The Golden Cage

The limousine drove through the city streets. Muna pressed her face to the bulletproof glass, watching the city blur past,the one she had bled for, fought for, and killed for. Now it felt like a funeral procession she couldn’t escape

Vincent Torrino sat across from her, silent as a tombstone. His fingers tapped a steady rhythm on his knee, matching the drum of her racing heart. The bastard was enjoying this.

“Comfortable?” he asked, voice smooth as poisoned honey.

“Go to hell, Vincent,” she spat, the words sharp as broken glass.

He chuckled softly. “Save that fire for Felix. You’re going to need it.”

The fancy car slowed at a red light. For a brief, crazy moment, Muna thought about jumping out, breaking the glass to escape. But the doors were locked, the windows bulletproof, and her mother’s scared face came to mind. Once strong and ruthless, Isabella was now just a pawn in someone else’s game.

“How?” The word slipped before she could stop it.

Vincent raised an eyebrow. “How what?”

“How did he know about the Slemz meeting? About the warehouse?” Her voice broke, sharp as the crack of a whip. “That information was locked tighter than a vault.”

Vincent’s smile could cut bone. “You really want to know?”

The car turned into a street of towering steel and glass. Castelli Tower rose above the city like a needle of power, gleaming, untouchable, built on the bones of everyone who had dared to oppose Felix.

“Your beloved Marco sends his regards,” Vincent said as the car stopped.

Muna’s chest slammed with disbelief. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Vincent held up his phone. A photo froze her blood. Marco, her most trusted soldier,the man who had sworn to die for her,sat in Felix’s office. A briefcase filled with cash lay open on the desk.

“That’s… impossible.” Her mind raced. Pieces of the puzzle clicked into place,Marco’s nervousness at the warehouse, his insistence that she leave, the way he stayed by the car instead of following her inside.

“Nothing’s impossible when the price is right,” Vincent said. “Marco’s mother is sick . Cancer treatments cost a fortune. Felix gave him enough to save her life, plus a new identity. All he had to do was deliver you.”

Muna’s world spun. The man she had trusted with her life, who had held her while she cried over her father’s grave, who had sworn blood oaths of loyalty,had sold her like she was nothing more than a piece of meat.

“The best part?” Vincent continued as they entered the tower’s marble lobby. “He volunteered. Felix didn’t even have to threaten him.”

The elevator ride to the penthouse felt like ascending into her own execution. Muna stared at her reflection in the polished steel doors,hair wild, makeup smudged, dress torn from the struggle. She looked exactly like what she was,a caged animal.

When the doors opened, the penthouse revealed a world built for obsession and power. Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the city in all its glittering glory. Italian marble reflected crystal chandeliers, while walls boasted art that could belong only in museums. Everything screamed wealth and dominance, every detail a reminder of her imprisonment.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Castelli,” Vincent said.

A tall, elegant woman emerged from the shadows,silver hair in a perfect chignon, black dress expensive enough to blind the eyes, and cold eyes sharper than razors.

“This is Elena,” Vincent explained. “She runs the staff. Think of her as… your supervisor.”

Elena’s smile could freeze hell. “Miss Romano. I’ve prepared the master suite for you.”

“It’s Mrs. Castelli now,” Vincent corrected. “The wedding is tomorrow night.”

The name scraped against her skin like barbed wire.

“I’ll show you to your room,” Elena said, her heels clicking against marble like gunshots.

Down the hallway lined with photographs of the Castelli family,faces frozen in power and blood,Muna recognized Felix’s father, Antonio. The man who would have been her father-in-law if bullets hadn’t ended him in the street.

The master suite was a mix of luxury and prison. A massive bed with black silk sheets dominated the room, doors opened to a private balcony, and every surface gleamed with perfection. Cameras peeked from corners, windows were likely sealed, and the door undoubtedly locked from the outside.

“Mr. Castelli thought you’d be comfortable,” Elena said. “Clothes in the closet, cosmetics in the bathroom, dinner at nine.”

“Where is he?” Muna’s voice was pure controlled rage.

“Attending business. He’ll join you later.”

Alone, Muna walked through her golden cage, feeling the weight of all the fancy things around her. The closet was full of expensive dresses,silk, satin, lace,clothes made to make her look like a queen, or a very expensive woman. She grabbed a glass bottle from the bar and threw it against the wall. The glass broke, and whiskey spilled across the marble like blood. For a moment, it felt good, almost freeing. But when the noise stopped, the emptiness stayed. The gold, the silk, the chandeliers,it didn’t matter. She was still trapped, still someone else’s pawn.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her.

“In Come ” she snapped.

A young woman, maybe twenty, with dark hair and frightened eyes, peeked inside. She wore a simple black uniform.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I heard… I mean, I came to clean up the glass.”

“Don’t. Leave it. I like the mess.”

The girl hesitated. “Mr. Castelli won’t be pleased.”

“Hell with Mr. Castelli,” Muna muttered.

The girl smiled briefly. “I’m Sofia. I’m… assigned to you.”

“Assigned?”

“To help with whatever you need. Clothes, food, company,” Sofia whispered. “Mr. Castelli thought you might be lonely.”

Muna studied her. In Sofia’s eyes, she saw a flash of sympathy, They were both prisoners, just in different chains.

“How long have you worked here?” Muna asked.

“Two years, ma’am.”

“Ever want to leave?”

“This is a good job, ma’am. Mr. Castelli takes care of his people.”

Her fingers traced a thin scar on her wrist. Muna understood. Both were trapped. Both were bound.

As night fell over the city, Muna stood on the balcony, lights flickering below like distant stars. Somewhere, Marco was probably celebrating his payday while her men lay dead in warehouse alleys. Somewhere else, her mother sat in captivity, wondering if her daughter was still alive, if her soul was still intact.

Tomorrow, she’d be married to her enemy. Tomorrow, her body would be wrapped in silk, but her freedom, her control, and her life would be anything but hers.

The golden cage was beautiful, terrifying, and suffocating. And for Muna Romano, it was now home