Chapter 12 - The Golden Cage
Two weeks passed in a blur of surreal luxury and lethal efficiency.
The Moretti estate operated like a well-oiled clockwork machine. Viktor and his men maintained a perimeter so airtight that even a stray cat couldn't cross the fence without setting off a silent alarm. My mother’s health improved rapidly under the care of the estate’s private physicians, and she had even taken to playing afternoon chess with one of Dominic’s retired capos in the sunroom.
As for me, my role as Lorenzo’s nurse had seamlessly transitioned into something much more complex.
I sat at the grand mahogany desk in the estate’s private library, scrolling through a digital ledger of shipping manifests that Viktor had dropped off ten minutes ago. My nursing degree had taught me discipline, data analysis, and crisis management—skills that, as it turned out, translated terrifyingly well to managing an international syndicate’s logistics network.
The heavy oak doors creaked open.
Isabella glided into the room, her high heels clicking sharply against the Persian rug. She looked furious, her lips pressed into a tight, white line.
“Playing CEO now, are we?” Isabella sneered, stopping just across the desk. “I saw the reports. Dominic is letting you audit the shipping accounts. Next thing you know, you’ll be sitting at the head of the family table.”
I didn't look up from the tablet. “If you have an issue with what I’m doing, Isabella, take it up with Dominic. He’s the one who asked me to look over the numbers.”
Isabella slammed her palm down on the desk, the sharp sound echoing through the cavernous library. “You think you’ve won, don't you? You think because Marcone is dead and Dominic looks at you like you hung the stars that you’re safe here?”
I finally raised my eyes, locking them onto hers. “I’m not playing games, Isabella. I’m just keeping the books.”
“Dominic’s first wife, Elena—the real Elena, the one named after you—thought she was safe too,” Isabella hissed, stepping closer and leaning over the desk. “She thought love could conquer a mafia bloodline. Do you know what happened to her car when she tried to leave this house with his firstborn son?”
My breath caught. The name. She was named after his first wife.
“It didn't explode by accident, little girl,” Isabella whispered maliciously. “And it wasn't Marcone who planted the bomb. The underworld is full of ambition. If you think Dominic’s enemies are all outside these gates, you’re more naive than I thought.”
Before I could process the chilling implication of her words, the library doors flew open.
Dominic stood in the doorway, his face carved from granite, his eyes locked onto Isabella.
“Get out,” Dominic said.
Isabella froze, her expression shifting instantly from venomous rage to masked composure. She straightened her silk blouse, shot me one last warning glance, and swept past Dominic without a word.
Dominic watched her leave, then walked slowly toward the desk. He stopped beside my chair, placing a large, warm hand on my shoulder.
“Don't listen to her,” Dominic said quietly.
“Is it true?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “Did someone inside the family kill your first wife?”
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Dominic’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “The past is buried, Elena.”
“Secrets in this house don't stay buried, Dominic,” I said, turning to look up at him. “And if I’m going to stay here—if I’m going to help you run this empire—I need the truth. All of it.”
