Chapter 4 - THE SAFE HAVEN
Two hours later, Grace stepped out of the hospital entrance, but she did not walk toward the bus stop.
A sleek black Mercedes sedan was idling at the curb. One of Vincent’s primary lieutenants—a tall, muscular man named Marco with a polite demeanor—opened the rear door for her.
"Where are we going?" Grace asked, feeling overwhelmed as Vincent helped her into the soft leather interior.
"To a place where you can rest safely," Vincent said, getting into the seat beside her. "My private estate in Chestnut Hill. It has six guest suites, a full kitchen staff, and twenty-four-hour medical security."
"Chestnut Hill?" Grace gasped. She knew Chestnut Hill—it was one of the most affluent, historic neighborhoods in the state, filled with stone mansions and iron gates. "Mr. Caruso, I have an apartment in North Philly—"
"Your apartment in North Philly is on the third floor of a walk-up building with a broken elevator and unreliable heating," Vincent said calmly, pulling out his phone. "Marco has already arranged for a professional moving crew to pack your personal belongings, clothes, and memories. Everything else will be replaced."
Grace stared at him, caught between disbelief and overwhelming emotion. "You move very fast."
"In my world, hesitation gets people killed," Vincent said plainly, though a subtle, warm humor flashed in his eyes. "In your world, hesitation means a pregnant woman with a high-risk pregnancy cleans floors until her body collapses. I prefer speed."
The drive across the city was smooth and silent. Within twenty minutes, the concrete streets of downtown Philadelphia gave way to winding, tree-lined avenues flanked by grand stone estates.
The Mercedes turned down a private driveway lined with oak trees and pulled up in front of a massive, three-story Tudor mansion surrounded by high wrought-iron gates and manicured gardens.
Grace stepped out of the car, looking up at the grand residence in awe. "You live here alone?"
"Mostly," Vincent said, stepping beside her. "My wife passed away twelve years ago. My son, Leo, lives in New York managing our corporate logistics. The house has been too quiet for a very long time."
A warm, middle-aged woman in a clean apron rushed out the grand front doors to greet them. "Mr. Caruso! Welcome back."
"Grace, this is Mrs. Gable, the estate manager," Vincent introduced. "Mrs. Gable, this is Grace Miller. She will be staying in the primary sunroom suite on the ground floor. No stairs for her. Ensure the kitchen prepares high-iron, nutrient-rich meals, and make sure she has everything she needs."
Mrs. Gable smiled warmly at Grace, her eyes full of genuine kindness—a stark contrast to the nurses at the hospital. "It is wonderful to meet you, dear. Come inside, I’ve already prepared warm tea and fresh pastries."
Grace walked through the grand foyer, her eyes taking in the dark wood paneling, marble fireplaces, and soft oriental rugs. For a woman who had spent her life sleeping on thin mattresses in tiny apartments, the sheer luxury was staggering.
Mrs. Gable led her to her suite—a vast, sunlit room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a private garden, featuring a king-sized bed with plush white linens, an adjoining marble bathroom, and a nursery space already being prepared.
Grace sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling the incredible softness of the mattress. She placed her hands over her stomach and let out a long, shuddering sob.
Vincent, who was standing in the doorway, stepped inside immediately. "Grace? Are you in pain?"
"No," Grace wept, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. "No, Vincent. It’s just... for seven months, I’ve been so scared. Every single night I lay awake wondering how I was going to feed my daughter, how I was going to pay rent, and what would happen if I got sick. I felt so completely alone."
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Vincent walked over and sat beside her on the bed. He reached out and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression soft and fiercely protective.
"You are not alone anymore, Grace," Vincent said softly. "You have a family now."
