Bound by Mafia's Vows

Chapter 2:The Gilded Cage

Sienna woke to silence.

Not the peaceful kind. The type that shrunk into her ears and her chest tightened. She was lying there, open-eyed and gazing at the high ceiling with worn gold patterns. The gray light of morning passed through dense curtains, and cast a grey light upon the room.

This wasn’t her room.

This wasn’t her life.

She swung her legs off the bed. Her feet touched cold marble. She scrunched up, and then cockeded her head upwards as though somebody were watching. The woman moved to the room and pushed away the curtains.

The Moretti property was interminable beneath her. Tall iron gates. Guards strolling slowly, wearily on their guards. The cameras are mounted everywhere.

A cage, dressed in luxury.

A knock came at the door.

Sienna stiffened. “Yes?”

One of the women entered with a bowed head. “Good morning, Mrs. Moretti.”

The name landed wrong. Heavy. Unwanted.

I must dress, Sienna said; and her voice was flat.

The woman was indecisive, and put a tray on the table-coffee, fruit, pills in a little white cup. “Breakfast. The master requires you to come down in a half an hour.

“Expects,” Sienna repeated. The cup was taken by her and she swiveled it in her fingers. “And if I don’t come?”

The eyes of the woman shifted on the door. Just once. “Then he will come for you.”

That told her enough.

The woman left. Behind her the door closed quietly.

Sienna didn’t touch the pills.

The house seemed to be awake down the stairs in a fashion that gave her skin the goose bumps. People were whispering somewhere behind the walls. Footsteps echoed. Men with dark suits were sculptures. By this time she had arrived in the dining room, and Dante was seated there.

He was standing at the window, and his jacket was off, his sleeves and cufflinks reclining. The light of the sun flashed over his face, making it set in muscular lines. When she entered he did not turn.

“You’re late,” he said.

Sienna drew up a chair and sat down. “You didn’t give me a time.”

He finally faced her. His eyes went past her nakedness, her bare face and her plain dress, her quiet pose. It hung a second longer than was appropriate.

“You’re not afraid,” he said.

“I am,” she replied. “I just don’t bow.”

There was a twitch in a corner of his mouth. Not a smile. Something sharper.

He sat down opposite her. A file lay on the table. Thick. Worn.

“Eat,” he said.

I never rely on food that I did not make.

“Smart.” Instead, he brought the plate nearer to her. “You’ll need strength.”

“For what?”

He opened the file.

Photos slid into view. Her father. A casino table. Some man cowering over, whispering. The other picture is that of her father signing something, but his hand is shaking.

Sienna’s breath caught. Her hands slowly clenched into her.

He did not gamble, he did not gamble, Dante said. “He begged.”

She was standing so hard the chair scraped a great deal. “Stop.”

Dante didn’t raise his voice. “Sit.”

She didn’t.

You believe I desired this? she said with her trembling hands. “You think I agreed to be sold?”

“No,” he said quietly. I believe you are furious enough to be dangerous.

That stopped her.

He stood up, sluggish and deliberate and paced the table. He paused directly before her, near enough that she could scent his perfume - clean, sharp.

“Listen carefully,” he said. Somebody had attempted my life last night.

Her pulse jumped. “At the wedding?”

“Yes.”

“And you think it was my father?”

I believe, I said, drawing nearer, that you are in the middle of that which is very old both to you and me.

A shout echoed down the hall.

Dante’s head snapped up. His hand reached--very quick--and dragged Sienna with him as shots were fired.

Glass shattered.

Men yelled.

Dante pushed her down. “Don’t move.”

She didn’t argue. He undrew a gun, which was beneath the table, and she crawled. His movements were precise. Deadly calm.

A body hit the floor.

Blood sprayed over marble.

Sienna closed a hand to her mouth, with opened eyes, and her heart banging like a hammer against her ribs.

By the time the noise was over the room was stinking of smoke and metal.

Dante turned to her. His jaw was tight. “You’re hurt?”

She shook her head.

He nodded once. Next he did something unanticipated.

He touched and pulled blood off her cheek with his thumb. His touch lingered. Not gentle. Not cruel. Just… there.

“You stay close to me,” he said. “From now on.”

“Because you care?” she asked.

“No.” His eyes darkened. “Because you’re leverage.”

Footsteps rushed in. A man had whispered something to Dante.

Dante’s expression hardened.

“Get her upstairs,” he ordered. “Lock the floor.”

In their removing her, Sienna looked over at the corpus on the floor. The man’s eyes were open. Frozen.

This was real. This was blood. This was death.

The door in her room clanked behind her.

Sienna paced. Her hands trembled. She forced them still.

A phone buzzed on the bed.

She froze.

She hadn’t brought a phone.

Slowly, she picked it up.

One message.

Unknown Number: Your mother is greeting you.

Attached was a video.

Her fingers hovered. Then she pressed play.

The screen lit up.

A woman stepped into frame. Older. Thinner. But unmistakable.

Her mother.

Alive.

She smiled kindly to the camera. “Sienna,” she said. You got him off faster than I thought you would.

The video ended.

The door behind her opened.

Dante stood there, and no expression came to his face.

Sienna was slowly turning around, with the phone clattering. She held it up.

She broke into the first tears and said, My mother is alive. “And she knows you.”

The eyes of Dante flicked to the screen.

Then most cautiously he closed the door.

“We need to talk,” he said.

And Sienna knew, with cold cleanliness that sunk in her stomach--

She had not been caught by the contract.

It had marked her.