Chapter 2 - The Warmth of His Bed and the Cold Truth
Roman didn't waste a second. "Dante!" Roman barked toward the doorway. His head
of security, a hulking man with scars across his jaw, materialized instantly.
"Bring the portable trauma kit from my personal armored car," Roman ordered.
"And put a man outside this door. Nobody leaves this floor. Nobody leaves this
house. If anyone tries to start an engine at the front gate, shoot out their
tires." Vivian’s eyes flashed with anger. "Roman, you are behaving like a
madman! My father is downstairs with three state senators. You cannot treat our
guests like prisoners over an accident involving kitchen help!"
Roman turned his head. The look in his eyes was so merciless that Vivian
swallowed her next words. "She is not kitchen help," Roman said softly, the
quietness of his tone far deadlier than any shout. "She is a human being under
my protection. And if you speak another word in this room, Vivian, I will have
Dante throw you into the same snowdrift until your lips turn the same color as
hers." Vivian gasped, insulted and terrified, before spinning on her red
designer heels and storming down the corridor.
Dr. Rossi worked frantically. He cut away the soaked fabric of Claire's uniform,
wrapping her shivering torso in thermal foil blankets while Dante returned with
medical-grade oxygen. Roman took a basin of lukewarm water and a linen towel,
kneeling by the side of the bed. He ignored the doctor’s protests that he should
let a nurse handle it. With hands that had broken bones and signed
multi-million-dollar cartel contracts, Roman DeLuca tenderly bathed the ice
crystals from Claire’s temples, her cheeks, and her bruised, shivering
collarbones. Claire was not built like the razor-thin socialite women who
floated through his galas. She was soft, with full hips, round curves, and an
open, honest face that had caught Roman's attention from the very first week she
arrived at DeLuca House. For two years, he had watched her. He had watched her
hum softly while setting the library tables. He had watched her slip extra
pastries into napkins to give to the young groundskeepers. He had watched her
carry herself with quiet dignity despite the venomous sneers of women like
Vivian. He had kept his distance because his world was blood and ash. He had
thought keeping her at arm's length was protecting her. I was wrong, he thought,
brushing a damp copper curl from her pale forehead. I let the viper inside my
own house.
May you like
Claire let out a weak, agonizing gasp. Her eyelashes fluttered. Her dark brown
eyes, glazed with pain and confusion, struggled to focus on the carved ceiling
above. "Claire," Roman said instantly, leaning in close so his face was the only
thing she saw. "Look at me. You're safe. You're inside." Her dry lips parted. A
tiny shudder ran through her entire body. "L-Lily..." she whispered, her voice
barely a scrape of sound against the pillows. "Who is Lily?" Roman asked gently.
"My... my sister..." Tears welled in the corners of Claire's eyes and spilled
over her pale cheeks. "She said... Vivian said... if I didn't get the wine...
she'd stop the wire... to Harbor Ridge... they'd put Lily on the street..."
Roman felt the blood turn to molten iron in his veins. Before Claire could say
another word, her eyes rolled back and the cardiac monitor Dr. Rossi had hooked
to her finger began to shriek a erratic, high-pitched alarm.
At that exact moment, Dante stepped back into the suite, his phone pressed to
his ear. "Boss," Dante whispered, his face grim. "We just pulled the security
logs for the south lawn cameras." Roman stood up slowly, never letting go of
Claire's hand. "What did you find?" "The cameras weren't jammed by the storm,"
Dante replied. "They were manually disabled from the Mercer family suite at 7:15
PM. And five minutes before Claire was sent out into the blizzard, the estate's
private landlines to the local hospital were severed."
