Chapter 5: The Red Cage

The lock clicked shut. The sound echoed in the large room. It marked a boundary. Outside the heavy wood door lay my empire.

My soldiers waited there. My enemies waited there. Inside this room stood only two people. Me. Her.

I did not turn around immediately.

I stared at the grain of the wood.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I hated the rhythm. It betrayed me. It proved my control had slipped.

Chloe breathed fast behind me.

The sound grated on my nerves. It sounded loud in the silence. It sounded like a trapped animal. I classified the noise. Panic. Desperation. Fear.

"You saw the note." My voice came out low. I did not yell. Yelling showed weakness.

"I saw nothing." Her voice shook.

"I cleaned the room. I broke the vase. I will pay for the damage."

"Do not lie to me."

I turned. I faced her.

She gripped the mahogany desk. Her knuckles looked white. She looked out of place among my leather books and steel weapons.

A smudge of white flour sat on her cheek. It mocked the seriousness of the situation. She wore a cheap apron. It had oil stains. It smelled of yeast.

I walked to her. I crossed the room in three measured steps. I invaded her personal space. I felt the heat radiate from her body.

It offended my senses.

"You saw the date." I grabbed the collar of her work shirt. The fabric felt thin. It felt cheap. "I hired you for silence. You look invisible. I picked you because nobody looks at you. Now you see too much. A witness becomes a liability."

"I will not tell anyone." Her voice cracked. A tear fell. It cut a path through the flour on her face. "I need the money. My mother needs insulin. Please. I am nobody. I am the chubby cook. You ignore me."

"You acted as the cook." I tightened my grip on her collar.

My knuckles grazed her skin. Her pulse beat fast against my hand.

Paranoia raced through my mind. I analyzed her reaction. A trained spy lies. A trained spy cries on command. "Now you are a variable.

I hate variables."

I released her. I stepped back. Disgust filled my gut. My heart rate slowed down near her. I hated this reaction. My body responded to her presence. My mind rejected it. Her fear felt honest. Honest fear is rare in my world.

I needed to test her. I needed to break her facade.

I walked to the tall wardrobe in the corner. I avoided this piece of furniture for five years. It held ghosts. Vanessa left her clothes behind. I never moved them. I kept them as a reminder of betrayal.

I opened the doors. The smell of stale perfume hit me. It smelled like roses and lies. I pushed past the fur coats. I pushed past the lace. I found red silk in the back.

I pulled the dress out. It slipped through my fingers. It looked like liquid blood.

I turned back to Chloe. I threw the dress. It hit her chest. It slid down against her dirty apron.

"Strip."

Her eyes went wide. Her mouth opened. "What?"

"You are covered in filth. Flour. Oil. Sweat." I lied. I needed to destroy the image of the cook. I needed to see the woman underneath. "Change clothes. If you stay in this room you will not look like a servant. You will look like a warning. Wear the color of blood."

"I cannot." She clutched the dress. "Mr. Moretti please."

"Do it."

I turned my back. I stared at the door again. I focused on the sounds. I waited.

Cotton rustled. A zipper slid down. Heavy shoes hit the carpet with a thud. Clothes landed on the floor.

My mind filled in the blanks. I did not want to imagine. My brain betrayed me. I pictured her curves. I pictured pale skin. I felt a fever burn in my veins. It had nothing to do with the anniversary. It had nothing to do with anger.

"The dress is small," she whispered. Her voice sounded far away. "I told you. My shape is wrong."

I checked my watch. Two minutes had passed. The guards outside would wonder why the door remained locked. I did not care.

"Put it on."

Fabric stretched. I heard a small rip. She struggled with the silk. She gasped.

"It is on," she said.

I turned around.

The air left my lungs.

The red silk looked bright in the dim room. It looked violent. The fabric strained over her hips. It clung to her chest. It showcased every inch of skin I tried to ignore for weeks. She glowed against the deep crimson. The dress was meant for a stick-thin model. On Chloe it looked sinful.

She wrapped her arms around her stomach. She tried to hide. She looked ashamed.

"It is tight," she whispered. "I told you."

"No." I walked toward her. My steps made no sound on the rug.

"Your shape is correct. Men lose their minds over this shape."

I did not think so. I acted on instinct. I grabbed her waist. I pulled her body against my hard suit. The contrast felt agonizing. Steel against velvet. Cold against heat.

My hand moved to her thigh. I felt the warmth through the silk.

I hiked the material up. My fingers sank into soft flesh. I gripped her leg. I lifted it. I pinned her leg against my waist.

She gasped. Her hands grabbed my shoulders to steady herself. Her eyes searched mine.

“Undesirable”. I spoke the word against her lips. It tasted like a lie.

I squeezed her thigh. My thumb dug into her skin.

“Tell me the truth Chloe Rossi.” I leaned closer. Who sent you. “Did Marco send you to destroy me.”

She shook her head. Her body trembled against mine. “Nobody sent me. I swear.”

“I do not believe you.”

I moved my hand higher on her leg. I tested her limits. She froze. She looked terrified. She looked beautiful.

The red silk mocked me. It fit too well. It turned the cook into a threat. It reminded me of Vanessa. It reminded me of betrayal.

I hated the dress. I hated my choice.

She shifted. Her hand moved to her side. She reached for the zipper.

“It is too tight” she gasped. “I cannot breathe.”

Paranoia snapped.

She reached for a weapon.

I did not hesitate.

I slammed her body onto the desk. Her head hit the wood.

I pinned her wrists above her head with one hand. I reached into my jacket with the other. I pulled my gun. Cold. Heavy. Loaded.

I pressed the barrel against her temple .

She screamed. The sound stopped when I pushed the metal harder.

“You made a mistake I said. You reached for something.”

“No. I wanted to loosen it.”

“Liar.”

I looked at the red silk. It covered her secrets. It hid wires.

I moved the gun down. I pressed the steel between her breasts.

“This dress is a lie” I whispered. “I am done with lies.”

I hooked my fingers into the neckline.

“You want to breathe Chloe.”

I pulled.

The Silk tore. The sound filled the room. The red fabric split down the front.

“Prove you are not a weapon” I said. I kept the gun aimed at her heart. “Or you die in this room.”