The black velvet box sat on the floor, its lid gaping open like a mouth ready to swallow me whole. The dried white rose, stained with that single, taunting drop of blood, seemed to pulse under the light of the chandelier.
I saw you on the balcony.
The words from Dante Moretti’s note echoed in my mind, turning the heat Luciano had left in my body into shards of ice. He had watched us. He had seen the Don of Naples on his knees for me. He had seen my surrender, my vulnerability, my absolute possession. The "Golden Cage" wasn't a fortress; it was a glass box, and the predator was pressing his face against the glass.
My first instinct was to scream. To call the guards, to have them tear the house apart until they found the girl who had brought the tray. But then I stopped. Luciano’s words f
