Chapter 2 - THE GOLDEN CAGEThe Duca estate in Lake Forest was a fortress of limestone, steel, and dark mahogany, tucked behind miles of dense forestry and guarded by armed guards in silent black SUVs.
Ariana was led through towering double doors into a sprawling library framed by floor-to-ceiling glass looking out over the stormy forest. Lorenzo stood by a roaring marble fireplace, a glass of amber scotch resting in his hand. He had stripped off his suit jacket; his white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal dark, intricate tattoos creeping up his forearms—symbols of the Duca syndicate's ancient roots.
"Take off the glasses, Ariana," Lorenzo said without turning around.
She froze in the center of the Persian rug. "Excuse me?"
He turned slowly, his dark eyes fixing on her with terrifying intensity. "The glasses. The oversized sweater. The drab hair. The slouch. You’ve been wearing a corpse's skin for a decade. Take it off. You're in my house now. The theater is over."
Ariana felt exposed, stripped bare by his gaze. Her hands shook slightly as she reached up, took off her fake glasses, and set them on the mahogany table. She pulled the wooden clip from her hair, letting a heavy, dark cascade of natural waves tumble down past her waist. She unbuttoned the sprawling gray cardigan and dropped it to the floor, revealing the sharp, elegant lines of her figure in a simple black silk blouse underneath.
Lorenzo’s breath hitched—a barely perceptible catch in his throat. For a second, the cold, unyielding mafia king vanished, replaced by a man struck utterly senseless by the sheer, breathtaking beauty standing before him.
"Ariana Rossi," Lorenzo murmured, stepping toward her until he was close enough that she could smell the smoke and oak on his skin. "Daughter of the late Gianna Rossi. Former fiancée to Valerio Moretti. The ghost who stole forty million dollars from the Moretti syndicate and vanished into thin air."
"I didn't steal it to get rich," she spat, her voice laced with venom, her eyes flashing emerald against the firelight. "I used it to pay off my family's debts and buy my freedom! Valerio bought me like livestock!"
"And yet," Lorenzo said, leaning down, his hand coming up to hover just inches from her cheek, "he never stopped hunting you. For ten years, he thought you were dead. Until you published a paper on offshore asset liquidation under an encrypted proxy three weeks ago. A paper using a mathematical formula only one person in the world uses."
Ariana’s heart sank. Her own brilliance had betrayed her.
"Why bring me here, Lorenzo?" she demanded, stepping into his space, refusing to cower. "Are you going to sell me back to him? Is that what Duca Holdings does? Human trafficking for mob leverage?"
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Lorenzo’s eyes flared with a sudden, violent dark fire. He reached out, his hand wrapping gently yet unyieldingly around the nape of her neck, pulling her close until their lips were a fraction of an inch apart.
"I don't sell gold to dogs, Ariana," he growled low in his chest. "Valerio wants you dead. Or worse—he wants you back in his bed. But he crossed into my city without my permission. And no one takes what is in my house."
