CHAPTER SIX: THE CAGE WITH GOLDEN BARS
1119 Words
They say the safest place in a war is behind the strongest walls.
But no one ever talks about how lonely that place can be.
I hadn’t stepped outside the mansion in days.
Since the man with the dagger was found dead in Vincenzo’s study, things had changed—and not in the quiet kind of way. Guards doubled. Every window was secured. The gates, already fortress-like, now buzzed with the static of surveillance drones flying overhead. The staff barely made eye contact with me. The house, once cold but still mine to roam, now felt like a prison.
A beautiful, gilded, suffocating prison.
“Your breakfast, Mrs. Moretti,” Rosa, the quiet maid, said, placing a tray down on the glass table beside me.
I stared at the untouched meal from earlier. And the one before that.
“I’m not hungry,” I mumbled.
She hesitated like she wanted to say something else, but then curtsied slightly and left the room, her eyes darting behind her to where two guards stood silently like statues.
They watched me even when I turned away. As if I might suddenly pull a blade from my robe and sprint for the gates.
As if I was dangerous.
Or maybe... fragile.
I wasn’t sure which was worse.
I pressed my hand against the windowpane, watching as Vincenzo barked orders to a group of suited men below, his expression carved from stone. The man I’d married barely looked at me anymore. Since the second note appeared, it was as if something inside him had locked shut. And I... I wasn’t sure I wanted the key.
Because the deeper I fell into this world, the more I realized—I didn’t know him at all.
And more frighteningly, I didn’t know myself anymore.
I wasn’t the girl who used to write poetry by the window. I wasn’t the girl who cried when Enzo betrayed her. That version of me had been buried under secrets and danger and the echo of a blood-stained note pinned to a wall.
Suddenly, the door creaked open.
It was Vincenzo.
He didn’t speak right away. Just stared at me, his dark eyes unreadable.
“We're moving you,” he said finally.
“Moving me?” My voice cracked.
“There’s a private estate on the cliffs. Secure. Hidden. No one knows about it—not even my inner circle.”
I stepped back. “Why? Because of one man?”
“Not just one man,” he said, voice flat. “The message. The timing. The surveillance. They're playing a long game.”
“But you’re punishing me. You’re locking me away.”
“I’m protecting you.”
“No, Vincenzo. You’re hiding me.”
He closed the distance between us in two strides. “Would you rather I lose you?” he growled softly. “Because if they get close to you, even once… even once, I will never recover from it. Do you understand me?”
I wanted to be angry. To scream. But all I felt was… tired.
And scared.
Not just of La Lupa.
But of this marriage.
This world.
This man.
“When?” I asked.
“Tonight. We’ll travel under cover. Only Rosa and two trusted guards will go with you. I’ll join you in a few days.”
I blinked. “You’re not coming with me?”
“I need to handle this here. If I leave now, it’ll look like I’m running. That’s when they’ll strike.”
He leaned in, brushed a strand of hair from my face. His touch was tender, but his eyes were stormy.
“You’ll be safe. I swear it.”
I wanted to believe him.
But in the world of blood and bullets, oaths were made of paper.
That night, just before we left, Rosa helped me pack the last of my things. She looked paler than usual, her hands trembling slightly as she folded one of my blouses.
“You okay?” I asked gently.
She nodded too fast. “Yes. Just tired.”
But something was off.
I didn’t push it. Not yet.
The car ride was silent. I sat between two bulky guards while Rosa rode in the front. The convoy of three black SUVs wound up a long, twisting cliffside road until finally, the lights of the city vanished behind us.
The house appeared like a ghost out of the mist—an elegant stone estate perched at the edge of the world, waves crashing against the rocks below. It should’ve been beautiful.
But all I saw was isolation.
The guards unpacked my things, checked every corner of the property, and then disappeared into their quarters.
Rosa helped me settle into the bedroom.
It was quiet for a while until I caught her staring at me.
“What is it?” I asked.
She hesitated. “Do you trust Mr. Moretti?”
I frowned. “Why?”
She lowered her voice. “Because he’s not telling you everything.”
A chill ran down my spine. “What do you mean?”
She opened her mouth to speak—then stopped. Her face twisted as if she’d said too much.
“Rosa—”
“I can’t,” she whispered. “Not yet. Just… if someone comes asking questions, or if you hear something strange, don’t assume the danger is only outside these walls.”
And then she left.
Leaving me alone with a heart pounding in my chest.
Later that night, I wandered into the sitting room. The wind howled outside, sea spray battering the glass windows. I wrapped a blanket tighter around me and sat near the fire.
The silence was too thick.
I picked up the landline on the table—just to hear a voice. Vincenzo hadn’t called. No one had.
But when I pressed it to my ear, I heard something that made my blood run cold.
Static.
Then a voice. Whispered. Distorted.
“She knows.”
That’s all.
And then it cut.
I dropped the phone like it burned.
She knows?
Who?
About what?
And then—just as I rushed to the hallway, about to scream for Rosa—the fire alarm blared through the house. Smoke.
Thick, black, rising from under the kitchen door.
A fire.
I ran, coughing, trying to get to Rosa’s room, but the door wouldn’t budge. Flames crackled beneath it.
I screamed her name, pounded the door.
Nothing.
And then, from the hallway behind me—footsteps.
I turned.
And saw him.
A man in black. Masked.
Standing between me and the front door.
He held up a small device. Pressed a button.
The lights cut.
And I was plunged into darkness.
- Writer
