Chapter 6 - A Cage Made of Silk and Steel
The Moretti estate was a fortress disguised as a European palace.
Wrought-iron gates twenty feet high parted for our motorcade.
Armed guards with German Shepherds patrolled the perimeter walls.
Inside, crystal chandeliers cast long, pale shadows over marble hallways.
A private doctor stitched Alessandro’s shoulder without anesthesia.
Alessandro didn't flinch once.
He sat on a mahogany desk, shirtless, his muscular torso carved with old scars.
I sat on a velvet armchair across from him.
A nurse had cleaned the gash on my forehead and wrapped my bruised wrist.
They brought me clothes: a charcoal cashmere sweater and tailored black
trousers.
No more frayed uniform.
No more glued shoes.
Yet, I felt more naked than before.
“Drink this,” Alessandro said, walking toward me.
He held two crystal glasses of amber whiskey.
I didn't take the glass.
“I don't drink with mobsters.”
A faint smirk touched the corner of his lips.
“You’re quick to judge for someone who just rode in my car.”
“You dragged me into your car.”
“I saved your life, Sophie.”
“You brought a war to my feet!” I stood up, glaring at him. “My father died in
shame because of your family! You used our name to wash your dirty money!”
Alessandro set the glasses on the low table.
He stepped into my personal space.
He was tall, broad, and overwhelming.
The heat radiating from his chest felt suffocating.
“My uncle did that,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “Not me. My father
fought against Carlo’s greed. And Carlo killed him for it.”
I froze.
“Your father was murdered too?”
“Ten years ago,” Alessandro whispered. “A car bomb in Milan. The commission
called it a rival family hit. But I always knew Carlo bought the detonator.”
He pulled the leather ledger from his pocket and laid it between us.
“Your father wasn't just a victim, Sophie. He was an investigator. He gathered
these names to burn Carlo down from the inside.”
“Then give it to the federal prosecutors,” I demanded.
Alessandro let out a dark chuckle.
“The feds? Half the district attorneys in New York are listed on page fourteen.”
He tapped the leather cover.
“If you hand this to the police, it vanishes into an evidence locker, and we
both wake up with cut throats.”
“Then what do we do?”
“We play the high commission tomorrow morning.”
Alessandro stepped closer.
His hand lifted, his knuckles brushing softly against the curve of my cheek.
His touch sent an unexpected shock down my spine.
“We tell them you are my fiancée.”
I slapped his hand away.
“Are you insane? Camilla is your fiancée!”
“Camilla is locked in the south tower awaiting exile,” he said cold. “The
commission requires an heir to marry within an allied political house.”
“I am an outcast! I have no house!”
“You are Étienne Dubois’s daughter,” Alessandro whispered, staring into my eyes.
“In Europe, your family bloodline is older than this entire city. If I claim
you, Grandfather cannot force me to marry another traitor’s daughter.”
“And what do I get?” I demanded, crossing my arms.
“Your father’s name cleared.”
He leaned down until his lips were inches from mine.
“Every cent Carlo stole returned to your account.”
“And revenge.”
My breath hitched.
The temptation was poisonous.
Justice for my father was the only dream I had kept alive in those dark New York
basements.
“And what happens when this war is over?” I whispered.
Alessandro’s eyes darkened with an intensity that terrified me.
“If you stay alive long enough to see the end, Sophie...”
May you like
He traced the outline of my jawline.
“I might never let you leave.”
