Beautifully dangerous

The Lion’s Den

Ivy's POV

The mansion was quieter than expected.

Not peaceful.

Quiet in the kind of way that made me feel as though the walls themselves were watching me.

I followed the housekeeper down an endless hallway, my small suitcase rolling behind me.

Every stop echoed against the polished marble floor.

"This way, Miss Carter," the older woman said.

She looked to be in her late fifties, dressed in a neat black uniform. Unlike the armed guards outside, there was kindness in her eyes.

"My name is Mrs. Eleanor. I manage the household."

I offered a small smile.

"It's nice to meet you."

She returned the smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I'm afraid you won't find much happiness in this house."

My smile faded.

She stopped in front of a pair of white double doors and pushed them open.

"This is your room."

I stepped inside…

….and froze.

The room was larger than my entire apartment.

A king-sized bed stood in the center beneath an elegant crystal chandelier. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline, and a fireplace crackled softly in the corner. Fresh white lilies sat in a crystal vase, filling the room with a delicate fragrance.

There was even a walk-in wardrobe bigger than my bedroom at home.

"This…"

I whispered.

"…Can't be for me."

Mrs. Eleanor nodded.

"Mr Moretti doesn't believe in discomfort."

I let out a humorless laugh.

"No. He just believes in buying people."

She looked at me sadly.

"You'll understand him one day."

"I doubt that."

She didn't argue.

Instead, she handed me a black garment bag.

"This is your uniform."

After she left, I unzipped it slowly.

Inside hung a fitted black dress with long sleeves and a crisp white apron.

It wasn't glamorous.

It wasn't degrading either.

Just… elegant.

Like everything else in this house.

A note rested on top.

Dinner. Eight o'clock. Don't be late.

No name.

There didn't need to be one.

I already knew who had written it.

An hour later….

I stood outside the dining room, smoothing invisible wrinkles from my apron.

I had never been this nervous.

Not even during job interviews.

One of the guards opened the door.

"The boss is waiting."

I stepped inside.

The dining room was enormous.

A table built for twenty people sat beneath another crystal chandelier.

Only one place was set.

At the head of the table.

Dante Moretti sat there, reading a file while casually sipping red wine.

He didn't even look up.

"You're three minutes late."

I frowned.

"You noticed?"

"I notice everything."

Of course he did.

I remained standing.

He finally lifted his head.

His icy ivory eyes swept over me.

Slowly.

Painfully.

Taking in every detail.

The black uniform.

My neatly tied hair.

The nervous way I held my hands together.

His gaze lingered just long enough to make my cheeks warm.

"It fits."

I looked down.

"The uniform?"

He nodded once.

"Sit."

"I thought maids didn't eat with their employers."

"You aren't every maid."

"I'd rather stand."

His eyes narrowed.

"Are you planning on arguing with every order I give?"

"If I disagree with it."

A dangerous silence filled the room.

Then…

To my suprise…

He laughed.

It wasn't loud.

Just a quiet, genuine laugh.

The first I'd heard from him.

"You have more courage than common sense."

"So I've been told."

A servant appeared carrying dinner.

Within minutes, the table was filled with dishes I'd only ever seen in expensive restaurants.

Enough food to feed ten people.

I stared.

"You haven't eaten properly today."

I looked up sharply.

"How do you know that?"

"You skipped lunch."

My heart skipped a beat.

"You had someone watching me?"

"I always know where the people under my protection are."

Protection.

That word again.

"I don't need protecting."

"No?"

He leaned back.

"You walked into a murder scene by accident."

"I'd say you need it."

I opened my mouth….

… then closed it again.

He wasn't wrong.

"Eat."

"I'm not hungry."

A lie.

My stomach betrayed me with a loud growl.

One corner of his mouth lifted.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Embarrassed, I picked up the fork.

The food was incredible.

For several minutes, neither of us spoke.

Until….

"Your sister is going to be fine soon."

I nearly dropped my fork.

"What?"

"I had one of my doctors check on her."

"You…"

I swallowed hard.

"…sent a doctor?"

"I wanted another opinion."

Tears filled my eyes before my could stop them.

"Thank you."

His expression softened for only a heartbeat.

"I haven't found a donor yet."

The hope I'd been holding onto dimmed.

"But I will."

He said it with such certainty that, for the first time in weeks….

I believed someone.

Maybe because he wasn't a man who made promises lightly.

Or maybe because Dante Moretti had the kind of power that bent the world to his will.

As dinner ended, he stood.

"So…"

I asked quietly.

"What happens now?"

He walked towards me.

Every instinct told me to step back.

I didn't.

He stopped close enough for me to catch the faint scent of cedar wood and expensive cologne.

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"Now.."

He reached out, gently brushing a loose strand of my red hair behind my ear.

"…you learn the rules of my house."

I held my breath.

"There are only three."

His eyes locked into mine.

"You do not lie to me."

"You do not leave this estate without my permission."

"And no matter what happens…"

His thumb lingered against my cheek for the briefest moment before he pulled away.

"…you stay by my side."

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room.

Leaving me standing there….

Wondering why the most dangerous man in the city had touched me so gently.