The Devil's Cage

"The Devil doesn’t seduce you with hellfire—he makes you crave the burn."

Dante sat opposite me in the Bentely focused on his phone, his physical weight pressing against my ribs. Moonlight cut sharp angles across his face. The predatory slope of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips. I crossed my legs tightly,but it did nothing to help the heat poolong low in my belly. God, he is beautiful. 

He caught my stare."You'll find I’m not as cruel as you think, Bella."  My spine straightened. “And you’ll find I bite.” His smirk deepened, a flash of white teeth in the shadows. “I’m counting on it.”

The car rolled through the black, wrought-iron gates of the Romano's Estate.  Where my parents lived in Little Italy, you could find Catholic churches galore, quaint restaurants, and busy parks overflowing with kids and students. Dante, however, resided on the clinical and prestigious Burling Street. His was a stark white, hulking mansion, which, even among other huge houses, looked comically big. By its size, I guessed that it had required the demolition of the properties next to it. Running over others to get his way seemed to be a pattern.

 Manicured lawns and elaborative medieval styled windows greeted me, ivy and ferns crawling through the colossal structure like a woman’s possessive fingers over a man’s body.

Before the engine of the car died, the doors of the other Bentely that had trailed us pulled up. Three figures emerged with the grim efficiency of soldiers. Enzo, Dante’s sharp eyed consigliere, was first, his expression unreadable behind designer sunglasses even in the fading dusk light. He scanned the imposing facade, then the surrounding street, a subtle nod to the unseen security. Luca, a mountain of silent muscle, unfolded himself from the driver's seat, his presence radiating contained violence as he took position near the Bentley’s trunk, eyes constantly moving. I don't know who the third one is, but he was tapping furiously on a tablet, a airpod in one ear likely monitoring communications or hacking something Dante.

My door was opened by one of Dante’s waiting household staff. The cool evening air did nothing to dispel the suffocating heat of Dante’s proximity as he exited behind me. He didn’t look at me. His focus was already shifting to the business awaiting him. Two staff opened the trunk and pulled out my numerous suitcases. A woman who looked like an older and scrawnier version of Clara appeared at the door.

Dante took a few steps towards doors, then paused. He didn’t turn fully, but his command sliced through the hushed efficiency of the servants. "Ms. Sterling."

The woman in immaculate black silk appeared as if summoned, her silver hair perfectly coiffed. "Sir"

"Sophia Moretti. My future wife " Dante’s voice was impersonal, dismissive, like he was assigning a parcel. "Get her settled. See she has everything required." His gaze flickered over me for a fraction of a second, devoid of warmth or even the earlier predatory interest. "Keep her contained."

Ms. Sterling inclined her head. "Of course."

Without another word, Dante left Enzo fell into step immediately behind him. Luca gave Ricci a nudge, pulling him away from his tablet for a second, and the three men followed their Don into the fortress. disappearing into its shadowed depths, leaving me standing on the marble steps under Ms. Sterling’s calm appraisal.

"Miss Moretti" she said, extending a hand. “I’m Ms. Sterling. Welcome.” I stared at her hand without taking it. “Let me show you to your wing.”

“My wing?” I followed her on autopilot, telling myself , no, promising myself  that this was all temporary. I just needed to gather my wits and formulate a plan. Find out what Dante has on Papa and help him out of it. “Yes, dear, wing. I was pleasantly surprised by how old - fashioned Dante was in regards to his new bride. No sharing a bed before marriage.” A ghost of a smile passed her lips. She was obviously a fan of the idea. That made the two of us. I’d rather scratch my own eyeballs out than share a bed with the devil.

The marbeled white landing presented two seprate stairways leaading left and right. I gasped when we passed by open double doors with a constructed Steinway piano surrounded by floor - to - ceiling bookshelves and what looked like thousands of books. The entire room was accented in cream and black.

"You seem young."

“That’s an observation, not a question…your point?” I said unkindly.

 “I was under the impression he liked his female companion older.”

 “Perhaps he should start by liking his female companion willing.”

 Jesus. I actually said that. I slapped a hand over my mouth.

 “Dante never had an issue attracting women. Quite the contrary,” Ms. Sterling blabbed as we made our way to the eastern side of the house. “Too many women and too much variety made him jaded. I was beginning to worry.” She shook her head, a reminiscing smile on her thin lips.

 So on top of everything else, he was a playboy. Well playman if there's a word like that because nothing about Dante is boyish. Playboy. The word curdled in my stomach. Images flashed Mhino’s boyish smirk, his hands fumbling at my zipper in his father’s wine cellar. Pathetic. But at least he’d been mine. Mutually Chosen. Not stolen.

“Then, perhaps, I should be the one worried now since I’m expected to share a bed with him,” I bit out. I’d apparently checked my manners at the door, along with my freedom.

 When we got to my room, I didn’t stop to appreciate the canopy four  poster bed, rich velvet curtains, vast walk  in closet larger than Ella’s entire room. My suitcases looked like discarded toys in the center, large vanity, or even the carved oak desk and leather chair overlooking the garden. It was pushed against the window, and I had no doubt the view was mesmerizing. But I didn’t care for the best view in New York. I wanted to be back in my childhood home. “Thank you,” I muttered, numbness spreading.

“He’s not what you think, dear,” she said softly. “Beneath the armor… there’s honor.”

I almost laughed. Honor? The man who bought me like a vintage wine?

I waited until Ms. Sterling left before collapsing onto the bed. The silence screamed. I grabbed my phone, fingers trembling as I scrolled past Mhino’s 12 missed calls. Only one person could anchor me now.

Amara answered on the first ring. "Soph? Jesus, where are you? i've been worried" Her voice was shrill with disbelief. I could hear clattering dishes in the background dinner at the Petrelli estate, where Amara’s stepfather ruled like a petty dictator.

"Step-daddy dearest got engraved invitations. Engraved! on thick cream cardstock with wax seal. 'The honor of your presence is requested at the union of Dane Romano and Sophia Moretti. This saturday! How does one get things done so fast? seriously?"

"I’m at his house. " I said, hugging my knees to my chest.

Amara lowered her voice. "Dante Romano’s fortress? Holy shit. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"Only my pride. His caretaker just told me he prefers ‘seasoned women’."

Amara snorted. "Well, you did call him a pervert to his face. That’s seasoned enough."

Her words tumbled out in an excited rush. I could almost see her bouncing on her bed, eyes wide. The contrast to my own despair was jarring.

"Amara, it's not—"

"Not what? Amazing? Are you kidding? Do you know what this means? You're going to be Mrs. Romano! The most powerful woman in the city! And Mhino?" She made a dismissive noise. "Please. He's already crying to anyone who'll listen. Good riddance!"

I squeezed my eyes shut. "He didn't give me a choice, Mara. My father... he just handed me over. Like property."

"Okay, yes, the method is a bit... medieval," she conceded, her voice dropping slightly. "But Soph, think about it. You're free of Mhino! Free of your parents controlling your every move! Dante's not some old creep, he's... well, he's Dante. And the way he looked at you at the gala? I saw that. That wasn't business."

I swallowed hard. "It's still a cage. Just a fancier one."

"Or a throne," she countered. "Look, I know it's scary. But this could be good. Better than good."

"Traded one cage for a gilded one," I muttered, eyeing the untouched wedding dress box. "Dante just informed me I’m ‘contained’ here."

"Details," Amara said, dismissive. "You’ll have diamonds, power… and him. God, Soph, that man could melt glaciers." I stiffened. Since when did she sound like Dante’s PR team?

"You’re unusually Team Devil today," I said, probing. "Mom hasn't stopped gloating since. 'See, Amara? This is how a daughter elevates her family. Sophia's secured the future of her entire family. Why can't you be more like her?'" Her imitation of her mother's haughty tone was spot-on, but it didn't mask the bitterness underneath. "So yeah, thanks for setting the bar impossibly high."

"Tell her elevation feels like falling into a grave," I muttered bitterly. "Sorry," I mumbled, guilt twisting alongside my own misery. Her stepfather was a minor player compared to mine, and her mother's desperation to marry Amara off to improve their standing was a constant source of tension. "Don't be," Amara said, her voice shifting, becoming lighter, almost... secretive. "Maybe my prospects are looking up too." That caught my attention. Amara never held back details about her love life She always led with commentary like “He kisses like a vacuum cleaner” or “His apartment smells like wet dog.” "Oh? Do tell. Who's the lucky victim?" A pause. Just a beat too long. "No one you know. Just... someone new. Met him a few days ago. He's... interesting."

"Interesting how? Tall, dark, and interesting? Rich and interesting?" I pressed, frowning. Her vagueness was unlike her. "Spill, Mara. You tell me everything. Remember Paolo the Sweater?"

She groaned. "Ugh, don't remind me. The man had a mohair fetish." Another pause. "This is different, Soph. It's early days. Let me have my mystery man for a bit, okay? I promise, if it becomes something, you'll be the first to know." The deflection was smooth, but it rang false. Amara didn't do mystery men. She did detailed breakdowns of first kisses, second dates, and disastrous meet-the-parents dinners. This secrecy was new. And suspicious. Especially now, with everything else unraveling.

"Name? Occupation? Criminal record?"

Amara laughed nervously. "Patience! I’ll introduce you when it’s… safer."

"What aren’t you telling me?" I pushed.

"Nothing!" she deflected. 

But I didn't have the energy to push. Not when my own life felt like it was being dismantled brick by brick. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But I expect full reports eventually."

"You'll get them," she promised, her voice bright again. "Now, focus on your future husband. And the fact that you're marrying the most terrifyingly gorgeous man in New York. Try to enjoy the ride, Soph. Seriously. It could be worse. 

Look Mom’s giving me the ‘marry a banker’ lecture again. Gotta run. Stay strong, future Mrs. Romano!"

The hollow click of Amara’s disconnection echoed in the silence of my new room. Enjoy the ride." Her words felt like barbed wire around my ribs. Enjoy being bartered? Enjoy the man who’d dismissed me to his housekeeper like unwanted luggage?

Ms. Sterling appeared precisely at seven, her knuckles barely grazing the door before she entered. "Dinner is served, Miss Sophia."

The dining hall was a tomb of polished obsidian and crystal. Dante sat at the far end, a king surveying his empty kingdom. He’d changed into a charcoal sweater that stretched over his shoulders, softening nothing. The distance between us felt deliberate  a gulf I was expected to bridge with obedience.

I took my seat. Silence descended, thick and suffocating. Servants materialized, placing seared scallops on bone china, pouring wine dark as blood. I stared at my plate, appetite shriveled to nothing. The scrape of Dante’s knife against china was the only sound.

Finally, his voice cut through the void, cool and controlled. "The quiet doesn’t suit you, Sophia."

I kept my eyes fixed on a scallop. "Neither does this marriage."

A pause. I felt his gaze, heavy as stone. "You think this is a cage."

"Isn’t it?"

"No." He set his wine glass down with deliberate precision. "A cage implies you had freedom before. Mhino Ricci? Your father’s suffocating expectations? That was your cage." He leaned forward slightly, the candlelight catching the silver flecks in his eyes. "I’m offering you the key. I said I was going to give you freedom?"

My fork screeched against the plate. "By forcing me to marry you?"

"By giving you power. Respect. A life where you don’t have to play the reluctant mafia princess." His tone was almost reasonable, which made it worse. "This doesn’t have to be a war. Be my wife. Not my prisoner. I thought you’d be… relieved. Free of Mhino’s inadequacies."

"Relieved?" The word choked me. "You ripped me from my life!"

"I removed you from stagnation." His voice hardened fractionally. "You will adjust. I will give you time. But understand this: you are my wife. You will come to terms with it." He picked up his fork again, the conversation clearly closed in his mind. "Eat. You’ll need your strength."

I didn’t touch another bite. The silence returned, heavier now, charged with his unyielding decree. You will come to terms with it. Like it was inevitable. Like my will meant nothing.

Back in my room, the numbness warred with simmering fury. I paced, the plush carpet swallowing my frantic steps. Dante’s words echoed: Free of Mhino’s inadequacies.

Strangely, he was right. I hadn’t thought of Mhino since arriving. Not truly. The image of him surfaced now  his predictable outrage, his wounded pride, probably drowning his sorrows in cheap whiskey right now. A harsh, humorless laugh escaped me. His precious ego would be shattered. The mighty Mhino Ricci, discarded overnight for the Capo dei Capi. The irony was almost poetic. Almost. Because the cost was my autonomy, my future, traded like a commodity. Couldn’t care less, I thought savagely, kicking at the leg of the ridiculously ornate desk. 

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A single name flashed: Mhino

Mhino: Sophia. We need to talk. Please. It’s urgent.

The desperation was palpable. Pathetic. I swiped the notification away without a second thought. He was irrelevant noise in the symphony of my disaster.

My mind snapped back to the real problem, Dante. His absolute control. His mention of my father’s debts to the Bratva. What did he truly have on Papa? What secret was vile enough to make him sell his daughter? If I could find out… if I could expose it, maybe I could break Dante’s hold. Maybe I could get home.

The door opened without a knock. No request for entry. Just the quiet sigh of hinges and the sudden, overwhelming presence of him filling the doorway. Dante stood there, backlit by the hallway light, holding two glasses of bourbon. The amber liquid caught the low light, looking like molten gold.

"You’ll sleep better with this," he stated, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

My carefully maintained silence shattered. "I’ll sleep better when you’re dead."

He didn’t flinch. Just stepped inside, letting the door close softly behind him. The soft light from the bedside lamp painted stark shadows on his face as he approached. He set one glass down on the nightstand within my reach but didn’t offer it. Instead, he sat on the edge of the plush queen-sized mattress. The bed dipped significantly under his weight, tilting me towards him. I scrambled back against the headboard, pulling the silk duvet higher, a flimsy shield.

He stared at me. Not at my face, but into me. His gray eyes were like shards of ice under moonlight, piercing past skin and bone, seeming to freeze the frantic beat of my heart, turning my defiance to ash. I narrowed my eyes, fury warring with a primal fear, and opened my mouth to unleash every vile word I’d stored up.

“Before you say anything,” he warned, his voice dangerously soft. He slowly, deliberately, pushed the sleeves of his crisp white shirt up his powerful forearms. Tan skin, corded muscle, a tracery of veins  it was a display of contained strength, utterly masculine and unnerving. “I believe an apology is in order.”

For a fleeting, absurd second, hope flickered. Was he apologizing?

“You think an apology is going to fix this?” I snapped, the acid in my voice barely masking the tremor beneath. I yanked the blanket higher, absurdly aware I was fully dressed yet feeling utterly exposed.

He smirked then, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that made my blood boil.  Then I realized that he liked this. He relished our clashes. It was a game to him.

“It’d be a nice start,” he said smoothly, his gaze never leaving mine. “Seeing as I saved you from a lifetime shackled to Mhino’s mediocrity and your father’s decay.”

Unbelievable. Rage, pure and incandescent, flooded me. I pressed myself harder against the headboard, as if I could merge with the wood. “You want me to apologize? To you?”

He leaned back slightly, one hand smoothing the expensive linen of the duvet beside my leg, a gesture both possessive and casual. “You have a natural, fast grip on things, Sophia. Sharp. But your manners…” He tsked softly, the sound condescending. “…are appalling. An apology would be a step towards civility. Towards acceptance.”

Lord, I wanted to hurt him. The desire burned white-hot at my fingertips. I imagined slapping that smirk off his face, clawing his eyes. “You’re a fool if you think I’m just going to accept you as a husband!” I folded my arms tightly over my chest, a defensive barrier.

His gaze dropped instantly, lingering on the movement, on the outline of my body beneath the thin silk robe and tank top. Heat flared in his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, his hand moved. Not to touch me, but close. His fingers hovered near my ankle, exposed where the robe had fallen open. The proximity was an electric charge in the air.

“Your words scream no,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a velvet rasp that skated over my skin. “But your body…” His gaze traveled back up my legs, over my folded arms, meeting my eyes again with devastating certainty. “…it whispers yes.”

My breath hitched. Mortification warred with a traitorous, unwelcome surge of heat deep in my belly. He saw it – the flush creeping up my neck, the slight tremor in my hands, the way my pulse hammered visibly at my throat. He knew.

He leaned in closer. His scent bergamot, smoke, and pure, dangerous male enveloped me. The tip of his index finger brushed the sensitive skin just above my ankle bone.

A jolt, sharp and electric, shot up my leg, straight to my core. I jerked my leg away as if scalded. “Don’t touch me!”

He chuckled, the sound low, dark, and utterly confident. “Your pupils are dilated, Sophia. Your breath is catching. That flush isn’t just anger.” His eyes dipped again, lingering blatantly on the hard peaks straining against the silk of my robe. My nipples tightened further under his scrutiny, a humiliating betrayal. “Your body recognizes its master. It always responds to truth.”

He didn't move to touch me further. He simply sat there, radiating heat and power, letting the truth of my physical reaction hang between us, undeniable and devastating. I wanted to scream. I wanted to vanish. I wanted… God help me… I wanted that devastating focus turned into something else.

He stood then, fluid and powerful. The evidence of his own arousal was unmistakable, straining against the fine fabric of his trousers. The sight sent another wave of treacherous heat pooling low within me, conflicting violently with my fury. He looked down at me, a conqueror surveying his prize

.

“Goodnight, wife,” he said, the title a deliberate provocation, a claiming. He paused at the door. “Rest well. Our wedding awaits. And Sophia…” His gaze swept over me one last time, possessive and hot. “…remember the dress. Black suits the occasion. Red would be far too obvious for the Devil’s bride.”

He was gone, leaving the door slightly ajar, the scent of his cologne, the memory of his touch, and the devastating evidence of my own treacherous body’s response. The silence roared back, louder than before. My phone buzzed again – Mhino, no doubt. I ignored it. My mind was already racing, not towards Mhino, not towards escape routes, but towards Dante’s study, towards the secrets he held over my father.

That was my way out. I had to find what he had on Papa. Only then could I break free. Only then could I stop this terrifying slide into… whatever dark desire he was awakening within me. The bourbon sat untouched on the nightstand. I didn’t need liquid courage. I needed a plan. And I needed it before the Devil claimed his bride in truth.