heavy suit jacket around her ruined dress. Her feet were bare—she had shed the painful, high-heeled bridal shoes in the library—and her soft, full figure felt vulnerable in the crisp night air.
A middle-aged woman with silver hair and a sharp, kind face stood waiting on the stone portico.
"This is Mrs. Gable," Dominic introduced smoothly. "She manages the estate. She will take you to your quarters, provide you with clean clothing, and tend to any medical needs."
Mrs. Gable walked down the stone steps, offering Penelope a gentle, warm smile that Penelope hadn't received from anyone in nearly a decade.
"Come inside, dear," Mrs. Gable said softly, reaching out to give Penelope a supporting arm. "You look exhausted."
Penelope hesitated, looking back at Dominic. "Where are you going?"
"I have a city to take," Dominic replied coldly, his eyes darkening. "Richard Gallagher and Charles Montgomery are holding an emergency meeting at the harbor docks tonight to celebrate their merger. I intend to remind them that the Costello Syndicate still owns the ports."
He stepped closer to Penelope, looking down into her face. "You are safe here, Penelope. My guards will protect you with their lives. Rest. We will talk in the morning."
Penelope nodded slowly, feeling a strange, unfamiliar sense of safety washing over her.
Mrs. Gable led Penelope upstairs into a magnificent, sunlit master suite with a private fireplace, plush king-sized bed, and an adjoining marble bathroom. A fire was already crackling on the hearth, filling the room with comforting warmth.
"First," Mrs. Gable said gently, running a warm bath in the deep marble tub, "let's get you out of that awful dress."
With delicate care, Mrs. Gable helped Penelope unlace the torn, brutal corset. When the heavy fabric fell to the floor, Penelope stood in the soft light of the bathroom, covering herself with her arms out of deep-seated shame.
Mrs. Gable stopped, her eyes softening as she saw the thick, puckered scars across Penelope's back and shoulder.
"Oh, child," Mrs. Gable whispered, her voice full of maternal pity.
"It's ugly," Penelope mumbled, staring down at the marble floor, tears threatening to spill again. "I know."
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"No, dear," Mrs. Gable said firmly, handing her a soft plush robe. "It's proof that you survived what was meant to destroy you. The men who did this to you are the ugly ones."
For the first time in eight years, Penelope stepped into a hot bath without feeling like a hidden monster.
