Chapter 6 - The Mansion on the Lake
The black SUV sped north through the pouring rain, bypassing the city center and taking the private access roads toward the wealthy estates along Lake Michigan.
Elena sat in the leather back seat, Brutus’s heavy head resting comfortably in her lap. Her hands gently stroked the mastiff’s soft ears, monitoring his breathing every few minutes while Dante sat across from her in silence, nursing a crystal glass of bourbon.
They pulled through massive iron gates flanked by security cameras, driving up a winding stone driveway lined with ancient oak trees. The Marchetti estate was a massive stone fortress overlooking the black, churning waters of Lake Michigan.
"Inside," Dante ordered as the vehicle stopped beneath the covered portico.
Two guards helped carry Brutus into a private medical wing on the ground floor—a fully equipped room with stainless steel examination tables, IV stands, and heart monitors.
"You have a private hospital in your house?" Elena asked, looking around in disbelief.
"In my line of work, going to a public hospital with a bullet wound usually ends in a prison sentence or an execution," Dante replied, pouring another glass of bourbon at a side counter. "I keep two former Navy medics on retainer. But neither of them could have done what you did back there."
Elena immediately went to work, hooking Brutus up to a saline IV line and adjusting his pain medication. Her movements were smooth, confident, and professional—a stark contrast to her worn canvas shoes and faded jeans.
Dante stood by the glass door, watching her every move. "You learned that in combat."
It wasn't a question.
Elena adjusted the IV drip rate. "I said no questions."
"I don't need to ask questions to know facts," Dante said softly, walking up beside her. "You have tactical surgical training. You didn't panic when automatic fire tore through a window. You spoke to me like a commander, not a civilian."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, secure tablet, flicking his finger across the glass screen.
"My tech guys ran your face through our private database while we were driving," Dante said, his voice dropping into a dangerous register.
Elena’s body went completely still.
"Your real name isn't Elena Vasquez," Dante read from the screen, his gray eyes fixing on her like iron sights. "It’s Dr. Elena Rostova. Former Chief Surgical Resident at Johns Hopkins. Former Captain in the United States Army Medical Corps. Three tours in Afghanistan."
Elena swallowed hard, her jaw tightening. "Delete that."
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"And three years ago," Dante continued, ignoring her demand, "you vanished from Baltimore after your husband—a high-ranking state prosecutor—was killed in a car bombing right outside your apartment."
"I said stop," Elena growled, turning around, her dark eyes flashing with a terrifying, raw grief that made Dante pause.
