Chapter 2 - The Cage of Gilded SteelThe guest suite assigned to me looked less like a temporary hiding place and more like a luxury boutique hotel room designed by someone with a severe aversion to bright colors. Muted tones of slate gray, charcoal, and warm cream dominated the expansive space, which featured a king-sized bed with thick linen sheets, a roaring gas fireplace set into a stone wall, and a massive floor-to-ceiling glass window looking out over the moonlit expanse of the ocean.
After Leo had dropped off a single canvas duffel bag containing spare clothes—which apparently belonged to someone on Matteo’s domestic staff who shared my general height—I locked the heavy oak bathroom door behind me and stared at my reflection in the illuminated mirror.
My mascara was smudged into dark half-moons under my eyes. My hair, hastily pinned up with a plastic claw clip before my shift, was half-unraveled, stuck with stray pieces of cocktail napkin and dust from the alleyway.
"Happy twenty-sixth birthday, Rachel," I muttered to my reflection, turning on the cold tap and splashing water over my burning face.
Twenty-six hours without sleep. A mother depending on insurance payments that hung by a thread. An assassination attempt witnessed while poking a mafia boss in the chest. And now, I was a prisoner of luxury inside a fortress belonging to a man the Boston Police Department spent millions of dollars trying—and failing—to connect to organized crime.
A soft knock sounded at the heavy wooden door of the suite.
I jumped, clutching a hand towel to my chest. "Who is it?"
"It's Matteo," came the low rumble through the wood. "Open the door, Rachel."
I took a deep breath, tossing the towel onto the counter, and unlocked the latch, pulling the door open just a few inches. Matteo stood in the hallway, having changed out of his ruined charcoal suit into a simple black cashmere sweater and dark trousers. He held a silver tray bearing a steaming ceramic mug, a glass of ice water, and a plate of simple toasted sandwiches.
"You haven't eaten since noon yesterday," Matteo said, his eyes scanning the narrow gap of the door. "And you need electrolytes, not more shock to your system."
"I'm not hungry," I lied right as my stomach let out a loud, traitorous rumble that echoed clearly in the quiet hallway.
Matteo’s lips twitched slightly in the faintest hint of a smile. He gently pushed the door open with his shoulder, stepping past me into the room without waiting for an invitation, and set the tray down on a low coffee table by the fireplace.
"Your stomach disagrees with your pride," he said, turning to face me. "Eat. While you do, we need to discuss the logistics of how we handle your disappearance from the Velvet Room."
I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at him. "My disappearance? What does that mean? I have a shift on Tuesday! I have rent to pay! I can't just vanish off the face of the earth!"
"As of forty-five minutes ago, the Velvet Room experienced a catastrophic electrical fire in its basement utility room," Matteo said calmly, taking a seat in one of the plush armchairs by the fire.
My jaw dropped. "An electrical fire? You burned down my workplace?!"
"I said the utility room experienced a fire," Matteo corrected smoothly, though the glint in his dark eyes suggested he found my outrage mildly entertaining. "Local fire department responded promptly. Minimal structural damage, but the health inspector and the city code enforcers have shut the venue down indefinitely pending a full electrical audit. Which means your manager, Jimmy, has given all staff two weeks of paid administrative leave, courtesy of an anonymous local benefactor."
I stared at him, my mind spinning. "You... you bought off my employer?"
"I incentivized a temporary closure to ensure that anyone looking for the woman who was standing beside me when the shooting started cannot find her scheduling record at the Velvet Room," Matteo corrected, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Your apartment in Southie has also been secured. My men moved your personal belongings and your mother’s essential medical files into a secure holding unit. For the next week, as far as the rest of the city is concerned, Rachel Sterling is visiting a sick aunt in upstate New York."
"You arranged all of that in the twenty minutes it took us to drive from downtown to this cliffside fortress?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mixture of awe and absolute terror.
"Efficiency is the cornerstone of survival, Rachel," he said softly. "Just as loyalty is the cornerstone of mine."
I walked slowly over to the coffee table, looking down at the food, then back up at him. "And what happens when the week is over? What happens when whoever sent that gunman realizes I didn't vaporize into thin air?"
Matteo stood up, closing the distance between us until I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Up close, his presence was overwhelming—clean, sharp, and smelling faintly of cedarwood and dark espresso.
"By the end of the week, the man who pulled the trigger will have explained to Leo who hired him," Matteo said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. "And the problem will be permanently resolved."
"And if it isn't?" I challenged, my pulse hammering against my ribs. "What happens to me?"
May you like
Matteo reached out, his warm fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from my forehead, tucking it behind my ear with an intimacy that felt entirely wrong given the circumstances.
"You stay here," he murmured, his gaze holding mine captive. "Under my roof. Under my protection. Because no matter what else is true about me, Rachel... nobody touches what belongs to my house."
Related Stories
