Chapter 4 - The Safehouse on the Hudson
The sun had barely begun to streak the gray Manhattan skyline with pale amber when Sal’s black Navigator pulled up to our curb again. True to his word, I had spent the entire night packing two duffel bags of clothes, hiding our important documents in my backpack, and jumping at every creaking floorboard in our small apartment, half-expecting Julian or federal agents to kick our front door in at any second.
Lily was still half-asleep, clutching Mr. Buttons as I bundled her into her red coat and carried her down the concrete steps into the crisp dawn air.
We drove north, leaving the congested streets of Queens behind, crossing the George Washington Bridge as the morning traffic began to build. The skyscrapers of Manhattan shrank in our rearview mirror, replaced by the dense, misty tree lines of the Hudson Valley.
An hour later, the Navigator turned off the main highway onto a private, winding gravel road shaded by towering oaks and maples. At the end of the drive sat a sprawling, stone-and-timber estate that looked less like a criminal hideout and more like a secluded billionaire's retreat, overlooking the wide, slate-gray waters of the Hudson River.
Iron gates swung open automatically as we approached, and Sal parked smoothly in front of a heavy carved oak double door.
"Welcome to the sanctuary, Mrs. Vance," Sal murmured respectfully as he opened my door, helping me carry our bags up the stone steps.
Inside, the estate was breathtaking—vaulted timber ceilings, a massive stone fireplace in the center of a living room lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and wide picture windows framing the majestic river view. It was quiet, secure, and completely removed from the chaos of the city.
A middle-aged woman with kind eyes and hair streaked with silver emerged from the hallway, wiping her hands on a clean kitchen apron.
"Clara, right? And little Lily?" the woman asked warmly, stepping forward to take my coat. "I'm Mrs. Gable. I've already prepared the guest suite upstairs, and there's fresh hot chocolate and pancakes waiting in the kitchen."
Lily’s eyes lit up at the mention of hot chocolate, her sleepiness vanishing instantly. "Pancakes?"
"The biggest ones you've ever seen, sweetheart," Mrs. Gable smiled, taking Lily’s small hand and leading her toward the kitchen.
I stood in the center of the grand living room, my bags resting at my feet, my chest tight with a mixture of gratitude and overwhelming unease. I was accepting protection from a man the FBI spent decades trying to put behind bars. I was playing a game with rules I didn't understand, orchestrated by a mafia boss who had every reason to use me as a pawn against my husband.
Heavy footsteps echoed down the grand wooden staircase behind me.
I turned around. Dominic descended the steps, having discarded his suit jacket in favor of a dark charcoal turtleneck and wool trousers. He looked less like a crime syndicate boss in that moment and more like a brooding European aristocrat—dangerous, composed, and impossibly magnetic.
"Mrs. Gable will keep Lily entertained," Dominic said, walking toward me and stopping a few feet away. "You look exhausted, Clara. When was the last time you slept more than three hours?"
"About four years ago," I retorted dryly, crossing my arms over my chest to mask the tremor in my hands. "Look, Mr. Moretti—Dominic—I appreciate the hospitality. I appreciate you keeping us safe from whatever federal mess Julian dragged us into. But I need to know what happens next. You didn't hide us out here out of the goodness of your heart."
"No," Dominic admitted, his expression entirely transparent, lacking any pretense of false chivalry. "I didn't. I brought you here because Julian made a very specific phone call to my Manhattan office late last night."
My breath hitched. "He's here? In New York?"
"He landed at JFK at midnight," Dominic said, his eyes locking onto mine with chilling clarity. "And according to my sources, he’s scheduled a meeting for tonight at an upscale restaurant in Tribeca. A meeting with the federal prosecutor handling the financial fraud division."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over me like a falling anvil.
May you like
"He’s planning to trade the evidence against his own shell companies—and pin the entire three-million-dollar embezzlement scheme on you—in exchange for full immunity and witness protection."
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