Trapped In The Devil's Bed

The Gilded Cage

Dante's POV

The Rinaldi mansion loomed before us as we passed through the gates. The huge iron bars swung wide, inviting me back into a world of cold, hard life.

My eyes followed the driveway, where old oaks towered, their gnarled limbs stretching up towards the moon like skeletal hands.

The big house was dark, a silent tomb of my family’s legacy and completely lifeless.

“Take her to the east room,” I ordered, entering the polished foyer, my voice echoing against the high ceilings. “And lock the door. I don’t want her wandering off.”

I watched the guards guide her toward the grand stairs. She appeared tiny compared to the expansive hallway.

I turned away and slipped into my private study. The air inside was stagnant and heavy with dust. I shrugged off my wine-colored jacket and tossed it over a leather armchair and began unbuttoning my shirt.

A soft knock broke the silence.

"Enter," I growled

Vincenzo, the family butler, appeared with a silver tray, his every motion honed to perfection from years of serving the Rinaldis. On the tray was a sole, well-sealed envelope.

"This was delivered by your father’s lawyer this afternoon," Vincenzo whispered, the voice barely audible. "He was very specific that it was to be opened by you alone after your father’s death and the settling of the Thomas account,"

A scowl furrowed further on my face as I accepted the envelope. My father,Maximus Rinaldi had a knack for finding a way to dole out pain even in death.

I undid the rope holding the envelope shut and began to read.

My jaw clenched until my muscles ached.

To Dante, my son.

If you want to retain the name “Rinaldi” and the billion-dollar business empire that I have given you, you will obey these orders to the letter.

You are a man of desires, Dante. But you cannot lead without a basis. You shall get married to a type of woman the council and I would approve. And you shall not stray.

The Mafia does not respect a man who does not have his house in order so forget about a divorce my boy unless she's the one who initiates it. And that would be difficult.

A divorce can be granted if any partner cheats and you know I never support cheating. Don't worry, if she cheats she gets the punishment of the unforgivable but it must be proven that she's guilty. You can't kill her either or you lose everything.

There must be consummation in the marriage and it shall be evaluated after one year. If you disappoint me, the inheritance will be handed to the Moretti family.

I know that you detest them, son so it would be of your best interest to make me proud.

Your loving father,

Maximus.

This growl rose in my throat. I crumpled the paper in my fist, the vellum cutting into my palm. "The son of a b***h. Even in death, he tries to control me."

“Is something wrong, Master Dante?” Vincenzo asked, ever perceptive; he undoubtedly already knew what the news might be.

“He wants me to be married,” I spat, turning my attention to the window. The darkness had enveloped the grounds outside. “He has tied the whole inheritance to a wedding ring. He wants me to be a domesticated dog.”

I started pacing, my adrenaline-fueled anger propelling me along.

My thoughts were racing through my brain at a frantic pace. I could never let the Morettis claim my empire.

Morettis were snakes, lying in wait to pounce at my first show of vulnerability.

But a wife? To me, women had been a luxury, a bourbon—isolated, costly, and interchangeable. A lifelong commitment made my skin crawl.

And then, my mind wandered to the girl upstairs. Elara. She was lovely, but weak and broken by her father’s misdeeds.

Her eyes burned with a fire that fear had yet to extinguish. Most importantly, she was already in the city. She could be taught to lead. She was perfect.

“Vincenzo,” I said, my tone growing cold and analytical. “Call the family attorney. Tell him there will be a wedding tomorrow.”

Vincenzo's eyebrows shot up. “Tomorrow, sir? We have no guest list, no—”

“I don’t care. Invite the bosses of the five families. Let them know it’s an intimate ceremony. And I want the best wedding planners in the city available to me in the next hour. If they don’t come, have them fired from their companies on the spot,” I declared.

"And the bride, sir?"

A predatory smile spread across my lips. “She’s already upstairs. She just doesn’t know she’s a bride yet.”

I walked out of the study and up the stairs, my footsteps weighing heavily on the carpet. I did not bother to knock. I unlocked and pushed open the door to the eastern room.

She was standing beside the large bed, in the process of changing into her clothes.

Her back was exposed, the fabric gathered at her waist, highlighting her slender spine line. She turned around, clutching the fabric of the gown in her hands, her cheeks flushed a deep red.

"Get out!" she shouted. "You didn’t knock!"

I didn’t budge. Instead, I leaned on the doorframe, taking a moment to critically examine her. There was no shame on my part. Instead, a hunger was rising inside me.

“I don’t knock in my own house,” I answered, my voice dropping an octave as I approached. I moved in until the space between us had the dense quality of her terror.

Pushing backwards towards the bed until her legs struck the metal frame, she asked, "What do you want?"

“Change of plans, Elara,” I said, stopping just an inch from her face. “We’re getting married tomorrow,” I explained, tracing the line of her collarbone with my finger.

Her skin turned cold.

Shock took the place of the fear in her eyes. "What? No. I won't. I'd rather die."

“Death is easy,” I whispered, holding her face, my thumb tracing her lower lip to calm its shaking. “But living with me will prove much more entertaining. Your father did sign you away, didn’t he? You are mine. And if I proclaim you my wife, you will be mine.”

There was defiance flickering in her. “You can’t make me say the vows,” she defied, trembling with fear.

I leaned in close, my breathing whispering in her ear as the trap closed. "You don’t have to be forced, Elara. By ten o'clock tomorrow morning, you’ll be on your knees for those vows."

I took a small cell phone out of my pocket and showed her a live, grainy image of a hospital room. Her mother, hooked up to a wheezing ventilator, lay on the bed.

Her breath caught. "Mother?"

“The Rinaldi Foundation has just acquired that hospital,” I whispered, my voice as cold as stone. “The moment you consider wavering at the altar, or think about saying no, I withdraw the funds. The machinery stops. And your mother dies.”

I took a step backward, observing the flame fade from her eyes. She was more than just a prisoner of mine. She was collateral.

“Get some sleep, little bird,” I told her, pushing a stray lock behind her ear. “You’ll be needing your voice tomorrow.”

I left, and the door slammed shut behind me and I turned the key in the lock.

I looked over at Vincenzo, who was lurking in the shadows of the hallway. "Tell the priest to be ready," I ordered, smoothing my cuffs. "And let the guards know that if she screams, to remind her how easy it is to unplug a cord,"

I had twelve hours to convert a captive into a wife, otherwise I’d lose a billion-dollar empire to the Morettis.