Chapter 2: Trapped in his Penthouse
920 Words
My fingers tightened around the handle of my suitcase as the private elevator climbed smoothly toward the highest floor. With every floor that passed, the knot in my stomach grew tighter. This wasn’t just a visit. This was my new reality.
When the elevator doors finally opened with a soft ding, Lino’s penthouse unfolded in front of me like a scene from a high-end lifestyle magazine. The space was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of Manhattan’s glittering skyline at night. Dark marble floors, minimalist furniture in black and grey tones. An overall atmosphere that screamed wealth, power, and complete control.
Lino was already waiting for me in the open living area. His suit jacket was gone and his white shirt sleeves were rolled up to his forearms. He looked completely relaxed in his own territory.
You’re here, he said, his deep voice cutting through the quiet. I stepped out of the elevator, trying my best to keep my expression neutral even though my heart was racing. Looks like I didn’t have much choice.
Lino crossed the room with slow, measured steps and stopped just a couple of feet away from me. His sharp grey eyes studied me carefully taking in my tired posture, the way I gripped my suitcase, the tension I couldn’t quite hide in my shoulders.
“Rules,” he said without wasting any time. I swallowed, feeling the shift in power now that I was standing inside his world. First rule: separate rooms. Yours is the first door on the left down the hallway. You do not enter mine unless I specifically invite you. His gaze held mine steadily. Second: in public you are my wife. When I touch you, you smile. You don’t pull away. You don’t flinch. We need to look like a real couple to everyone watching us. The mention of him touching me sent an uncomfortable flutter through my stomach. I forced myself to nod, not trusting my voice right then.
Third, Lino continued, taking one small step closer, you will tell me everything about your investigation into your father’s death. No secrets. No hidden files. No late-night calls you think I won’t find out about. This arrangement only works if I know exactly what you know. I met his eyes, trying to ignore how close he was standing. The air between us felt thicker than it should.
And what about your secrets? I asked quietly. Do you get to keep everything hidden while I have to lay all my cards on the table? Lino’s jaw tightened just a fraction. Some things are better left buried. At least for now.
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken tension. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, suddenly too aware of his height, his presence, the way his cologne subtly filled the space around me. I need some time to settle in, I said quietly, my voice steadier than I felt.
Lino watched me for a long moment, his grey eyes searching my face. Then he finally stepped back, giving me a small amount of breathing room. Your things have already been delivered to the room. Dinner will be served at eight o’clock sharp. I expect you to join me at the table. He turned and walked toward the open kitchen area without waiting for my reply, leaving me standing there with my suitcase.
I moved quickly down the hallway and slipped into the guest room, closing the door behind me with a soft click. I leaned against it for a moment, letting out a slow, shaky breath as I took in my new surroundings.
The room was undeniably beautiful: a large king-sized bed with soft, expensive linens, warm lighting, and the same stunning city view through the windows. But no matter how luxurious it looked, it still felt foreign. Like a very expensive cage designed to look comfortable.
I set my suitcase down near the closet and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my hands. They were still trembling slightly from the tension of the day. This was my life now. Living under the same roof as Lino Decker. Sleeping just down the hall from the man whose family I had suspected for months in connection with my father’s death.
A soft knock on the door pulled me out of my thoughts. Thirty minutes until dinner, Lino’s deep voice came through the wood, calm but clearly commanding. Don’t make this difficult, Sasha.
I stared at the closed door. A beat of silence on the other side four, maybe five seconds where I could hear him still standing there. Then his footsteps finally moved away down the hallway. The man on the other side now controlled my protection, my access to information about my father, and whether I wanted to admit it or not a strange kind of power over my immediate future.
I pressed my forehead lightly against the cool wood for a moment, trying to steady my breathing. I wasn’t sure what unsettled me more: the real dangers waiting for me outside these walls, or the dangerous, unwanted pull I was already starting to feel toward the man living inside them.
I got up and went to the closet and changed and told myself that every dinner I survived in this apartment was one dinner closer to the end of this. Eighteen months. Five hundred and forty-eight days approximately, not that I was counting.
Not that I had started counting already at hour three.
- Writer
