Chapter 4 - The Golden Cage
The apartment Victor provided for Lena was situated on the thirty-second floor of a secure high-rise on the Upper East Side. It featured floor-to-ceiling windows, white oak floors, and a balcony overlooking Central Park. It was larger than any space Lena had ever inhabited, yet to her, it felt like a gilded cage.
Two armed men stood guard in the hallway outside her door twenty-four hours a day. They were polite, quiet, and absolutely immovable.
It had been four days since the incident at the Grandeur. Toby had been successfully moved to Presbyterian Medical Center. Lena had visited him twice under heavy escort, watching in disbelief as top specialists performed tests her family could never have dreamed of affording.
At 2:00 PM on Thursday, the lock on Lena’s apartment door clicked.
Victor Romano walked in, wearing a sharp grey suit without a tie, looking like a high-powered executive taking an afternoon break. He carried a leather briefcase, which he set on the glass dining table.
"Settling in?" he asked, glancing around the immaculate living room.
"It's too much, Mr. Romano," Lena said, standing near the kitchen counter in jeans and a plain navy sweater—clothing Victor's staff had purchased for her. "I'm a maid. I don't belong here."
"You belong wherever I put you, Miss Hart," Victor said evenly, pulling two folders from his briefcase. "Sit down."
Lena walked over and took a seat opposite him.
Victor opened the first folder. It contained photographs, bank statements, and shipping manifests related to the Moretti crime family—the long-time rivals of the Romano syndicate.
"Leon confessed before Dmitri finished with him," Victor said casually, as if discussing a routine business transaction. "He was working with Donato Moretti. But there is a detail that does not fit."
"What detail?"
"Leon was cautious," Victor explained, pointing at a bank statement. "He was a coward who never acted without absolute insurance. He would not have attempted to poison me in a ballroom filled with three hundred witnesses unless he was certain that my inner circle would collapse immediately after my death."
He opened the second folder. Inside were photographs of Clara Whitmore—Victor’s fiancée.
Lena stared at the pictures. "Clara?"
"Clara’s father, Richard Whitmore, owes forty million dollars to offshore creditors," Victor said, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. "Our upcoming marriage was supposed to merge his real estate holdings with my logistics network, clearing his debt. But three days ago, my investigators discovered that Richard Whitmore transferred twelve million dollars to a shell company in the Cayman Islands last month."
"You think Clara knew about the poison?" Lena asked, feeling a cold knot form in her stomach.
"I think Clara was the bridge between Leon Mercer and Donato Moretti," Victor said. He looked directly at Lena. "Tonight, there is a private memorial gala for the late Senator Vance at the Metropolitan Club. Clara will be there. I will be there."
"Where do I fit into this?" Lena asked.
"Clara knows who you are now," Victor said, leaning forward. "She believes you are a witness being held in a safehouse. Tonight, you are coming to the gala with me."
May you like
Lena blinked. "As what?"
"As my guest," Victor said, a dark, dangerous spark igniting in his eyes. "We are going to let Clara Whitmore see the maid who saved my life sitting at my side. We are going to watch her panic, Miss Hart. And when a traitor panics, they make mistakes."
