Chapter 5 - The Glass FortressThe Moretti Penthouse occupied the top three floors of a private residential tower in Tribeca. It was an absolute fortress of bulletproof glass, reinforced steel, and state-of-the-art security systems. When Damen carried me inside, the contrast from my freezing Queens apartment was staggering. The air was warm, smelling of cedar and expensive leather, and floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the swirling white blizzard engulfing Manhattan.
Dr. Mercer, the Moretti family’s private physician, was already waiting with two nurses. Within an hour, I had been wrapped in a warm cashmere robe, fed hot broth, and subjected to a comprehensive, non-invasive checkup using portable medical equipment.
"She’s perfectly healthy, Mr. Moretti," Dr. Mercer said, adjusting his glasses as he looked at the digital monitors. "The pregnancy is early—approximately six weeks. However, her stress levels are dangerously high, and she was exposed to extreme cold. She needs absolute bed rest for the next forty-eight hours. No excitement. No work."
Damen stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest, his tuxedo jacket gone, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows. He didn't say a word, but the slight nod of his head told the doctor everything.
Once the medical staff left, the massive bedroom went completely quiet. Damen walked over slowly, sitting on the edge of the mattress. He reached out, his large, calloused fingers gently tracing the line of my jaw.
"You're staying here, Clare," he said, his voice soft but carrying a terrifyingly firm finality. "The floral shop is closed until further notice. I’ve already sent a team to pack up your apartment and move your belongings here."
I frowned, a spark of my old independence flaring up despite my exhaustion. "Damen, you can't just liquidate my life. I love my shop. I built that business from nothing."
"Your shop has two glass display windows and a front door that can be kicked open by a low-level street thug," Damen said, his eyes turning hard as flint. "The moment word gets out that you are carrying my heir, you become the biggest target in the tri-state area. My enemies won't hesitate to use you or our child to break me."
"Then why did you bring me into this?" I cried out, pulling the blanket higher. "If your life is such a prison, why didn't you leave me alone in Astoria?"
Damen leaned forward, his face just inches from mine. "Because I was selfish, Clare. Because for six months, that flower shop was the only place in the world where I wasn't the Don. I was just a man. And I realized that if I couldn't have you, the empire didn't matter anyway. But now, everything has changed. There is a child. And my enemies are already moving."
Before I could ask him what he meant, his personal encrypted phone buzzed on the nightstand. He picked it up, his face instantly draining of all warmth as he listened to the voice on the other end.
"Where?" Damen asked short, sharp.
May you like
He listened for a few more seconds, then looked back at me, a dark, murderous shadow crossing his ice-blue eyes.
"Lock down the penthouse," Damen ordered into the phone. "Nobody enters the elevator without my biometric clearance. Marco, get the guns. The Bratva just breached the perimeter of the Astoria flower shop."
