Chapter 2 - The Gilded Cage
Three days later, I was discharged from the clinic—not to my drafty, bug-infested apartment in South Side, but to a sprawling, heavily guarded limestone estate on the outskirts of the city.
The Moretti compound looked like a fortress wrapped in manicured gardens. Iron gates ten feet high, security cameras hidden in every oak tree, and armed men stationed at every perimeter.
They placed me in a master suite on the second floor. A walk-in closet filled with designer dresses, cashmere sweaters, and soft loungewear hung waiting for me—none of it carrying price tags, all of it smelling faintly of fresh linen. But the gold cage was still a cage.
That afternoon, a soft knock rattled my door before it creaked open.
Little Matteo poked his dark curly head into the room, holding the same toy car from the restaurant. He looked hesitant, biting his lower lip, peering up at me through long eyelashes.
"Can I come in?" he asked softly, sounding so small and innocent that my chest ached.
"Of course, Matteo," I said, offering a weak smile as I sat up against the propped pillows. "Come here."
The boy scrambled onto the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle my bandaged back. He held out the toy car like an offering. "Papa says your back hurts because of me. He says you're brave like a superhero."
I couldn't help the small, sad chuckle that escaped my lips. "I'm not a superhero, sweetie. I'm just... someone who didn't want to see you get hurt."
"Papa is going to fix the bad men who broke the glass," Matteo whispered, his dark eyes wide and serious, mirroring his father's intensity in miniature. "He said nobody hurts the people in our house."
Before I could answer, the door swung open wider.
Dante stood in the doorway, watching us. The afternoon light caught the silver scar tracing from his left eyebrow into his dark hair, highlighting the harsh, unforgiving angles of his face. Yet, as his eyes met mine over his son's head, the harshness dissolved into something quiet, possessive, and terrifyingly gentle.
"Matteo," Dante said evenly. "It's time for your tutor. Leave Elena to rest."
The boy nodded obediently, slid off the bed, and scampered out of the room, whispering a quick goodbye.
Dante closed the door behind him and walked slowly toward the bed. He stopped at the footboard, resting his large hands on the polished wood.
"You look pale," Dante observed.
"I'm fine," I lied, shifting uncomfortably against the pillows. "Dante... why am I here? You could have paid my medical bills, given me a check, sent me anywhere. Why bring me to your home?"
"Because," Dante said, stepping closer until he stood right beside my hip, looking down at me with an expression that brooked no argument, "the men who caused that glass to fall are still breathing. And until I ensure every single threat to my family is buried six feet under, you are safer under my roof than anywhere else on earth."
"And after that?" I challenged, my jaw tightening. "When your enemies are gone? Do I get to go back to my life?"
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Dante’s eyes narrowed slightly, a dangerous spark flashing in their dark depths.
"You don't have that life anymore, Elena," he said quietly. "You walked into my world the moment you took those shards into your flesh. You belong here now. With us."
