Chapter 3 - The Gilded Cage
I didn’t even have time to untie my apron. Alessandro moved with terrifying efficiency. Before I could process the reality that my uncle’s hitmen were sitting fifty feet away, Alessandro had his hand firmly on the small of my back, guiding me out the side door of the diner and straight into the waiting armored SUV.
“Drive,” Alessandro barked to his chauffeur as the heavy doors slammed shut, sealing us in a quiet, leather-scented cocoon.
I was trembling violently now, pressing myself against the far side of the seat. “How do you know about Marcus Thorne? How do you know who is following me?”
Alessandro poured a glass of water from a small console and pressed it into my shaking hands. “When I couldn't find the beautiful woman who disappeared from my hotel room, I had my team dig into the catering company. They found 'Emma,' but the background check was full of holes. So, I dug deeper. It didn't take long to find Elizabeth Thorne, the missing niece of Chicago's most corrupt property developer.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, a tear escaping. “You don’t understand. He killed my parents. He’s going to kill me.”
“He is not going to touch you,” Alessandro’s voice was absolute steel. He reached over, gently pulling my chin toward him so I was forced to look into his fierce amber eyes. “You are under my protection now. Nobody touches what is mine.”
The possessiveness in his words sent a shiver down my spine. What is mine. He had no idea how true that statement really was.
We arrived at the Vitali estate, a sprawling, fortified mansion on the edge of Lake Michigan. It was surrounded by high stone walls, wrought-iron gates, and armed security. It was a fortress. It was also a gilded cage.
For the next two weeks, I was a prisoner of luxury. Alessandro gave me a massive suite with a balcony overlooking the water. He bought me a wardrobe of silk and cashmere, replacing my thrift-store clothes. He was attentive, bringing me dinner himself when I claimed I was too tired to eat downstairs. He would sit on the edge of my bed, just like that first night, and talk to me. He was trying to earn my trust, trying to break down the walls I had built.
But the walls only grew higher, because every morning, the nausea returned with a vengeance.
I was wearing a loose cashmere sweater, desperate to hide the slight, unmistakable changes in my body. I avoided alcohol at dinner, claiming headaches. I took secret naps in the middle of the afternoon. The exhaustion was overwhelming, but the fear of him finding out kept me constantly on edge.
One evening, a thunderstorm rolled over the lake. Lightning flashed across the sky, rattling the massive windows of the estate. I was in the library, trying to read a book on pediatric nursing, when a sudden wave of dizziness hit me so hard the room spun. I stood up, gripping the edge of a mahogany desk, my vision tunneling into darkness.
“Elizabeth?”
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Alessandro had walked into the room. He saw me sway. I tried to answer, to tell him I was fine, but my knees buckled.
He caught me before I hit the floor. The last thing I heard before I lost consciousness was him shouting my name, his voice laced with absolute terror.
