Chapter 5 - The Golden Cage in Chicago
The penthouse suite on the 42nd floor of the Rossi Tower in downtown Chicago felt less like a safehouse and more like a royal palace carved out of glass and steel.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking, panoramic view of the glittering Chicago skyline, the windy city stretching out beneath them like a sea of diamonds. Inside, the decor was sleek, modern, and intimidatingly minimalist—rich mahogany wood, charcoal leather sofas, and abstract art pieces that looked museum-worthy.
For the past three days, Sophie and Sofia had been living here like queens under heavy guard.
A dedicated team of private chefs, pediatric nurses, and personal shoppers had arrived within hours of their landing, ensuring Sofia had organic meals, custom-built nursery furniture, and a wardrobe that rivaled a Hollywood starlet's. Sophie herself had been fitted by high-end Italian designers at Vincent’s explicit command.
"You cannot walk around my city looking like a victim," Vincent had told her coldly on their second day, inspecting her from across a sprawling mahogany dining table. "You are under my protection now. Act like it."
Yet, despite the luxury, Sophie felt like a prisoner in a gilded cage.
She hadn't seen Vincent since the night at the restaurant. According to his chief enforcer, a stoic man named Dante, Vincent was knee-deep in a brutal turf war with the rival O’Connor syndicate, who were making aggressive moves on the Chicago shipping docks.
Sophie stood by the massive glass window, holding a cup of steaming chamomile tea, watching the distant lights of Lake Michigan. Sofia was napping in her new nursery down the hall, surrounded by plush toys and custom security monitors.
Suddenly, the private elevator chime echoed through the penthouse.
Ding.
Sophie spun around, her heart skipping a beat. The heavy security doors slid open, and Vincent Rossi stepped out into the foyer.
He looked exhausted. His tie was loosened, his top shirt button undone, and a faint, jagged scratch marked his jawline—fresh evidence of the violent underworld he ruled.
He locked eyes with Sophie across the expansive living room, his amber gaze piercing through the dim evening light.
"You're still awake," Vincent noted, his voice tired as he tossed his suit jacket over the back of a sofa.
"I could ask you the same thing," Sophie replied, her voice steadying as she stepped forward. "I saw the news reports about the docks this morning. Are you alright?"
Vincent paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his lethal features. No one—not his lieutenants, not his terrified business associates—ever asked him if he was alright.
May you like
"Bullets and business, Sophie," Vincent said grimly, walking toward the wet bar to pour himself a scotch. "Nothing I haven't handled a thousand times before."
"And yet you look like you haven't slept in three days," Sophie challenged softly, stepping closer. "Sit down, Mr. Rossi. Let me check that scratch on your jaw before it gets infected."
