Chapter 12 : THE GILDED CAGE

12:00 PM - THE TOUR

Isabella's heels clicked against the marble floors as she led Kyrian through hallways that seemed to go on forever.

Everything was pristine.

Expensive. Cold.

"The estate has forty-two rooms," Isabella said conversationally, as if that were normal. "Twelve bedrooms, seven bathrooms, two libraries, a ballroom, indoor pool, gym, wine cellar, and of course, the security wing."

"Security wing?" Kyrian asked.

"Where Lorenzo conducts business. You won't be going there."

"Wasn't planning on it."

Isabella glanced at him, amused.

"You have spirit. Most Omegas would be trembling right now."

"I'm not most Omegas."

"Clearly."

They climbed a grand staircase to the second floor. The hallway here was lined with portraits—generations of Morettis staring down with dark, judgmental eyes.

"Your family looks cheerful," Kyrian said dryly.

"We're Italians. We save our smiles for family dinners and funerals."

She stopped at a door near the end of the hall.

"This is yours."

She pushed it open.

Kyrian's breath caught.

The room was enormous—easily three times the size of his bedroom at home. A king-sized bed with silk sheets.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens. A private bathroom with a massive soaking tub. A walk-in closet.

"I told Lorenzo I wanted my own clothes," Kyrian said, noticing the empty closet.

"They're being delivered this afternoon," Isabella replied. "Along with anything else you might need.

Lorenzo was very specific about making you comfortable."

"How thoughtful," Kyrian said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Isabella walked to the windows and gestured outside.

"You're free to explore the grounds. The gardens are beautiful this time of year. The pool is heated. The library is on the first floor if you enjoy reading."

"And the things I'm not free to do?" Kyrian asked pointedly.

Isabella turned, her expression growing serious.

"Don't go into Lorenzo's office without permission. Don't wander into the security wing. And don't try to leave the property without informing someone first."

"So I'm a prisoner with a nice view."

"You're a guest with boundaries," Isabella corrected. "There's a difference."

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"Because it's true." Isabella walked toward the door, then paused.

"Kyrian? A word of advice?"

"Do I have a choice

?"

"Not really." Isabella's smile was sharp. "My son is... complicated. He's dangerous, yes. Ruthless, absolutely. But he's also fiercely loyal to those he cares about."

"He doesn't care about me. He doesn't even know me."

"Not yet," Isabella said knowingly.

"But he wants to. And when Lorenzo wants something, he's very... persistent."

She left before Kyrian could respond.

Kyrian stood alone in the massive room, his small duffle bag looking pathetic on the enormous bed.

He walked to the bathroom and locked the door.

From his duffle bag, he pulled out a small medication case—the one Ivan had helped him pack.

Inside were three types of pills:

Morning suppressants (the strong kind, to block pheromone sensitivity)

Afternoon stabilizers (to keep his heart rate steady)

Emergency medication (the really strong stuff, only for severe reactions)

He took two of the morning suppressants and one stabilizer, swallowing them with water from the tap.

This is going to be a long week, he thought, staring at his reflection.

He looked pale. Tired. But he forced himself to stand up straighter.

You can do this. Just four more days after today. You've survived worse.

His phone buzzed.

Ivan: You okay? Text back immediately.

Kyrian smiled despite himself.

Kyrian: I'm fine. The room is nice. Like a luxury prison.

Ivan: That's not funny.

Kyrian: I know. But if I don't laugh, I'll scream.

Ivan: Did you take your meds?

Kyrian: Yes, Dad. I just took them.

Ivan: Don't call me Dad. And I'm serious. Three times a day. No skipping.

Kyrian: I won't skip. Promise.

Ivan: Call Mom. She's been crying since you left.

Guilt twisted in Kyrian's chest.

Kyrian: I will. Love you, Vanya.

Ivan: Love you too. And Rian?

L Keep that tracking device on you. Always.

Kyrian: I will.

He pocketed his phone and the tracking device, then took a deep breath.

Time to face the rest of this mansion.

12:30 PM - EXPLORING WITH MATTEO

Kyrian had barely stepped out of his room when Matteo appeared, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

"There you are! Ready for the grand tour?"

"Your mom already showed me around."

"Mom's tour is boring. All 'this is the formal dining room, this is the library, blah blah blah.'" Matteo grabbed Kyrian's arm. "I'm going to show you the fun stuff."

Before Kyrian could protest, Matteo was dragging him down the hallway.

"First stop: Lorenzo's embarrassing childhood photos!"

"I feel like that's a bad idea—"

"Which is exactly why we're doing it!"

Matteo led him to a sitting room filled with family photos. He pointed to one of a small boy with dark hair holding a toy stethoscope.

"That's Lorenzo at five. He wanted to be a doctor even then. Look how serious he looks!"

Kyrian leaned closer. Even as a child, Lorenzo had that intense, focused expression.

"He looks constipated."

Matteo burst out laughing. "Oh my god, yes! He totally does!"

"What does who look like?"

Both of them froze.

Lorenzo stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"Nothing!" Matteo said quickly.

"We were just admiring your adorable childhood photos!"

"Liar." Lorenzo walked over and saw which photo they were looking at. "Really? The doctor one?"

"You were cute," Kyrian said, unable to help himself. "In a very serious, constipated kind of way."

Matteo wheezed.

Lorenzo's lips twitched. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

"Too late. It's been said." Kyrian smiled sweetly. "Did you always scowl at everything, or is that a skill you developed later?"

"It's a survival skill. Especially with a brother like Matteo."

"Hey!" Matteo protested.

Lorenzo shook his head. "Don't let him corrupt you, Kyrian. He's a bad influence."

"I think I'm a bad influence all on my own."

"I'm starting to see that." Lorenzo's gaze lingered on him for a moment before he turned away.

"Lunch is in thirty minutes. Don't be late."

He walked away, and Kyrian found himself staring after him.

"You're staring," Matteo sing-songed.

"Shut up."

"You think he's hot."

"I think he's annoying."

"Those aren't mutually exclusive."

Matteo grinned. "Come on. Let me show you the really cool stuff."

1:00 PM - THE UNDERGROUND DISCOVERY

Matteo led Kyrian through a maze of hallways, then stopped at what looked like a regular bookshelf.

"Watch this."

He pulled a specific book, and the bookshelf swung open.

"Okay, that's very Batman," Kyrian said.

"Right?! Lorenzo had it installed when we were teenagers. This way we could sneak out without Dad knowing."

They descended a staircase into what looked like a completely different world.

The underground level was massive—a private club complete with a full bar, pool tables, arcade games, a bowling alley, and what looked like a home theater.

"What the actual fuck," Kyrian breathed.

"Welcome to the Moretti playground," Matteo said proudly.

"This is where we come when the 'family business' gets too serious upstairs."

"This is insane."

"This is necessary." Matteo walked to the bar and grabbed two bottles of water from the mini-fridge. He tossed one to Kyrian. "When you grow up in a family like ours, you need an escape. This is ours."

Kyrian cracked open the water and looked around in amazement.

"Does Lorenzo come down here?"

"Sometimes. Usually late at night when he can't sleep. He'll play pool for hours, just... thinking."

"About what?"

"Who knows? World domination? How to murder his enemies? Whether pineapple belongs on pizza?" Matteo shrugged. "He doesn't talk much about what goes on in that scary brain of his."

Kyrian walked over to the pool table and picked up a cue stick.

"You play?" Matteo asked.

"I'm Russian. Of course I play."

"Oh, this is going to be fun."

Matteo grabbed his own cue. "First to five wins?"

"You're on."

They played three games. Kyrian won all three.

"Where the hell did you learn to play like that?" Matteo demanded.

"My brother taught me. Ivan's a pool shark." Kyrian lined up another shot. "He said it's all about angles and physics."

"It's about cheating, that's what it is."

Kyrian laughed—a real, genuine laugh—and it felt good.

For a moment, he could almost forget he was in a dangerous man's house, hiding a serious medical condition, and taking medication just to survive being here.

Almost.

They explored more of the underground—the arcade, the theater (which had a collection of every movie imaginable), and even a small recording studio.

"Lorenzo plays piano," Matteo explained. "Sometimes he comes down here and plays for hours.

It's... actually kind of beautiful.

But don't tell him I said that."

"Your secret's safe with me."

By the time they headed back upstairs, it was nearly 1:00 PM.

"Shit, we're going to be late for lunch," Matteo said.

"Will Lorenzo be mad?"

"Nah. He'll just give us that disapproving stare. You know the one."

Kyrian did know the one.

They rushed upstairs, and Kyrian quickly ducked into his room.

"I need two minutes to change!"

"Make it quick!"

Kyrian closed the door and immediately went for his medication case.

Afternoon dose. Can't skip it.

He took one stabilizer and checked his heart rate on his phone app.

Slightly elevated, but normal for me.

He changed quickly—putting on black jeans and a soft cream sweater from his own clothes that had been delivered.

Then he checked his appearance in the mirror.

Pale, but not too pale. Eyes clear. I look fine.

I can do this.

1:15 PM - LUNCH (LATE ARRIVAL)

The dining room was elegant and intimidating. A long mahogany table set with expensive china and crystal glasses.

Lorenzo sat at the head of the table, dressed casually now—black slacks and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up. He looked up when Kyrian and Matteo entered.

His eyes swept over Kyrian, something flickering in his expression.

"You're late," Lorenzo observed.

"Blame your brother," Kyrian said, sitting in the chair Isabella gestured to—on Lorenzo's right.

"He was showing me the underground lair."

"The what?" Vincenzo looked at Matteo.

"The basement recreational area," Matteo said innocently.

"You showed him the club?" Lorenzo asked.

"He needed to see the cool parts of the house, not just Mom's boring tour."

"My tour was not boring," Isabella protested.

"It was a little boring, Mom."

Lorenzo shook his head. "You're a terrible influence."

"He beat me at pool three times in a row," Matteo said. "I think he's the bad influence."

"You play pool?" Lorenzo asked Kyrian.

"I'm Russian. We're born with a cue stick in our hands."

Matteo snorted.

Even Vincenzo smiled slightly.

Maria brought out the first course—a beautiful caprese salad with fresh mozzarella and tomatoes drizzled with balsamic.

Kyrian's stomach growled. The suppressants always made him hungrier.

He reached for his fork, making sure his hands were steady. The medication was working—no trembling, no weakness.

Good. Act normal. Be normal.

"So, Kyrian," Vincenzo said after a few bites. "Tell us about yourself.

Lorenzo says you're a model?"

"International model," Kyrian corrected, his tone professional but with a hint of pride. "I've worked with Versace, Armani, Dior, Chanel. Most major fashion houses."

"Impressive for someone so young," Isabella said. "That must require a lot of travel."

"It does. Paris, Milan, New York, Tokyo, Seoul. I'm rarely in one place for long."

"And you manage all that alone?"

Vincenzo pressed, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. "No handler? No manager constantly with you?"

Kyrian sensed this was some kind of test.

"I have an agent who coordinates my bookings. But I'm perfectly capable of managing myself. I'm twenty-one, not twelve."

"Of course," Vincenzo said smoothly.

"It's just that modeling is very demanding. The travel, the long hours, the pressure..."

"I can handle pressure." Kyrian's voice was firm. "I've been doing this for six years. I know what I'm doing."

"I'm sure you do." Vincenzo smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Lorenzo hadn't said anything, but Kyrian could feel his gaze.

The second course arrived—homemade pasta with a cream sauce that smelled incredible.

"This looks amazing," Kyrian said to Maria.

"Maria's been with us for twenty years," Isabella said warmly.

"She makes the best Italian food outside of Italy."

"I'll be the judge of that," Kyrian said, taking a bite.

It was incredible. He couldn't hide his reaction.

"Okay, this is actually the best pasta I've ever had."

Maria beamed. "You're too kind, Mr. Volkov."

"Call me Kyrian. And I'm not being kind, I'm being honest."

"See?" Matteo said to Lorenzo. "He has good taste. Unlike you, who puts ketchup on pasta."

"That was ONE TIME when I was SEVEN—"

"Still counts!"

"I was a child!"

"A child with terrible taste!"

Kyrian couldn't help but laugh at their bickering.

Lorenzo caught his eye and smiled—a real, soft smile that made Kyrian's heart do something complicated.

Don't, Kyrian warned himself.

Don't get attached. You're leaving in four days.

But it was getting harder to remember that.

2:00 PM - THE SASS COMES OUT

Dessert was tiramisu—rich, decadent, perfect.

"So," Vincenzo said, setting down his fork. "Lorenzo tells us you threw a drink in his face at the casino."

The table went quiet.

Kyrian set down his own fork and met Vincenzo's gaze directly.

"I did."

"That takes courage. Or stupidity. I haven't decided which."

"Why not both?" Kyrian said sweetly.

Matteo choked on his espresso.

Isabella hid a smile behind her napkin.

Even Lorenzo's lips twitched.

"Bold," Vincenzo observed. "Most people are afraid of my son."

"I'm not most people."

"Clearly." Vincenzo leaned back in his chair. "What made you think throwing a drink at one of the most dangerous men in Europe was a good idea?"

"He grabbed me without permission," Kyrian said calmly. "I don't care who he is. Nobody touches me without my consent."

"Even if that person could have you killed?"

"Especially then. I'd rather die with dignity than live as a coward."

The room went dead silent.

Then Vincenzo started laughing—a deep, genuine laugh.

"I like this one," he said to Lorenzo. "He has fire."

"Too much fire," Lorenzo muttered, but there was fondness in his voice.

"There's no such thing as too much fire," Kyrian shot back. "Only people who can't handle the heat."

"Oh my god," Matteo whispered.

"He's perfect."

Lorenzo gave his brother a warning look.

"What?" Matteo said innocently.

"I'm just saying, anyone who can sass Dad and live to tell about it is automatically cool."

"Matteo," Isabella said warningly.

But Vincenzo was still smiling.

"Tell me, Kyrian. What do you think of our family?"

"Honestly?"

"I'd prefer nothing less."

Kyrian considered his words carefully.

"I think you're all far more complicated than you appear. I think you use fear and power to protect something you care about deeply. I think underneath all the mafia posturing, you're just a family trying to survive in a dangerous world."

He paused.

"But I also think you're all completely insane and probably need therapy."

Matteo burst out laughing.

Isabella was fighting a smile.

Even Lorenzo looked amused.

Vincenzo studied Kyrian for a long moment.

"You're observant. Honest. And apparently fearless." He nodded slowly. "I can see why Lorenzo is interested."

"Dad," Lorenzo said warningly.

"What? It's true."

"Can we please not—"

"He brought you here for a reason," Vincenzo continued, ignoring Lorenzo. "And I don't think it's just about politics."

"Okay, we're done with lunch," Lorenzo said, standing abruptly. "Kyrian, would you like to see the library?"

"I would love to escape this conversation, yes."

Matteo was still laughing as Lorenzo practically dragged Kyrian out of the dining room.

2:30 PM - THE LIBRARY

The library was enormous—two stories of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with leather-bound books.

"Holy shit," Kyrian breathed.

"It's been in the family for generations," Lorenzo said. "Some of these books are over two hundred years old."

"This is incredible."

Kyrian walked along the shelves, running his fingers over the spines. Classic literature, philosophy, medical texts, history books.

"You can borrow anything you want," Lorenzo said. "Just don't let Matteo near the rare ones. He spilled coffee on a first edition last year."

"I can imagine."

They walked in comfortable silence for a moment.

"I'm sorry about my father," Lorenzo said finally. "He can be... intense."

"He's fine. I can handle intense."

"You handled him better than most people do." Lorenzo stopped walking and turned to face him.

"You impressed him. That's not easy."

"Was that the goal? To impress your father?"

"No. But it doesn't hurt."

Kyrian pulled out a book—Crime and Punishment—and flipped through it.

"Can I ask you something?" Kyrian said.

"Sure."

"Why do you care what I think? What your family thinks about me? This is just one week. Then I leave."

Lorenzo was quiet for a moment.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I do care. More than I should."

Kyrian looked up at him, and for a moment, something passed between them.

Then Lorenzo cleared his throat and stepped back.

"You should rest before dinner. It's at 7:00 PM. More formal than lunch."

"How formal?"

"Dress nice. But not too nice. My mother has opinions about everything."

"Noted."

As Kyrian turned to leave, Lorenzo called out:

"Kyrian?"

"Yeah?"

"You were right. About what you said at lunch. We are all a little insane."

Kyrian smiled. "Takes one to know one."

5:00 PM - MEDICATION AND REALITY CHECK

Back in his room, Kyrian immediately went for his medication case.

Evening dose. The most important one.

He took two suppressants and one stabilizer, then checked his vitals on his phone.

Heart rate: Slightly elevated but manageable

Blood pressure: Normal

Oxygen levels: Good

He sat on the edge of the bed, letting the medication kick in.

His phone buzzed.

Ivan: How are you feeling? Don't lie.

Kyrian: Tired. But okay. Just took my evening meds.

Ivan: Good. Any reactions today?

Kyrian: No. I've been careful.

Keeping distance from Lorenzo.

Ivan: Keep it that way. I mean it, Rian. One slip and—

Kyrian: I know. I'm being careful. I promise.

Ivan: Good. Mom wants to talk to you later. She's worried.

Kyrian: I'll call her after dinner.

Ivan: You better. She's driving Dad crazy with worry.

Kyrian: I will. Love you.

Ivan: Love you too. Stay safe.

Kyrian put the phone down and lay back on the bed.

Three more days, he thought. Just three more days.

But already, he was starting to dread leaving.

This house, this family, Lorenzo...

It was all starting to feel dangerously like home.

And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

6:45 PM - GETTING READY FOR DINNER

Kyrian stood in front of his closet, trying to decide what "formal but not too formal" meant.

He finally settled on black dress pants, a deep burgundy silk shirt, and a black blazer. Simple but elegant.

He did his makeup—subtle eyeliner, a touch of gloss—and styled his pink hair.

.

Good. That's what they need to see.

Before leaving the room, he did one final check:

Medication: ✓ Taken

Tracking device: ✓ In pocket

Emergency inhaler: ✓ Hidden in jacket

Phone: ✓ Fully charged

Ready as I'll ever be.

7:00 PM - DINNER (THE SASS ESCALATES)

This time, Kyrian was early.

He walked into the dining room to find only Lorenzo there, adjusting his cufflinks.

Lorenzo looked up and froze.

"You look..." He trailed off.

"I look what?" Kyrian prompted, smirking slightly.

"...nice. You look nice."

"Just nice?"

"Don't fish for compliments."

"Why not? I look amazing and you know it."

Lorenzo's lips twitched. "Your humility is truly inspiring."