Chapter 5 - The Fortress on Federal Hill
Wren slid down the brick wall, her knees shaking so violently she couldn't keep her balance.
Nathaniel caught her before her knees hit the wet concrete. His hands were large, warm, and remarkably gentle as he pulled her up against his chest, wrapping his heavy arm around her waist to support her weight.
"Samson. Off," Nathaniel commanded crisply.
The giant mastiff immediately released the man's arm, stepping back to stand guard at the mouth of the alley, his dark eyes fixed on the street. The two attackers scrambled backward through the mud, crawling toward their vehicle like terrified insects, abandoning their knife and revolver on the pavement.
"Are you hurt?" Nathaniel asked, looking down at Wren. His grey eyes were scanning her face, her neck, her hands, searching for any sign of blood or injury.
"I... I'm fine," Wren breathed, her hands clutching his wet lapels for support. "They... they said someone named Marcus Vane sent them."
Nathaniel’s expression hardened into a terrifying mask of absolute, lethal frost. "Marcus is an idiot who thinks he can claim my territory by targeting civilians."
He turned her gently toward a sleek, black armored sedan idling at the end of the alley, its doors already held open by a broad-shouldered security guard.
"Where are you taking me?" Wren asked, her survival instincts kicking back in as the adrenaline began to clear.
"To my house," Nathaniel replied, leading her toward the car. "Vane knows who you are now. If you go back to your apartment tonight, you’ll be in a wooden box by morning."
"I have a job! I have my mother—"
"Your mother is currently in a private suite at St. Jude's with two armed guards outside her door," Nathaniel interrupted smoothly, holding the car door open for her. "I had her moved two hours ago when my scouts picked up Vane’s men watching your bistro."
Wren stopped on the sidewalk, staring at him in disbelief. "You moved my mother without asking me?"
"I saved her life," Nathaniel corrected, his voice dropping into that quiet, unquestionable register that made arguments impossible. "Just like I'm saving yours right now. Get in the car, Wren."
Wren looked at the dark car, then at Samson, who trotted over and placed his heavy head against her hip, nudging her gently toward the interior.
She let out a shaky breath and climbed inside.
Twenty minutes later, the sedan pulled through a massive iron gate topped with security cameras and spike wire, entering a gated estate high on Federal Hill. The house was an ancient, gothic mansion built from dark stone, surrounded by ten-foot stone walls and manicured gardens illuminated by soft floodlights.
Inside, the estate was warm, quiet, and smelled faintly of old wood, expensive brandy, and fresh lilies.
A housekeeper in a grey uniform immediately stepped forward, taking Wren’s soaked coat and handing her a thick, warm cashmere throw blanket.
"Show Miss Kelly to the guest suite on the second floor," Nathaniel ordered his staff. "Have the chef prepare warm soup and tea. And bring a medical kit."
"I'm not bleeding," Wren insisted, wrapping the plush blanket around her shivering shoulders.
"Your wrist is bruised where he grabbed you," Nathaniel noted, pointing at the dark red marks forming on her skin. "I don't like seeing marks on things that belong under my protection."
Wren turned to face him in the grand foyer, her small figure standing beneath a massive crystal chandelier.
"I don't belong to you, Nathaniel," she said clearly, her voice echoing off the high marble walls.
Nathaniel paused at the foot of the mahogany staircase. Samson sat beside him, his dark eyes watching the exchange between them.
May you like
Nathaniel slowly pulled off his leather gloves, one finger at a time.
"You don't belong to me, Wren Kelly," Nathaniel said softly, meeting her gaze with an unblinking intensity. "But as long as Marcus Vane breathes the air in this city, you are under my shadow. And in Providence, no one touches what stands in my shadow."
