Chapter 5 - The Fortress on the Cliff
The Rossi estate did not look like a home; it looked like a medieval citadel adapted for the twenty-first century.
When the town car finally came to a halt beneath the grand stone portico of the main manor house, Mave stepped out into the crisp night air, clutching Leo’s oversized jacket around her shoulders like a shield.
Massive stone pillars supported a slate roof that vanished into the shadows of the cliffside oaks. There were no bright, welcoming porch lights—only discreet security cameras panning silently along the eaves and armed patrols moving with practiced, silent efficiency across the gravel paths.
As they walked up the grand stone steps, the heavy oak front door swung open automatically.
Waiting in the expansive, marble-floored foyer was an older woman with iron-gray hair pulled back into a severe bun, dressed in a crisp black dress with a lace collar. Her face was stern, her posture unyielding, but her sharp eyes swept over Mave with an instantaneous, razor-sharp assessment.
“Mr. Rossi,” the woman said, her voice dry and precise. “You returned earlier than anticipated. And... you have a guest.”
“Not a guest, Mrs. Gable,” Leo corrected, stepping past her and shrugging off his waistcoat as a pair of junior guards materialized from the shadows to take his keys and coat. He turned back to Mave, gently taking her hand. “My wife.”
Mrs. Gable froze.
For three terrifying seconds, the formidable housekeeper stared at Mave—at the cheap, torn blue satin dress, the unstyled dark hair pinned haphazardly above her neck, and the scuffed pumps.
Then, with the disciplined precision of a military general, Mrs. Gable dipped her head in a formal, unbroken bow.
“Welcome to the estate, Mrs. Rossi,” the housekeeper said smoothly, her tone leaving zero room for doubt or hesitation. “I will have the master suite prepared immediately. Shall I draw a hot bath and have the medical kit brought up for your feet?”
Mave blinked, glancing sideways at Leo. “She... she didn’t even blink.”
“Mrs. Gable has worked for my family for forty years,” Leo said with a faint smirk. “She knows better than to question my judgment. Besides, she’s been trying to get me married for a decade.”
“I was beginning to fear you had expired, sir,” Mrs. Gable added dryly, turning toward the grand staircase. “Follow me, madam. We have work to do before sunrise.”
Ten minutes later, Mave found herself standing inside a master bathroom that was larger than the entire living room of her old apartment.
A clawfoot porcelain tub sat beneath an arched stained-glass window, already filling with steaming water infused with crushed lavender and sea salt. Fluffy white towels stacked three high rested on a heated rack, and a plush velvet bathrobe hung from a golden hook on the wall.
“Strip off that torture device of a dress,” Mrs. Gable instructed matter-of-factly, gesturing toward the stiff satin gown. “And those shoes belong in a municipal incinerator.”
Mave looked down at her feet. The tight pumps had rubbed blisters into her heels, and a thin line of blood stained the inner lining.
“Mr. Rossi said we could burn them,” Mave noted quietly.
A rare, approving smile touched Mrs. Gable’s lips. “Mr. Rossi has excellent instincts. Step into the bath, child. I’ll be right outside the door with clean clothes and first aid.”
As the heavy oak door clicked shut, Mave finally allowed herself to exhale.
She stripped off the borrowed satin dress, letting it pool on the marble floor like discarded snake skin. She kicked off the hateful pumps, watching them clatter against the tiles.
Stepping into the steaming water, she sank down until the hot, fragrant liquid swallowed her shoulders. The relief was so intense it felt almost painful. The tension in her ribs, the tight knot of anxiety in her stomach, the lifelong weight of being the Sullivan family’s designated failure—it all seemed to dissolve into the rising steam.
I am a Rossi now, she thought, the words echoing strangely in her mind. Wife to the most dangerous man in the city.
Twenty minutes later, washed, bandaged, and dressed in a soft, oversized cashmere sweater and gray lounge pants provided by Mrs. Gable, Mave stepped out into the master bedroom.
The room was vast and darkly elegant, dominated by a massive mahogany four-poster bed and tall bookshelves lining the walls. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the dark, churning expanse of the ocean far below.
Leo was standing by the glass, holding a crystal tumbler of amber liquid. He had removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt collar.
He turned as the door clicked open.
His dark eyes swept over her—not with the predatory assessment of the ballroom, but with a quiet, grounding warmth.
“Better?” he asked.
“Infinitely,” Mave admitted, walking over to stand a few feet away from him. She looked out at the dark ocean. “My father must be having a heart attack right about now.”
“Your father is currently trying to liquidate his remaining office equipment to pay off a bridge loan that matured thirty minutes ago,” Leo corrected smoothly, taking a sip from his glass. “By morning, he will realize he has nowhere left to run.”
Mave turned her head to look at him. “And Caroline?”
“Caroline is packing her bags, furious that her ticket to high society just evaporated,” Leo said, setting his glass down on the windowsill. He stepped closer to Mave, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating off his frame. “Which brings us to the most important question.”
Mave’s heart skipped a beat. “What question?”
“Tomorrow morning, the media will get wind of this,” Leo said, his voice dropping into a low, serious register. “My rivals will test us. Your family will try to exploit us. The city will whisper that I’ve taken a stray dog off the street.”
He reached out, his warm fingers gently cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone.
“Are you ready to show them what happens when a Rossi bites back?”
Mave looked into his dark, unyielding eyes, remembering the years of cruelty, the cold apartment above the warehouse, the bleeding fingers, and her sister’s venomous laughter.
May you like
A slow, fierce smile touched her lips.
“Try me,” she whispered.
