Chapter 8 - The Westchester Estate
The Moretti estate in Westchester County was less a home and more an impenetrable fortress wrapped in twenty acres of rolling green hills, manicured gardens, and ancient oak trees.
When Evelyn’s sleek black sedan passed through the wrought-iron security gates, she couldn't help pressing her face against the window, taking in the grand stone fountains, the private helipad, and the sprawling three-story neoclassical manor house that looked like it had been lifted straight out of the European countryside.
As the car came to a stop in front of the grand marble entrance doors, the footman hurried forward to open her door.
Before Evelyn could even step out onto the gravel drive, Sophia Moretti came rushing down the front steps in a comfortable cashmere lounge suit, her left arm moving with ninety-percent normal coordination, her dark hair bouncing around her shoulders.
“You’re here!” Sophia squealed happily, throwing her arms around Evelyn’s neck the moment she stood up from the car. “Oh, thank God! Adri told me you signed the contract this morning! You have no idea how boring it is stuck in this giant mausoleum with guards staring at me every time I want to walk to the kitchen.”
Evelyn hugged her back warmly, laughing. “Good morning to you too, patient zero. And for the record, I’m here to monitor your blood pressure and physical therapy, not to be your personal cheerleader.”
“Too late, you’re both,” Sophia declared, linking her arm through Evelyn’s and dragging her toward the grand double doors. “Come on, I’ll show you your private wing. Adri had the interior designer completely renovate the guest suite overlooking the rose garden just for you.”
As they entered the grand marble foyer, Adrien was standing at the base of the sweeping double staircase, dressed in a charcoal turtleneck and tailored slacks, watching them with a quiet, satisfied smirk.
“Welcome to your new home, Nurse Rhodes,” Adrien said, his voice echoing pleasantly off the high vaulted ceilings.
Evelyn paused, looking around the breathtaking interior of the manor. For the first time in four years, the crushing weight of anxiety, poverty, and professional humiliation was entirely gone from her shoulders. She wasn't hiding anymore. She wasn't a nobody carrying plates through a high-end dining room.
She was Evelyn Rhodes—a brilliant medical professional, a survivor of institutional corruption, and the woman holding the heart of the most feared syndicate boss in New York right in the palm of her hand.
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“It’s beautiful, Adrien,” Evelyn said, using his first name with an easy, natural familiarity that made the mafia boss’s chest tighten in a way no gunfight or corporate takeover ever had.
“It’s yours,” Adrien replied quietly.
