Chapter 3 - The Golden Cage
The revelation hit me with the force of a physical blow. The air punched out of my lungs.
Daniel. My sweet, hardworking Daniel, who came home smelling of sawdust and sweat, who kissed my pregnant belly and promised we were going to move out of our cramped apartment. The police had ruled it a tragic misstep on a scaffold. The foreman said he wasn't wearing his harness. I had spent three years blaming Daniel for being careless, when all along...
"He was murdered?" The word tasted like copper in my mouth.
"Yes," Alessandro said. He didn't offer fake sympathy. He didn't sugarcoat it. I hated him for it, and yet, I respected the brutal honesty.
"And you knew," I whispered, the grief rapidly hardening into white-hot rage. "You supplied the steel. You’re part of the reason my husband is in the ground, and my daughter has to look at photographs to know what her father looked like."
Rocco shifted, taking a step forward as if expecting me to attack his boss. Alessandro held up a hand, stopping him.
"I supplied standard steel," Alessandro corrected, his eyes locked on mine, unflinching. "Richard Cole pocketed the budget, bought cheap scrap from China, and forged my company's manifests to cover his tracks. When your husband noticed the structural flaws, Cole had him thrown off the twelfth floor to keep the secret. I have spent three years untangling Cole's web, trying to prove he framed the Moretti syndicate."
He stood up, towering over me again. "I needed access to his private servers. That’s why I proposed to Vanessa. It was a trojan horse. I didn't expect the psychotic bitch to actually fake a pregnancy to accelerate the wedding."
I sat frozen, holding Emma tighter. I was a maid. I scrubbed toilets and steamed silk curtains. I didn't belong in this world of blood money, corporate espionage, and syndicates.
"I don't care," I said, my voice trembling with a ferocious, desperate anger. "I don't care about your vendettas. I don't care about your mergers. I am taking my daughter, and I am leaving."
I stood up, hoisting Emma onto my hip. She whimpered in her sleep, wrapping her little arms around my neck.
I took two steps toward the door before Rocco stepped in front of it. He didn't look menacing; he just looked immovable. Like a brick wall wearing an Armani suit.
"Move," I snarled.
"You aren't leaving, Maya," Alessandro said from behind me.
I whipped around to face him. "You can't keep me here! That's kidnapping!"
"It's preservation," he fired back, closing the distance between us. "Do you think Richard Cole doesn't know who you are by now? Do you think Vanessa hasn't already given him your name? You embarrassed her. You broke the engagement. But more importantly, you are the widow of the man they murdered. If they realize you are in my house, talking to me, they will assume you know about the waterfront project."
"I didn't know anything until five minutes ago!"
"Cole won't care!" Alessandro’s voice finally rose, a sudden clap of thunder that made me flinch. He caught himself, taking a deep breath, reining in the beast. When he spoke again, it was with that terrifying, lethal calm. "If you walk out those doors, you and your daughter will be dead before morning. A gas leak in your apartment. A hit-and-run on your way to the grocery store. They don't leave loose ends."
I looked at him, searching his face for a lie, for a manipulation. I found nothing but cold, hard truth. My knees buckled. I would have hit the floor if Alessandro hadn't lunged forward, catching my elbow in a vice-like grip, steadying me.
His touch was shockingly warm. Heat flared where his fingers pressed into my arm, sending a strange, electric jolt through my exhausted nervous system. He held me there for a second longer than necessary, his dark eyes scanning my face, before releasing me.
"So what happens now?" I asked, my voice cracking. "I just live in the servant's quarters forever?"
"No," Alessandro said, turning back to the decanter. "The servant's quarters are compromised. Too much foot traffic. Too many loose lips."
He looked at Rocco. "Clear out the East Wing. The master guest suite. Post two men outside the door, and one at the end of the hall. No one goes in or out without my direct authorization."
Rocco nodded. "Done."
May you like
I stared at him in disbelief. "The East Wing? That’s your private floor."
"From now on, Maya," Alessandro said, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch, "you and Emma are under my personal protection. You don't clean anymore. You don't serve. You belong to the Moretti house now. And no one touches what is mine."
