Chapter 3 - THE GOLDEN CAGE
The armored Mercedes Maybach cut through the humid Miami night, tires screaming against wet asphalt as two black SUVs flanked them like attack dogs. Emma sat pressed against the leather seat, Dominic’s jacket swamping her slight frame. The scent of sandalwood, expensive tobacco, and rain clung to the fabric.
Dominic sat opposite her, his tie loosened, a secure tablet glowing in his lap. On the screen, live feeds of the gala showed tactical police and sirens swarming the venue. Beside him sat Marco, a massive man with scarred knuckles and cold, gray eyes, quietly sliding a fresh magazine into an automatic sidearm.
"The shooter jumped into the channel, boss," Marco said, not looking back. "Left behind an SV-98 sniper rifle. Custom barrel, shaved serials. The work of the Moretti family."
"Salvatore is getting desperate," Dominic replied smoothly. He shut the tablet, locking his dark gaze back onto Emma. "He wouldn't dare strike inside the MacArthur gala unless he had a direct green light from someone inside my council."
Emma cleared her throat, her knuckles white where she gripped the seat belt. "Look, Mr. Rossi. I helped you because I didn't want to watch someone get executed while I was pouring drinks. That’s it. You can drop me off at the next intersection. I won't say a word to anyone."
Dominic let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "You think Salvatore Moretti cares about your intentions? You stepped between his crosshairs and my brain stem. By sunrise, his scouts will pull security footage from the ballroom. They'll have your face, your shift logs, your home address, and your bank statements."
Emma felt a chill plunge through her stomach. "I don't have anything to do with your world."
"You do now," Dominic said, leaning forward until the shadows sculpted the sharp angles of his jaw. "You live in a dilapidated walk-up in Little Havana. You work three jobs to pay off debt your late father left behind. If I drop you at the curb, you won't survive twenty-four hours."
"So what are you saying? You're kidnapping me?"
"I'm keeping you alive," he corrected calmly. "Until I find the mole in my organization and wipe out Moretti's hit team, you stay in my house. You eat my food. You follow my rules. Consider it protective custody with five-star room service."
The car turned into a secluded, gated compound on Star Island. Towering wrought-iron gates swung open to reveal a sprawling modern estate of glass, white concrete, and limestone, surrounded by armed guards patrolling the manicured palms.
May you like
As the car came to a stop, Dominic stepped out first and offered her a hand. His rings caught the moonlight. "Welcome to the fortress, Emma. Don't wander near the perimeter sensors, and don't test my patience. We have a long week ahead."
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