Chapter 4 - Shadows in the Garden
Three days passed in a blur of gilded imprisonment.
I was given new clothes—soft cashmere sweaters, well-fitted jeans, and comfortable shoes that felt like walking on clouds. Mrs. Gable treated me with quiet, careful kindness, bringing meals to my suite and checking on me as if I were an honored dignitary. But no matter how soft the bed or how delicious the food, I was a prisoner. Guards stood outside my door around the clock, rotating shifts every four hours. I wasn't allowed to leave the estate, and every window in my room looked out over heavily patrolled courtyards and iron gates.
On the fourth morning, I finally caught a glimpse of Noah.
I was standing by the glass French doors of the second-floor gallery, watching the rain mist over the bay, when I saw him walking through the courtyard gardens below. He was bundled in a dark blue coat, holding the hand of a stern-looking nanny, but his eyes were scanning the upper windows.
When he spotted me standing behind the glass, his face lit up. He let go of the nanny's hand, pointed up at my window, and gave a small, hesitant wave.
A genuine smile broke across my face for the first time in days. I raised my hand and waved back.
Suddenly, a massive shadow blocked my view.
Vincent stepped out from the adjoining study, his dark coat draped over his arm. He had caught me looking down at his son. He walked to the window, standing close beside me, his eyes also fixed on the small figure in the garden below.
"He asks about you every morning," Vincent said quietly. "He wants to know when Maya is coming out to play."
"Then let me go down there," I urged, turning to face him. "I'm not going to hurt him, Vincent. You know that."
"I know," Vincent replied, turning his dark gaze down to meet mine. "If I thought you were a threat, you wouldn't be breathing right now. But the danger isn't you, Maya. It's what's coming for us."
"What do you mean?" I asked, my heart skipping a beat.
"My scouts report that the Falcone family has caught wind of what happened at the grocery store," Vincent said, his voice dropping an octave, turning cold and lethal. "Marco Falcone has been looking for a weakness in my empire for five years. If he realizes that my son's voice—and his emotional stability—is tied to a homeless girl I picked off the street, he will tear this city apart to find you."
Before I could process the terrifying weight of his words, a sharp, piercing sound shattered the quiet morning air.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The estate's security alarm began wailing across the grounds. Red emergency lights flashed along the hallways, casting frantic crimson streaks across the polished marble.
May you like
Vincent’s entire body went rigid. In a fraction of a second, the calm, composed billionaire vanished, replaced entirely by the ruthless mafia boss. He grabbed my arm with a grip of iron, pulling me away from the windows just as a deafening explosion rocked the front courtyard below.
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