Chapter 7- Welcome To Your Cage
1629 Words
The SUV had driven like crazy through the streets of Novalon, slicing through traffic like it didn’t exist. I barely noticed the red lights we ran, or the way people stared as the black vehicle swerved and cut corners. My hand was clenched in the fabric of my scarf, heart thudding like it was trying to climb out of my chest.
My mother lay in the backseat, pale and silent, her head resting against the shoulder of the man who had carried her from the apartment. He hadn’t spoken a word during the ride. Not once. But the way he held her… it wasn’t careless. It wasn’t robotic either. It was steady, efficient—like he’d done this a hundred times before.
When we finally stopped, it wasn’t at any public hospital I recognized. This place didn’t have crowds. It didn’t have flickering lights or long lines of dying people.
It had marble.
Polished floors that reflected overhead chandeliers.
Silent nurses in spotless uniforms that didn’t look worn or reused.
A lobby so pristine, it felt like a five-star hotel.
The name at the top of the glass doors was in clean, silver letters: The Marino Private Clinic.
Of course.
Dante didn’t send people to wait in line. He built the kind of places that didn’t need waiting rooms.
The moment we stepped through the doors, a team of doctors in white coats appeared from nowhere. They didn’t hesitate. No forms, no questions. One of them gently took my mother from the man’s arms, while another turned to me with a clipboard.
“She’s being taken to emergency. Are you family?”
I nodded wordlessly.
“She’ll be monitored and stabilized. You’ll be updated shortly.”
That was it.
They vanished down a hallway so clean and wide, I felt like I was walking through someone’s bank account.
This was the Marino's hospital.
This wasn’t just expensive.
This was money I couldn’t even imagine.
Dante’s kind of money wasn’t flashy chains or cars parked on sidewalks.
It was quiet power.
Ownership of things most people begged for.
Private hospitals. Private security. Entire blocks of Novalon where no one moved unless he allowed it. Clubs where the girls danced behind mirrored glass, and the men watching them never left with names—only orders. Mansions hidden in the hills with rooms that locked from the outside, and gates that took fingerprints to open.
He didn’t just have money.
He had riches that whispered, not screamed.
The kind of wealth where people were assets and silence was currency.
And I was standing in the middle of one of his empires now.
I looked to the man who had sat with us in the SUV—still quiet, standing like a wall near the entrance. His arms were crossed, back straight. Black shirt, black pants, earpiece tucked in. Military energy, but polished.
His eyes flicked toward me.
“You’ll be safe here,” he said simply.
I nodded, throat tight.
He looked away.
Then the hallway doors opened again.
And another man walked out.
Not a doctor.
Not a guard.
You could just tell.
This man had a suit that fit too perfectly, like it had been sewn onto him in silence. His shoes didn’t make noise on the floor. And his face—calm, unreadable. Clean-shaven. Eyes too sharp.
I straightened.
“Who are you?”
He stopped in front of me, hands folded behind his back.
“Dante asked me to personally oversee your mother’s care,” he said. “I’m Dr. Ivan Mercier. Head of this facility.”
He paused.
“And Dante’s private physician.”
His voice was crisp, professional, no room for small talk. The kind of man who didn’t blink unless necessary. His posture was military-level straight, not a wrinkle on his tailored white coat.
My eyebrows dipped. “How… how is she?”
“She’s stable for now. The seizure was brought on by a combination of stress, oxygen deprivation, and general deterioration of her body’s immune response. She was already fragile. You knew that.”
I swallowed hard, feeling something tighten in my throat.
“She needs to stay under observation. Her lungs are inflamed. We’ve sedated her and hooked her up to assisted breathing until she can regulate again.”
“Can I see her?”
“Not yet,” he said. “Let her stabilize first. If she wakes up confused or panicked, it could trigger another episode.”
My fingers clutched the edge of the cold metal chair I had sunk into without realizing it. My head was pounding, but I forced myself to stay focused.
“What about the money?” I asked, quietly. “The bill—her treatment. How much is it? I don’t care how much it costs, just… I’ll figure something out.”
Dr. Mercier didn’t even flinch.
“It’s already been taken care of.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Mr. Marino instructed us to handle all costs immediately. Your mother’s treatment, medication, private room—everything is covered under his personal tab. There’s nothing you need to sign. Nothing to worry about.”
The words didn’t register at first.
I sat back a little.
“…Everything?”
“Yes.”
I let out a shaky breath and pressed my hands to my face. I didn’t know if I wanted to cry, scream, or throw something.
Of course he did.
Of course Dante f*****g Marino handled it like it was pocket change.
Because to him, it probably was. But I never expected him to do it.
Dr. Mercier continued, “If anything changes in her condition, I’ll inform you directly. For now, she’s in good hands. You should rest.”
I looked up. “Do you know where Dante is?”
He studied me for a second too long before replying. “He’s aware of your mother’s status. If he chooses to see you, you’ll know.”
And just like that, he nodded once and turned away, disappearing down a long hallway like some ghost in white.
I sat there alone, surrounded by polished floors and too-white lights, the smell of antiseptic clinging to the air.
Everything felt too clean. Too expensive. Like I didn’t belong.
But I knew what this was.
Control.
Even when he wasn’t here, he had his hands in everything.
He wanted me to feel safe.
But not free.
Never free.
My body for this.
The silence of the clinic pressed into my skin, heavy and sterile. I stared at the clean floor tiles, my chest tight, eyes burning. He’d paid. Just like that. Bought me a hospital room the way someone might buy a car they wouldn’t even drive.
Behind me, the man with the military energy stepped forward. I’d almost forgotten he was still there, standing like a statue against the wall.
“I’m Nate,” he said, voice low but steady. “Second in command to Mr. Marino.”
I looked up sharply. His presence made sense now. He had the aura of someone used to barking orders and watching people scramble. Eyes too focused. Movements too controlled. I could smell the violence on him—like it lived under his skin, waiting.
“We need to go. Now.”
I stood quickly. “Wait—my mother—”
“She’s safe here. Nothing will happen to her. You being here puts her at more risk. Mr. Marino’s orders were clear.”
I hesitated, panic rising again. “Just let me stay until she wakes up. Please. I won’t even talk to her. Just… let me sit there.”
He didn’t move. His jaw flexed slightly. “We don’t have time for this.”
I glanced down the hallway, imagining her behind one of those doors. Pale. Hooked up to machines. Alone.
“You said she’s safe.”
“She is. But you? You belong toMr. Marino. If he is to call to you. You must show.”
A part of me was pissed at that. But what can I do? Never in my life would I have enough to pay for any of this.
I stepped back, shaking my head. “I am sure he would understand. I can’t just leave her. She’s all I have left.”
“She’s not your responsibility anymore.”
That sentence hit me like a punch.
My eyes narrowed. “And you think he is?”
Nate didn’t flinch. “I don’t think. I follow orders. Get in the car.”
I wanted to scream. To throw something. To beg.
But I didn’t.
I followed him.
---
The car was already waiting outside. Same black SUV. Same cold interior. The door shut behind me with a final click that made my heart drop.
I sat stiffly, arms folded across my stomach, trying to hold myself together.
Nate sat across from me, hands on his knees, staring out the tinted window. Not looking at me. Not talking. He didn’t need to. His silence said enough.
Halfway through the drive, he spoke.
“News has been received.”
I turned to him, tense. “What kind of news?”
“Your house is scheduled to be demolished.”
I blinked. “What? Why?”
“It was bought by Mr. Marino. It’ll be gone by morning. Burned, then leveled. Nothing left.”
My chest tightened. “What—what about my things? My clothes? My mother’s medicine—”
“Already taken care of,” he said. “What mattered has been extracted.”
“What about my father?”
His eyes turned to mine for the first time since we left the hospital.
“Useless.”
I stared at him.
He didn’t stop there.
“Your father is dead.”
- Writer
