Chapter 5: The Gilded Cage

The drive back from the courthouse was even quieter than the drive there. It felt like sitting inside an armored vault. The windows were so thick I could barely hear the wind outside.

I looked down at the black diamonds on my finger. They were cold.

"You're staring at it," Luca said. He hadn't looked at me once since we left the government building. He was typing something into a tablet, his face illuminated by the blue light of the screen.

"It’s heavy," I said.

"It’s supposed to be. It reminds you of the weight of the name you just took,” he said. I just rolled my eyes.

"I didn't take it. You gave it to me. There’s a difference."

Luca finally looked up. He didn't look angry; he looked bored. "The result is the same. In the eyes of the law and the eyes of my enemies, you are a Moretti. Act like it."

"And how does a Moretti act?"

"With silence," he said, turning back to his tablet. "And with caution."

The car pulled up to a different estate this time. This wasn't the glass castle on the cliff. This was a sprawling, old-money mansion in the hills, surrounded by a ten-foot stone wall topped with iron spikes. The gates opened slowly, and we rolled up a long driveway lined with cypress trees.

"This isn't where we were yesterday," I said.

"That was a safe house," Luca said. "This is home. This is the Moretti estate. My grandfather built this place. It’s been a fortress for over fifty years."

The car stopped in front of the massive front doors. A man in a suit opened my door before the engine had even fully cut off. I stepped out, my heels sinking slightly into the manicured gravel.

The house was beautiful, in a terrifying way. It was made of grey stone and ivy, with narrow windows that looked like arrow slits.

"Enzo will show you to your quarters," Luca said, stepping out of the car.

He didn't wait for me. He walked straight toward a side entrance, where two men were waiting for him with folders in their hands.

"Quarters?" I muttered. "I’m a wife, not a soldier."

Enzo appeared at my side. He looked tired, his tie loosened at his collar. "This way, Isabella. Or should I say, Mrs. Moretti?"

"Don't," I said.

He chuckled, "Fair enough." He gestured toward the main entrance. "The house is divided into wings. The Boss has the east wing. His offices, his gym, his bedroom. You’ll be in the west wing. It’s more... comfortable."

"Meaning it’s further away from him?"

"Exactly."

We walked through the foyer. It was filled with oil paintings of men who looked exactly like Luca: dark hair, sharp eyes, and mouths that didn't crack a smile. The floors were covered in thick Persian rugs that swallowed the sound of our footsteps.

Enzo led me up a wide staircase and down a long hallway. He stopped at a set of double doors carved with floral patterns. He pushed them open, and I stepped inside.

The room was massive. There was a four-poster bed with silk hangings, a fireplace made of white marble, and a walk-in closet that was bigger than my old kitchen. One wall was almost entirely glass, looking out over a private garden.

"Your things are already here," Enzo said, gesturing to a row of suitcases by the bed.

"My things?" I walked over and opened one. It wasn't my clothes. It was new stuff. Cashmere sweaters, silk blouses, and dresses that looked like they cost a year’s rent. "These aren't mine."

"The Boss had a personal shopper handle it," Enzo said. "Your old clothes were... unsuitable for your new position."

"They were my clothes," I said, feeling a surge of annoyance. "He doesn't get to just erase my life."

"He already did," Enzo said quietly. He walked toward the door. "Dinner is at seven. In the small dining room. Not the big one. If you need anything, there’s an intercom by the bed. Just press three for the kitchen."

"And if I want to go outside?"

Enzo paused at the door. "The garden is yours. But don't try the gate. It’s electrified."

He shut the door, and I heard the lock click. It was a soft sound, but it felt like a gunshot.

I walked over to the glass wall. The garden was beautiful. There were rose bushes, a stone fountain, and a bench under a weeping willow. It looked peaceful. But beyond the garden, I could see the stone wall and the top of a guard’s head as he paced the perimeter.

I wasn't a wife. I was a trophy. Like a bird in a cage made of gold and silk.

I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the intercom. I wanted to call my mother. I wanted to hear her voice and tell her I was okay. But I knew Luca was watching. Every move I made, every word I spoke, was being recorded, I doubt the intercom would even be able to reach her.

I stood up and started opening the drawers of the vanity. I was looking for something, anything, I could use. A pair of scissors, a letter opener, a pen, anything!

I found a small, silver-handled hairbrush. I gripped it tight. It wasn't a weapon, but it was something.

A knock came at the door.

"Come in," I said, tucking the brush into the pocket of my dress.

The door opened, and a young woman walked in. She was wearing a plain grey uniform. She looked like she was about my age, but her eyes were downcast.

"Good day ma’am, I’m Maria," she said. "I’m your lady-in-waiting."

"My what?"

"I’m here to help you dress for dinner," she said. She walked over to the closet and pulled out a dark red dress. "The Boss requested you wear this tonight. He has guests."

"Guests?"

"The Capos," Maria said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "They want to see the new bride. They want to see if the rumors are true."

"What rumors?”

Maria looked toward the door, then back at me. "That you’re the daughter of the man who broke the Moretti family. They don't like you being here, Isabella. You have to be careful,” whispered.

"I’ve been careful my whole life," I said. "It didn't get me very far."

"Then be more than careful," Maria said, holding out the dress. "Be a Moretti. It’s the only way they’ll respect you."

I took the dress from her. The fabric was cold and heavy. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a stranger. The girl who worked at the diner, who worried about rent, who loved her mother; she was gone.

In her place was a woman in a red dress, married to a king of shadows.

"Tell the boss I’ll be there," I said. "And tell him I hope his guests are ready for me."

Maria smiled, just a little, and stepped out of the room.

I spent the next hour getting ready. I did my own makeup, making my eyes look sharper and my lips darker. I didn't want to look like a victim. I wanted to look like a threat.

At exactly 6:55 PM, Enzo knocked on the door.

"Time to go," he said, staring at me for a split second before leaving my room.

I walked out of the room, the red silk rustling around my legs. We walked down the long hallway, past the silent portraits and the empty rooms. The house felt different tonight. It felt charged, like a storm was coming.

We reached the small dining room. I could hear men’s voices inside: loud, booming, and punctuated by the clinking of glasses.

I hated it.

Enzo opened the doors.

The room fell silent.

Four men were sitting around a circular table. Luca was at the head. He was wearing a black shirt, the top two buttons undone. He looked relaxed, but his eyes were sharp as ever.

He stood up when I entered.

"Gentlemen," Luca said, his voice carrying across the room. "I’d like you to meet my wife. Isabella Moretti."

The name Isabella Moretti sounded really foreign to me.

The men stared at me. Some looked curious. Others looked disgusted. One man, older with a thick white beard, didn't even hide his sneer.

"She looks like her father," the old man said. "Let’s hope she doesn't share his habits."

I didn't wait for Luca to defend me. I walked straight to the empty chair next to him and sat down. I looked the old man right in the eye.

"My father isn’t here," I said, my voice steady. "But I'm standing right here. And I’m a Moretti now. I’d suggest you remember that."

The table went dead quiet. Luca looked at me, a flicker of something, was it pride? crossing his face.

"Sit down, Angelo," Luca said quietly. "My wife is hungry. Let’s eat."

The dinner began, but I didn't taste a single bite. I was too busy watching the men at the table, realizing that I was sitting in a room full of men who could devour me at any time.

And the most dangerous of them all sitting right next to me.