Chapter 4 - Behind Iron and Stone
The estate, known simply as Blackwood Manor, was less of a home and more of a private military compound nestled in the rocky bluffs above the Hudson River. Surrounded by a twelve-foot wrought-iron fence topped with razor wire and guarded by thermal motion sensors, it was built to withstand an army.
Hannah moved into the east wing on a rainy Tuesday morning. Her quarters were vast—larger than her entire former apartment—adjoining Matteo's bedroom through a shared sitting room.
Her first act was to take inventory of Matteo’s daily existence, and what she found infuriated her.
The boy lived under a suffocating shroud of paranoia. Two armed guards stood outside his bedroom door at all hours. His food was scanned with handheld spectrometers before he was allowed to eat. He was not permitted in the gardens without three men trailing behind him in tactical vests.
By noon on Wednesday, Hannah had had enough.
"Out," she said, opening the door to Matteo’s playroom and glaring at the two beefy guards standing stiffly against the wall, submachine guns slung over their chests.
The men blinked at her. "Miss Ward, Mr. Moretti's orders are—"
"Mr. Moretti hired me to manage his son's development," Hannah said, her schoolteacher voice ringing with iron authority. "No child can learn, play, or heal while two grown men smelling of gun oil and nervous sweat tower over his blocks. Step outside into the hallway. You can guard the door from the other side of the threshold."
"Miss, we don't take orders from nannies," the taller one grunted, crossing his massive arms.
"You take orders from me," a deep voice cut in from the corridor.
Lucas appeared in the doorway, clad in a charcoal vest and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing dark, intricate tattoos that coiled around his skin. His eyes swept over the tense scene, lingering on Hannah’s defiant posture.
"Step out, Russo. Miller," Lucas said softly.
The guards stiffened, murmured their compliance, and backed out into the corridor, pulling the door shut behind them.
Lucas looked down at the floor, where Matteo sat surrounded by hundreds of colorful building bricks, completely unbothered by the tension. The boy was humming—a tiny, fragmented tune that Lucas hadn't heard in fourteen months.
"You're testing your boundaries early, Miss Ward," Lucas said, stepping into the room.
"Children absorb stress through their skin, Mr. Moretti," Hannah replied, kneeling down next to Matteo and handing him a red brick. "If you treat this house like a prison camp, he will grow up believing he is a prisoner, not a son."
Lucas stood in silence, watching the small boy take the brick from Hannah’s fingers and click it into place atop a towering fortress.
"His mother used to say something similar," Lucas murmured, the roughness in his voice betraying a fissure in his cold exterior.
"Then she was a wise woman," Hannah said gently. "You should start listening to her memory."
Lucas looked at Hannah then—really looked at her. Her hair was pulled back in a simple, practical clip, exposing the slender curve of her neck. There was no artifice to her, no deceit. In a world built entirely on shadows and poisoned smiles, she was blindingly real.
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"Dinner is at seven," Lucas said abruptly, turning toward the door. "You will dine with us. In the main hall. No excuses."
***
