Chapter 3 - THE BEDFORD ESTATE
The blacked-out Escalade glided through the wrought-iron gates of the Santoro estate in Bedford, New York, just after 2:00 AM.
High stone walls topped with razor wire and discreet motion sensors enclosed fifty acres of dense pine forest. The mansion rose out of the darkness like a gothic fortress made of dark granite and reinforced glass. Spotlights swept the perimeter, operated by armed guards wearing tactical vests over dark civilian clothing.
Naomi sat in the rear leather seat, Maya asleep with her head in Naomi’s lap. Belvin’s private medical transport had collected Maya directly from their Queens apartment an hour ago, transferring her with an elite nursing staff in tow.
Titan sat on the seat beside Naomi, his massive head resting against her shoulder, snoring softly.
"He hasn't slept like that in two years," Belvin remarked from the front passenger seat, watching them through the rearview mirror. "Usually, he patrols the halls until dawn."
"He was operating in a state of chronic sympathetic nervous system overload," Naomi explained softly, her fingers stroking the dog’s velvet ears. "His brain never registered that he was safe. When you keep an animal in high-alert mode without decompression, their heart rate stays elevated. It shortens their lifespan."
Belvin observed her through the mirror. "You sound like a doctor."
"I was going to be one," she replied quietly. "For animals, at least. They don't lie. They don't have hidden motives."
The vehicle came to a smooth halt beneath the stone portico. The door was swept open by a broad-shouldered man with a scar running from his ear to his collarbone. This was Leo, Belvin’s head of security.
"House is clear, Boss," Leo reported in a clipped, military tone. "Perimeter sweeps are complete. Thermal imaging shows no unauthorized signatures within two miles."
"Get Miss Rivers’ sister settled in the medical suite on the west wing," Belvin ordered, stepping out. "Dr. Chen is already waiting?"
"Yes, sir. Arrived twenty minutes ago."
Naomi carefully lifted Maya in her arms, but before her feet touched the pavement, Belvin stepped forward and smoothly scooped the fragile sixteen-year-old girl into his own arms. Maya stirred slightly, burying her face against Belvin’s dark wool coat, before settling back into sleep.
Naomi blinked in surprise. The ruthless mafia boss who had nearly witnessed a man’s throat torn out an hour ago was handling her sick sister with the delicate precision of a father carrying a porcelain doll.
"Follow me," Belvin said briefly, turning toward the heavy oak front doors.
The interior of the estate was a masterclass in silent luxury. Deep mahogany floors, priceless oil paintings, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking dark gardens. Yet behind the luxury lay absolute tactical preparation—steel shutters concealed in the ceiling trim, bulletproof glass, and discreetly hidden weapon lockers built into the wood paneling.
Belvin carried Maya into a state-of-the-art medical suite that looked more like a private hospital room than a residential bedroom. A middle-aged female physician in pristine scrubs was already adjusting an IV line apparatus.
"Dr. Chen," Belvin said, placing Maya gently onto the specialized mattress. "This is Maya Rivers. Her chart was transferred from Queens General."
Dr. Chen nodded respectfully. "I've already reviewed her scans, Mr. Santoro. The oncology team from Sloan Kettering will be here at eight tomorrow morning. We're switching her to the experimental targeted immunotherapy protocol immediately."
Naomi felt tears burn the backs of her eyes. For eighteen months, she had begged hospital administrators, filled out hundreds of financial assistance forms, and watched her sister slowly deteriorate while waiting lists stalled. In less than two hours, Belvin Santoro had bypassed every bureaucratic barrier with a single phone call.
She walked to the bedside, smoothing Maya’s soft hair back from her pale forehead.
"Thank you," Naomi whispered, looking up at Belvin.
Belvin stood near the door, hands in his pockets, Titan sitting rigidly at his side. "Don't thank me yet, Naomi. In my world, everything has a price. You're giving me your expertise. I am giving you my protection."
"And what about Julian Vance?" Naomi asked, her voice hardening.
Belvin’s dark eyes glinted in the dim medical lighting. "Julian Vance thinks he controls the financial district. He thinks buying corrupt federal agents makes him untouchable. But he made a fatal mistake tonight—he brought violence into my restaurant, and he tried to take something that belongs to me."
"Titan?"
May you like
"No," Belvin said softly, his gaze locking onto hers with a fierce, possessive weight that sent a jolt down her spine. "My peace."
He turned toward the door. "Get some sleep, Naomi. Tomorrow, your real work begins."
