Chapter 3 - The Golden Cage
The Moretti estate was less a home and more a fortified compound. High stone walls topped with razor wire and motion-tracking thermal cameras surrounded sprawling rose gardens, ancient oak trees, and a towering three-story manor built from dark stone and reinforced glass.
When the Maybach came to a smooth halt in front of the grand double doors, Viktor hurried to open my side. My legs felt like lead as I stepped out into the crisp night air, clutching my torn apron around my shoulders like a useless shield.
"Inside," Viktor instructed, his tone professional but devoid of warmth.
I was led up a sweeping marble staircase into a magnificent guest suite that looked like it belonged in a European palace. Silk drapes covered the tall windows, a king-sized bed dominated the center of the room with plush velvet linens, and a massive marble bathroom featured a deep soaking tub already being filled by an attendant who vanished silently as soon as I entered.
"Clean yourself up," Dante’s voice echoed from the doorway.
I spun around. He stood there leaning slightly against the doorframe, having changed out of his ruined suit into a crisp black dress shirt and dark trousers. The white bandages strapped across his ribs were hidden beneath the fabric, but the pale tightness around his jaw betrayed the agony every movement cost him.
"There are clothes in the walk-in closet," Dante continued, his eyes scanning my mud-stained sneakers and blood-smeared hands. "Tailor-made. Fit for a guest, not a prisoner. Dinner will be served in the study in thirty minutes. Don't try to find the exit gates, Cara—the perimeter sensors will flag you before you take five steps off the gravel path."
"I'm not your prisoner," I snapped, a sudden surge of pride overriding my fear. "I saved your life! Is this how you treat people who pull you out of burning wrecks?"
Dante pushed off the doorframe and took two slow steps toward me, closing the distance with a predatory grace that made my breath catch. He stopped just inches away, towering over me, smelling faintly of sandalwood, rain, and danger.
"Saving my life was the most dangerous thing you could have ever done," he whispered, his face inches from mine. "Because now, you belong to my orbit. And in my orbit, protection and possession are the exact same thing."
Before I could fire back a retort, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him with a definitive, chilling snap.
I stood alone in the luxurious silence of the suite. My hands were still throbbing, encrusted with dried blood from the crash. Slowly, I walked into the massive walk-in closet. Rows of designer dresses, cashmere sweaters, and Italian leather shoes lined the shelves, neatly tagged in my exact measurements—a terrifying testament to the fact that Dante Moretti’s intelligence network had already cataloged my entire existence hours before I even stepped foot in his car.
May you like
I grabbed a simple black silk blouse and tailored trousers, stripped off my ruined waitress uniform, and let the hot water in the marble tub wash away the mud, the blood, and the lingering terror of the mountain road.
If I was trapped here, I wasn't going to cower. I was going to find out exactly how deep the rot in the Moretti empire went.
