Chapter 1 - The Threshold of DeLuca Manor
The iron gates of the DeLuca estate opened like the jaws of a sleeping Leviathan, swallowed in the misty morning gray of suburban Lake Forest.
Natalie Carter sat in the plush leather backseat of a dark, armored Maybach, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her knuckles were white. Sitting beside her was Silas, the mountain-sized bodyguard who had stood behind Damian DeLuca at the boutique yesterday. He hadn't spoken a single word since picking her up from her cramped, fire-escape-draped apartment at six in the morning.
As the car glided up the winding cobblestone driveway lined with ancient, towering oaks, the sheer scale of Damian DeLuca’s world began to sink in. The mansion didn't look like a mob boss's lair—it looked like a century-old European manor house constructed of dark limestone and slate, complete with sprawling gardens, security towers hidden behind manicured hedges, and high stone walls topped with discreetly placed motion sensors.
"Mr. DeLuca is waiting in the study," Silas said smoothly as the car glided to a silent stop in front of the sweeping marble grand staircase. "A word of advice, Miss Carter."
Natalie turned to him, her heart thumping against her ribs. "Yes?"
"Don't ask about the doors that are locked," Silas said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "And don't leave Ava’s side after dark. This house has memories, and not all of them are friendly."
Before Natalie could process the sinister warning, Silas was already opening her door.
Stepping into the main foyer was like stepping into a cathedral of quiet wealth. Soaring double-height ceilings, a sweeping double staircase, and crystal chandeliers that cast soft, golden light over polished marble floors. But beneath the elegance, Natalie felt an unmistakable, suffocating chill. The air smelled faintly of beeswax, old paper, and rich pipe tobacco—and something else. Something like copper and ozone.
A woman in a sharp gray suit stepped forward, holding a sleek silver tablet. "Miss Carter. I am Elena, Mr. DeLuca’s head of household affairs. Follow me, please."
Elena led her through a maze of mahogany-paneled corridors lined with oil paintings of stormy seas and ancient battlefields. Finally, she knocked twice on a set of heavy carved oak doors.
"Enter," a deep, controlled voice called from within.
The study was vast, dominated by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a grand stone fireplace where a fire crackled quietly, and a massive mahogany desk facing a wall of bulletproof glass overlooking the gardens.
Damian DeLuca sat behind the desk. He had shed his jacket from the previous day, wearing a pristine white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing strong hands and a dark, intricate tattoo running down his left wrist—a crest featuring a dragon wrapped around an anchor.
"Natalie," Damian said, standing up. "You're punctual. Sit, please."
Natalie walked toward the leather armchairs opposite his desk, forcing herself to walk with confidence she didn't feel. "Good morning, Mr. DeLuca."
"Damian is fine," he said softly, leaning back against the edge of his desk. He reached down and slid a thick leather folder across the desk toward her. "Your contract. Five times your previous annual salary at Bellamy & Stone, broken into semi-monthly direct deposits. Full health, dental, and vision insurance for you and your sister Grace, effective immediately. And a certified check for fifty thousand dollars as a signing bonus to clear your mother’s outstanding medical debts."
Natalie’s breath caught in her throat. She stared at the check resting on top of the document. The exact amount her mother’s hospital bills had racked up—fifty thousand dollars. It was enough to wipe away two years of sleepless nights, predatory collection calls, and constant panic.
"How do you know about my mother's debt?" Natalie asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Damian’s dark eyes didn't flicker. "I don't hire people to protect my daughter without knowing everything about them, Natalie. I know you sacrificed your own college education to put Grace through school. I know you work forty-eight hours a week and skip meals to afford her tuition. I know you spent every summer of your teenage years working at the developmental care clinic in Evanston."
He stepped closer, his presence looming, powerful, yet strangely grounded. "I don't care about your lack of a formal degree. I care that my daughter looked at you yesterday and didn't see a threat."
"Where is Ava?" Natalie asked softly.
"In her wing on the second floor," Damian replied, his eyes softening just a fraction. "She hasn't left her room since we came home yesterday. She won't eat. She won't speak to her nurses. She is waiting for you."
May you like
Natalie didn't hesitate. She picked up the pen resting on the desk, signed her name on the dotted line of the contract, and looked up into the eyes of Chicago’s most dangerous man.
"Take me to her."
