Chapter 2 - Rules of the Moretti Mansion
Penelope returned the next morning carrying two coffees.
Marco stared at them.
“Mr. Moretti specifically said no coffee.”
“One is yours.”
Marco immediately took it.
“The other?”
“Mine.”
“You’re brave.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
Gabriel was waiting in the rehabilitation room.
Penelope discovered quickly that Gabriel had rules.
Nobody touched his wheelchair without permission.
Nobody stood behind him.
Nobody asked about the shooting.
Nobody mentioned his former life.
And absolutely nobody offered sympathy.
Penelope broke three of those rules before lunch.
Not deliberately.
Mostly.
Their first rehabilitation session was brutal.
Gabriel’s upper-body strength was exceptional, but months of refusing consistent therapy had weakened his legs.
Penelope positioned him between parallel bars.
“Hands here.”
“I know.”
“Then why aren't they there?”
His jaw tightened.
He gripped the bars.
“Now lean forward.”
“I know how standing works.”
“Fantastic. Show me.”
Gabriel tried.
His arms tightened.
His shoulders trembled.
For one second his weight shifted onto his feet.
Then his knees buckled.
Penelope caught him.
Gabriel slammed his fist against the bar.
“Again.”
“You need thirty seconds.”
“Again.”
“Gabriel—”
“Again.”
She saw the humiliation burning behind his anger.
Penelope lowered her voice.
“You’re not failing because your legs collapsed.”
He looked at her.
“You’re failing if you stop because they collapsed.”
Something changed.
Gabriel repositioned himself.
“Again.”
They worked for nearly an hour.
By the end, sweat soaked Gabriel’s shirt.
His legs barely responded.
But during the final attempt, he stood for three seconds.
Three.
Penelope smiled.
Gabriel looked almost stunned.
“You felt that?”
“Yes.”
“Your left quadriceps activated.”
“I know what I felt.”
Penelope crouched before him.
“Then stop acting like your story already ended.”
Gabriel stared at her.
Nobody spoke to him like that.
Nobody dared.
Yet somehow he didn't want her to stop.
Over the following weeks, Penelope became part of the mansion.
She learned Marco secretly loved baking.
She learned one guard called Antonio phoned his grandmother every afternoon.
She learned Gabriel drank espresso at precisely 6:30 every morning.
And she learned he rarely slept.
Sometimes she arrived and found him staring through the enormous windows before sunrise.
One morning, she asked why.
“Insomnia.”
“That’s the medical answer.”
“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”
She didn't push.
But Gabriel began revealing himself in smaller ways.
He loved classical music.
He hated television.
He owned hundreds of books.
He remembered every employee’s birthday but pretended not to.
And despite his reputation, he quietly funded three neighborhood food banks.
Penelope discovered that accidentally.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”
She held the financial statement.
“Why hide it?”
“Charity performed for applause isn’t charity.”
That answer stayed with her.
The world called Gabriel Moretti a monster.
Penelope was beginning to suspect the truth was more complicated.
Then one afternoon she found him in the garden.
Rows of roses surrounded his wheelchair.
Penelope stopped.
“So the rose garden actually exists.”
Gabriel sighed.
“I knew this was coming.”
“Should I be worried about the former therapist?”
“He’s alive.”
“Good.”
“In Milwaukee.”
Penelope laughed.
Gabriel looked at her.
It happened more frequently now.
That strange warmth in his expression.
She sat on a stone bench.
“Why roses?”
“My mother planted them.”
Gabriel rarely mentioned family.
Penelope waited.
“She died when I was twenty-three.”
“I’m sorry.”
His eyes hardened slightly.
Penelope corrected herself.
“I mean… that sucks.”
Gabriel laughed.
A genuine laugh.
The sound startled them both.
Penelope smiled.
“There. You can do it.”
“Do what?”
“Act human.”
“Careful.”
She leaned closer.
“Rose garden?”
Gabriel shook his head.
“You’re impossible.”
Yet his eyes remained on her longer than necessary.
That was when Penelope felt it.
Something dangerous.
Not fear.
Attraction.
She stood quickly.
“Therapy.”
Gabriel noticed her sudden discomfort.
“You all right?”
“Perfect.”
She walked behind his wheelchair.
Then stopped.
One of his rules.
Gabriel looked back.
After a moment, he nodded.
Permission.
Penelope pushed him toward the mansion.
It was the first time Gabriel Moretti had allowed anyone to push his wheelchair since the shooting.
Marco watched from the terrace.
And he understood something before either of them did.
Gabriel was falling in love.
Unfortunately, someone else was watching too.
From beyond the mansion gates, a long-lens camera clicked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Two days later, Penelope found an envelope beneath her windshield wiper.
Inside was a photograph.
Her and Gabriel in the rose garden.
On the back were six words:
Stay away from him or die.
Penelope’s hands went cold.
She looked around the parking lot.
Empty.
Her first instinct was to call the police.
Her second was to tell Gabriel.
Instead, she put the photograph inside her bag.
She knew Gabriel.
If he discovered someone had threatened her, Chicago might become a battlefield.
She convinced herself it was intimidation.
Nothing more.
She was wrong.
Because that night, while Penelope slept, someone entered her apartment.
They took nothing.
They left only a single black rose on her pillow.
May you like
And beside it, another message.
Last warning.
