Chapter 2 - The Gilded Fortress
Forty-eight hours later, the medical staff at St. Catherine’s officially declared Anthony and Lucia out of critical danger.
However, pediatric specialists delivered a blunt warning to Gabriel: the twins' digestive systems were still too fragile to transition to donor milk or synthetic formula. Their survival depended entirely on a direct, continuous source of maternal breast milk for at least the next three months.
Which meant Emma Brooks could not leave.
On a rainy Tuesday afternoon, a fleet of three blacked-out, armored Cadillacs sat idling outside the private emergency exit of the hospital.
Gabriel walked beside Emma, carrying Anthony in a portable bassinet, while his head of security—a tall, grey-haired man named Frank Moretti, who was also Gabriel’s paternal uncle—carried Lucia.
"Ms. Brooks," Gabriel said as they reached the rear seat of the central limousine. "My estate in Old Westbury, Long Island, has been fully prepped. A private wing has been converted into a nursery and living suite for you and your sister Clare. You will have full medical support, private chefs, and absolute security."
Emma paused, her hand resting on the open car door. She turned to look at Gabriel.
"I have a life in Astoria, Mr. Moretti," Emma said calmly. "I have a small craft shop called Graceful Things. I have bills, customers, and a home."
Frank Moretti stepped forward, his cold, piercing grey eyes narrowing as he looked down at Emma with subtle condescension.
"Ms. Brooks," Frank interrupted in a gravelly, dismissive tone. "You are being offered a comfortable arrangement by Don Moretti. Your small shop will be taken care of. You don't bargain when you're invited into this family."
Emma turned her head sharply, meeting Frank’s cold gaze with an icy composure that made the older man stiffen.
"I am not bargaining, Mr. Moretti," Emma replied smoothly. "And I am not your employee. I am here because those two children need to eat, not because I fear your title. If I come to your home, my shop remains open under my sister’s management, and I am treated as a guest, not a servant."
Gabriel’s lips twitched upward into a brief, lethal shadow of a smile. He cast a sharp glance at his uncle Frank, who looked away, jaw clenched in annoyance.
"Agreed, Ms. Brooks," Gabriel said, offering his hand to help her into the leather interior. "Your terms are fully accepted. Anything you or your sister require will be provided without question."
The drive to the Moretti estate in Long Island took forty-five minutes.
When the heavy iron gates swung open, Emma looked out the tinted window at a sprawling, grand estate of dark grey stone, manicured lawns, high perimeter walls, and armed guards patrolling the grounds with discreet, terrifying efficiency.
It was a palace. But to Emma, it looked like a gilded fortress built to keep the world out—or keep secrets in.
Inside the grand foyer, the staff stood in a neat line, led by the head housekeeper, Mrs. Eleanor Vance.
Among the waiting inner circle was a young, sleekly dressed man with sharp features and cold, calculating eyes. This was Julian Moretti, Gabriel’s thirty-two-year-old cousin and the chief financial officer of Moretti Holdings.
"Gabriel," Julian announced, stepping forward with a polished, fake smile. "Thank God the twins are home! The entire board of directors was getting anxious about your absence. We have the quarterly shipping contracts with the European syndicate waiting for your signature upstairs."
"The contracts can wait, Julian," Gabriel said curtly, guiding Emma toward the grand spiral staircase. "My priority is my children."
Julian’s eyes swept over Emma, taking in her simple cotton dress and the quiet, unyielding posture she maintained. A flicker of deep contempt flashed across Julian's face before he quickly masked it with a nod.
"Of course," Julian murmured. "And this is... the wet nurse?"
Emma stopped on the third step of the staircase. She turned around slowly, looking down at Julian from above.
"My name is Emma Brooks, Mr. Moretti," she said, her voice clear and resonant. "And unless you are the one feeding these babies at three in the morning, I suggest you address me properly."
Julian froze, his polished smile completely evaporating.
In the shadows of the foyer, Frank Moretti watched Emma with a dark, brooding expression, his fingers subtly adjusting the gold ring on his pinky finger.
Upstairs, in the sunlit, ivory-trimmed nursery, Emma gently set Lucia in her crib while Gabriel placed Anthony beside his sister.
"You don't back down easily, do you?" Gabriel asked softly, standing beside Emma as they watched the twins drift off to sleep.
"I spent six years working in a high-volume restoration workshop dealing with arrogant collectors," Emma replied, a faint, rare smile touching her lips. "And I just spent three weeks burying my heart. Bullies in expensive suits don't intimidate me anymore, Gabriel."
May you like
Gabriel looked at her, his dark eyes lingering on her face with a sudden, deep sense of respect.
"Good," Gabriel whispered, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping into a low, intimate murmur. "Because in this house, Emma... you need to be careful who you trust."
