Chapter 3: The Cage with Silk Sheets

I shove the locket back into my pocket. My hands are shaking so hard I almost drop it.

I can't think about my mother right now. I can't think about why her face is scratched out, or why this house feels like it’s been waiting to swallow me whole.

If I think about it, I’ll scream. And screaming won't save me.

I need to know the cage I’m in.

I turn away from the photos. I force myself to scan the room.

One window. Floor-to-ceiling glass. It looks over the cliffs, a straight drop to the jagged rocks below. No balcony. No latch. It doesn't open.

One door. The one Aureliano locked.

One bed.

It sits in the center of the room like an altar. It’s massive, covered in silk sheets that shimmer under the recessed lighting. It’s not a bed for sleeping. It’s a bed for performance.

I hug my arms tighter around my chest. I’m still wet, shivering in my oversized clothes. I feel small. Dirt poor. Disposable.

Click.

The sound is soft, but in the dead silence of the room, it sounds like a gunshot.

The doorknob turns.

I freeze. I don't breathe. I employ the only defense mechanism I have.

Be a ghost. Be nothing. If you are nothing, they can't hurt you.

The door swings open.

Spadino Vitale leans against the frame.

He’s still twirling that gold lighter. Click. Spark. Click.

He grins. It’s not a nice grin. It’s sharp and reckless, the kind of smile a boy gives right before he pulls the wings off a fly.

"Nice room," he says. His voice is lighter than Aureliano’s, but there’s a serrated edge to it. "Bit cold, though."

He pushes off the doorframe and strolls inside.

He doesn't ask permission. He moves with the casual arrogance of a man who owns everything he sees—including the oxygen I'm breathing.

He kicks the door shut behind him. He doesn't lock it.

I take a step back. My back hits the cold glass of the window. Nowhere to go.

Spadino stops in the middle of the room. He looks at the bed, then at me. His eyes are golden-brown and electric with chaos.

"You're quieter than I expected," he says. He takes a step toward me.

I don't move. I don't speak. I count the tiles on the floor between us. Eight. Seven.

He smells expensive. Sandalwood, citrus, and something metallic. The smell of a man who bathes in money and violence.

"Matteo was a loud drunk," Spadino says, taking another step. Six. "Always begging. Always promising."

He’s close now. Too close.

He reaches out. I force myself not to flinch. I force my muscles to turn to stone.

His fingers brush a stray lock of wet hair from my cheek. His touch is warm, shocking against my freezing skin. He tucks the hair behind my ear, his thumb lingering on my jaw.

He’s testing me. He wants to see if I’ll snap. He wants to see the rabbit run.

"You're not like him," he murmurs. "You're frozen."

He leans in. I can feel the heat radiating off him. He’s electric, vibrating with an energy that feels unstable.

He circles me.

He walks slowly around my back, trapping me between his body and the cold glass. I can feel his breath on my neck. I close my eyes.

I am not here. I am not here.

"Aureliano thinks you're an asset," he whispers, his voice dropping low, right in my ear. "Ciro thinks you're a nuisance."

He stops in front of me again. He crowds my space, forcing me to tilt my head up to look at him.

He smiles, and his eyes dance with a cruel, playful light.

"But I think you're going to be fun."

My heart is hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. One. Two. Three.

"You're trembling," he says. He sounds delighted.

He reaches out and trails a finger down my arm, over the soaked fabric of my cheap coat. It feels like a brand.

"Tell me, little ghost," he says softly. "Which one of us do you think you'll scream for first?"

The question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating.

He’s not asking for an answer. He’s planting a seed. He’s telling me that the screaming is inevitable. It’s just a matter of who breaks me first.

I stare at his chest. I don't look him in the eye. I don't give him the satisfaction.

He laughs. It’s a short, sharp sound.

"Silent treatment," he says. "I like a challenge."

He steps back. The pressure in the room releases slightly, but the threat remains.

He turns and walks to the door. He puts his hand on the knob, then pauses.

He looks back at me over his shoulder. He flicks the lighter one last time. Spark.

"I'm leaving it unlocked," he says.

He winks.

"Don't sleep too deep, little ghost. The locks in this house are just for show."

He walks out. The door clicks shut, but I know it’s open.

I slide down the glass until I hit the floor. I wrap my arms around my knees and bury my face.

I start counting.

One. Two. Three.

I have to survive tonight. Just tonight.

But looking at that massive, silk-covered bed, and the unlocked door, I know the night is going to be very, very long.