The cage cracks

Alessia’s POV

The moment his lips crashed against hers, something inside Alessia shattered.

It wasn’t the kiss.

It was the claim.

Feral. Dominant. Final.

Dante Moretti had made it clear—he didn’t want her love. He wanted her submission. Her silence. Her spine.

And for one, terrifying second, she’d kissed him back.

Now, hours later, she stood beneath the spray of a scalding shower, scrubbing her skin raw. Steam curled around her like smoke, but it couldn’t purge the memory of his touch. His breath. His promise.

Try to run again, and I won’t stop at kissing you.

She pressed her palms to the cold marble tile, breath shallow, heart pounding. Not from fear.

From rage.

He thought he could own her.

He thought her father’s name and an unwanted ring were enough to bring her to heel.

But she’d spent her entire life learning to survive in the shadows of powerful men. She hadn’t endured the control of Don Lorenzo Romano just to be handed off like some bloodied olive branch to a Moretti.

Alessia turned the faucet off with a vicious twist, wrapped herself in a thick robe, and stepped into her room. The silence pressed heavy, oppressive. It was nearly dawn, and yet sleep had evaded her entirely.

On the edge of her dresser sat the letter she’d never finished. The one Antonio had tried to collect.

Her chest clenched.

He’d come for her.

Even after she told him not to.

Even after he vanished like a coward last year.

She ran her fingers over the torn page. The words were smudged, rain-soaked, half-ripped—but the intention had been clear.

Escape.

Hope.

Stupid, dangerous hope.

A knock at her bedroom door startled her.

Before she could answer, it creaked open.

“Chiara?” Alessia called, expecting her cousin.

But it wasn’t Chiara.

It was her father.

Don Lorenzo stepped inside, dressed in a tailored navy suit, crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He looked more exhausted than usual, dark circles bruising his eyes. His silver cufflinks gleamed as he folded his arms.

“We need to talk.”

Alessia froze. “About what?”

He motioned to the chair across from her. “Sit.”

“I’d rather stand.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “This game you’re playing, with Antonio, it ends now.”

Her stomach turned to ice. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew. My men caught him sneaking out. I had half a mind to shoot him.”

Her eyes flared. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would,” he snapped. “Do you have any idea what you’ve risked? If Dante had caught him before we did—”

“He did,” she whispered.

Lorenzo stiffened.

“He read the letter.”

He swore under his breath in Italian and paced to the window, rage simmering beneath his calm.

“You’re lucky you’re still breathing,” he muttered. “Dante doesn’t forgive betrayal.”

“I’m not his,” Alessia hissed. “Not yet.”

Her father turned slowly, eyes hard. “You are. From the moment I signed the contract. And you’ll act like it.”

She laughed bitterly. “Is that what you call it now? A contract? I didn’t even get to read it before you sold me off.”

“It was necessary,” he said, voice softening just enough to slice deeper. “You’re the key to peace, Alessia. The war has cost too much. We need stability. I need a future for this family.”

She stared at him, stunned. “You need control. You always have. And I’ve never been anything but another pawn on your board.”

Lorenzo’s gaze turned cold. “You’re lucky you’re still on the board at all.”

He walked to the door but paused before exiting.

“Play the role. Smile. Obey. Marry the man.”

“And if I don’t?”

He looked over his shoulder. “Then I’ll let him deal with you however he sees fit.”

The door closed behind him with a final, echoing click.

Alessia stood there, trembling.

Not with fear.

With fury.

Her own father had just handed her to a monster, and now he expected her to smile through it.

But she wasn’t a child anymore.

She wouldn’t cry.

She would plan.

By the time the sun rose, Alessia was already dressed.

Not in one of the gowns her father picked. But in a sharp-cut navy dress, heels that clicked with confidence, and her mother’s silver locket hanging at her throat.

She entered the breakfast salon like a storm held in check, her steps precise, her expression serene.

Dante was already there, lounging like a king at the head of the long glass table, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. A gun sat just behind his espresso, half-hidden under a folded newspaper.

Of course.

She didn’t acknowledge it.

Instead, she walked calmly to the other end of the table and poured herself a cup of tea.

He didn’t speak until she took her first sip.

“You look rested,” he said without looking up.

“I’m not.”

“You should be. Wedding’s in three weeks.”

She met his gaze. “Three weeks to figure out how to kill you. That’s barely enough time.”

He smirked. “Careful, cara. There’s a thin line between bravery and suicide.”

“I plan to walk it in heels.”

A flicker of something—amusement, maybe—passed through his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, studying her like a puzzle he hadn’t yet solved.

“You hate me,” he said, almost thoughtfully.

“I do.”

“Good. That means you’ll survive.”

She arched her brow. “That’s the best you can offer? A marriage of mutual loathing?”

“No,” he said. “I can offer you protection. Wealth. Power. Everything your father would never give you.”

“I don’t want your power.”

“You will,” he said softly, “when you see how easily I can crush everything you love.”

She rose to her feet slowly, walked to his side of the table, and leaned down until her lips hovered near his ear.

“I’d rather die than be yours willingly.”

Then she kissed his cheek—cold, calculated—and left the room.

She didn’t see the way his jaw clenched behind her.

Or the way his hand curled around the gun.

That night, Alessia met Chiara in the greenhouse.

The one place her father’s cameras didn’t reach.

“I’m leaving,” Alessia whispered.

Chiara’s eyes widened. “Are you insane? He’ll kill you.”

“Then I’ll die free.”

Chiara looked torn. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes,” she said, pulling a folded paper from her pocket. “I found something. In my father’s safe. A name. A woman. She has information on the Morettis. Something even Dante doesn’t know.”

“What kind of information?”

“Leverage.”

She handed the note to Chiara.

“Set up a meeting. Make sure no one follows.”

Chiara hesitated, then nodded. “What about you?”

“I’ll play the part,” Alessia said grimly. “Until it’s time.”

She glanced toward the house, where Dante’s shadow moved past the upstairs window.

“He wants a queen?”

She clenched her fists.

Then I’ll bring him to his knees.

Cliffhanger Ending Line:

But two days later, before the plan could unfold, Alessia woke to the sound of gunfire—and her cousin’s blood staining the marble floors.