He saw the license plate, nodded to the driver, and pressed a button.

The heavy iron gates ground open with a low, mechanical hum.

We drove up a long, curving driveway lined with floodlights.

At the top of the hill stood the Moretti estate.

It was a sprawling, modern fortress built of gray stone, steel, and reinforced glass.

It looked like a military compound, designed to withstand a siege.

The SUV came to a stop under a wide stone canopy at the front entrance.

Two armed guards stood at the entrance, their eyes scanning the dark tree line.

The driver opened my door and held the umbrella over my head as I stepped out.

Vincent walked beside me, his hand lightly resting on the small of my back.

We entered a grand foyer with polished marble floors that reflected the soft light of a crystal chandelier.

The air inside was warm and smelled faintly of burning cedar wood.

“Take her coat,” Vincent told a silent houseman who appeared from the shadows.

I let the man take my wet jacket, feeling vulnerable in my thin sweater.