Chapter 2 - The Sanctuary of Iron
The private wing of the Kane Medical Center in Manhattan was quiet, sterile, and guarded by eight armed men wearing black tactical gear.
I lay in a plush, wide hospital bed, wrapped in warm blankets, a gentle IV fluid running into my left arm. The jagged cuts on my scalp had been cleaned and bandaged by a quiet, sympathetic female doctor who hadn't asked a single question about why the wife of the city's most powerful man looked like she had survived an assault.
The door opened softly, and Roman walked in. He had changed into a dry dark sweater and trousers. His hair was still damp, but the lethal aura he had carried at the estate had been carefully tucked away behind a soft, weary warmth.
He walked over to the bed, pulled up a chair, and sat down. He didn't speak. He just took my pale hand in his massive palm and brought it to his lips, kissing my knuckles over and over again.
"You don't have to keep staring at it," I said softly, my voice raspy. I reached up with my free hand, touching the cotton bandages covering my head. "It's just hair, Roman. It grows back."
Roman closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the side of the mattress. "She touched you, Bianca. In my house. While carrying my child."
"I grew up in Queens, remember?" I offered a small, weak smile, trying to lighten the heavy air in the room. "I’ve been in worse fights outside the laundromat on 82nd Street. I survived."
Roman looked up, his midnight-blue eyes burning with a deep, torturous guilt. "You shouldn't have to be tough with me, Bianca. When I took you out of Bellafonte, when I put that ring on your finger, I swore to God you would never have to fight again. I promised you safety."
"I am safe," I whispered, reaching out to touch his cheek, feeling the rough stubble against my fingers. "You came. You closed the gates."
"It's not over," Roman said quietly, leaning into my touch. "Vivienne didn't act alone tonight."
My heart gave a sudden, nervous flutter. "What do you mean?"
Roman reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, sleek recording device. He set it on the bedside table. "Vivienne is arrogant, but she is a coward when it comes to direct confrontation with me. She was pushed. Three hours before you went to the estate, a wire transfer of four million dollars moved through a shell account in Zurich, routed directly to her personal charity foundation."
"Who sent it?" I asked.
"Julian Vance," Roman replied, the name falling like a heavy stone into the quiet room.
Julian Vance was the patriarch of the Vance Financial Group—the only family in the state with enough historical wealth and political influence to challenge the Kane empire. More importantly, Julian Vance was the father of Victoria Vance—the woman Vivienne had spent five years trying to force Roman to marry before he met me in that bloody alley behind my restaurant.
"Julian wants a war," I said, the street-smart instincts from my youth kicking in immediately. "He knew if Vivienne humiliated me publicly, you would strike back at her. He wanted to split the Kane family from the inside so he could push his takeover bid at the board meeting next week."
Roman looked at me, a rare, genuine smile touching the corner of his lips despite the darkness of the night. "My brilliant girl from Queens."
"I managed a kitchen near Gramercy, Roman," I reminded him, shifting slightly in the bed as our daughter gave a firm kick against my ribs. "I know what it looks like when someone sets a fire in the back room just so they can steal the register at the front."
Roman laid his hand gently over my stomach, feeling his daughter's movement. "They thought because you didn't come from money, you were a weak link in my armor. They thought you would crumble, take a payout, and run."
"They don't know my mother," I said, my jaw setting into a line of pure steel. "And they don't know me. What's the plan?"
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Roman pulled a pair of heavy gold cufflinks from his pocket—the ones bearing the Kane crest—and set them in my palm.
"The board meeting is in six days," Roman said, his voice dropping into that dark, lethal frequency. "Vivienne will be in Maine. But Victoria and her father will be sitting at that table, expecting me to be broken and distracted. Instead, Bianca... you are going to walk into that boardroom with me."
