Chapter 3 - THE SAFE HOUSE AT THE LAKE
The escape from Great Lakes Medical Center was executed with the flawless precision of a military operation. While Marcus Vance staged a decoy ambulance at the main entrance to draw the attention of the Bellandi lookouts, two of Roman’s most trusted personal soldiers—men who answered only to him, not to his uncle Raymond—guided Roman and Hannah through the underground laundry tunnels.
By 4:00 AM, they were inside a heavily armored, black suburban, speeding away from the city lights toward a secluded estate on the shores of Lake Michigan, just past Lake Forest. Owen was wrapped in a thick wool blanket, sleeping soundly against Hannah’s shoulder in the backseat. The boy’s fever had finally broken, but he refused to let go of Hannah's thumb even in his sleep.
Roman sat in the front passenger seat, his face pale, sweat bead-lining his forehead as the vehicle navigated the bumpy country roads. He refused to take the prescribed morphine; he needed his mind completely clear.
The suburban pulled through a massive set of wrought-iron gates, hidden behind rows of dense pine trees. The safehouse was a sprawling, stone fortress that looked more like an old European castle than a Midwestern home. Security guards with automatic rifles stood at every corner, their bodies shadowed by the low estate lighting.
As soon as the car stopped, Hannah helped the guards transfer Roman into a wheelchair. He hissed in pain as his stitches pulled, but he kept his head high.
"Take Owen upstairs to the master suite," Roman ordered the guards, his voice tight. "Hannah, come with me to the study."
The study was lined with dark walnut shelves, thousands of old books, and a massive monitors desk displaying live feeds of the entire estate. Marcus Vance was already there, having arrived via a secondary route. He had three laptops open, their screens flashing with financial transactions and corporate registries.
"What’s the damage, Marcus?" Roman asked, leaning back into a leather armchair, his hand resting near his chest to stabilize his wounds.
"Raymond didn't waste any time," Marcus said, tapping a key. "The moment the hospital reported you were conscious but uncommunicative, he authorized a transfer of forty-two million dollars from the Moretti shipping accounts into an offshore shell company registered in the Cayman Islands. The beneficiary is a corporate entity controlled by Victoria’s father, Antonio Bellandi."
"They’re draining the vaults before the wedding can even be canceled," Hannah remarked, standing near the door, her medical bag still slung over her shoulder.
Both men looked at her. Roman’s lips twitched into a cold smirk. "You have a good eye for numbers, Nurse Reed."
"I know what a robbery looks like," Hannah replied, crossing her arms. "I see it every time an insurance company denies a patient's claim. Your family is just doing it with bigger numbers."
"It’s more than a robbery, Hannah," Roman said, turning back to Marcus. "It’s a execution order. If they drain the shipping funds, the construction side of our business defaults on its city contracts. The state takes over the assets, and the Moretti name is completely erased from Chicago. Raymond gets a massive retirement package from the Bellandis, and Victoria walks away a billionaire."
"We need to freeze the accounts, Roman," Marcus said. "But to do that, you have to appear in person at the corporate headquarters on Monday morning. If the board sees you alive, functioning, and holding the majority shares, Raymond’s authority is legally dissolved."
"Then we go on Monday," Roman said.
"Roman, look at yourself," Hannah stepped forward, her voice taking on that sharp, authoritative tone she used with stubborn patients in the trauma bay. "Your blood pressure is fluctuating. Your internal stitches are under immense strain. If you walk into a boardroom right now and your blood pressure spikes, you’ll suffer internal hemorrhaging. You won't make it to the corporate headquarters; you’ll bleed out on the elevator floor."
Roman looked up at her, his dark eyes challenging her. "Then you’ll have to make sure that doesn't happen, Nurse Reed. You are now my private medical director. I'll pay you ten times your hospital salary for the next forty-eight hours."
"I don't want your money, Mr. Moretti," Hannah said, leaning over his chair until she was inches from his face. "I'm staying because that little boy upstairs needs his father alive. I will stabilize you, I will manage your pain, and I will walk into that building with you. But you follow my medical orders exactly, or I walk out that gate and call the federal authorities myself."
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Marcus Vance let out a low whistle, looking at Roman to see his reaction. For years, no one had dared to threaten Roman Moretti.
Roman simply stared at Hannah, the intensity in his eyes shifting from anger to an unreadable admiration. "Deal," he murmured. "But if we survive Monday, you don't get to walk away so easily."
