Chapter 2 - The Iron Gate
The black armored SUV cut through the rain-slicked streets of Chicago’s Gold Coast like a blade through silk.
Elina sat in the cavernous leather interior, wedged between the door and the towering bulk of Dante’s lead bodyguard, a silent mountain of a man who introduced himself only as Marcus. Across from her sat Dante, his long legs stretched out, his dark coat unbuttoned to reveal the heavy shoulder holster strapped across his chest.
In his lap, little Leo was fast asleep, his small cheek pressed against Dante’s lapel, one of his tiny hands still tangled securely in the hem of Elina’s cheap polyester waitress vest, which she hadn't been given time to change out of.
"You're making a massive mistake," Elina said for the fourth time, her voice trembling slightly despite her efforts to sound fierce. She crossed her arms, glaring out the tinted window at the blurred lights of the city. "If I don't show up for my shift tomorrow, Vince will call the cops. If I vanish off the street, there will be an investigation."
"No one is investigating anything in my city without my permission," Dante said, his voice flat and absolute. He didn't look at her; he was staring down at his son, his thumb gently stroking the soft hair at the nape of the boy's neck. "And Vince won't call anyone. He knows better than to ask questions about my business."
"Your business," Elina scoffed bitterly. "Right. The mafia boss routine. Is this supposed to impress me? Because frankly, being kidnapped by a guy who smells like expensive tobacco and desperation isn't as romantic as your movies make it look."
A muscle twitched in Dante’s jaw. He finally lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a intensity that made her breath hitch. "I didn't kidnap you, Elina. I invited you. There is a distinct legal and tactical difference."
"Right. Because I had the option to say no while your goon stood by the door with his hand on a piece," she shot back, gesturing toward Marcus.
Marcus didn't blink or react. He looked straight ahead like a statue carved from granite.
"You could have said no," Dante said softly. "You chose to stay because of him." He flicked his chin toward the sleeping baby.
Elina opened her mouth to argue, but the words died in her throat because he was right. She could have bolted toward the kitchen exit when Vince went to get the manager's keys. She could have screamed. But when she looked at the baby’s desperate, tear-streaked face in the restaurant, a strange, hollow ache had opened up inside her ribs—a feeling of recognition so deep it terrified her.
The SUV slowed down, turning through a pair of wrought-iron gates that loomed like dark teeth against the stormy night sky. Beyond the gates lay a sprawling, stone-faced estate that looked more like a European fortress than a modern Chicago home. High walls topped with security cameras and thick ivy surrounded manicured lawns that vanished into the gloom of towering oak trees.
"Welcome to the estate," Dante murmured as the vehicle came to a smooth halt beneath a grand stone portico.
"It's a prison," Elina whispered, staring up at the tall, narrow windows glowing with pale amber light.
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"It's a sanctuary," Dante corrected, opening his door before the driver could scurry around. He scooped the sleeping baby into his arms with practiced ease—though Leo stirred and immediately let out a low whine, his little hands searching blindly through the air until Elina instinctively reached out and let him grab her index finger.
Dante paused, looking down at their joined hands with a dark, unreadable expression. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the heavy oak front doors, leaving Elina no choice but to follow him into the lion's den.
