Chapter 3 - THE GOLDEN PRISON
Waking up inside the lion’s den was fundamentally different from working in it.
By seven the next morning, my entire life had been dismantled and transported to the top floor of the DeLuca tower. Marco’s men had gone to my run-down apartment in Astoria, packed my meager wardrobe, paid off my landlord with six months of cash, and safely rehomed my ginger tabby cat with an elderly neighbor who wept with gratitude over the extra rent money.
I was officially eradicated from the grid.
My new bedroom was connected directly to Nicholas’s master suite by an adjoining set of heavy mahogany doors. The room was breathtaking and terrifying—wrapped in panoramic glass that looked out over the jagged skyline of Manhattan, furnished with a king-sized bed swathed in cream silk, an expansive walk-in closet, and a private marble bath larger than my entire previous living room.
A fresh change of clothes hung inside the closet: tailored cashmere sweaters, dark designer slacks, and silk blouses. No maid’s uniform.
I dressed in a charcoal knit sweater and dark trousers, pulled my hair back into my customary tight knot, and walked into the grand kitchen. Habit drove me. I couldn't sit idle like an expensive bird in a gilded cage.
I reached for the polished chrome espresso machine, setting up the portafilter exactly the way he liked it.
“You are no longer the housekeeper, Gabriella.”
His voice came from behind me, low and smooth like aged whiskey.
I turned. Nicholas stood at the edge of the marble island, wearing a tailored three-piece navy suit. His dark hair was immaculately combed, his face clean-shaven, smelling faintly of cedarwood and expensive citrus. He held a leather-bound folder in one hand.
“If I don't work, Mr. DeLuca, I will lose my mind,” I replied evenly, setting the porcelain cup under the twin spouts. “And routine keeps me from remembering that armed men are currently guarding the elevator bank outside.”
Nicholas stepped closer, leaning an elbow against the counter. Up close, the amber flecks in his dark eyes were mesmerizing. “Call me Nicholas. If we are to convince the Families that you share my bed, ‘Mr. DeLuca’ will sound rather formal over breakfast.”
The espresso machine hissed, filling the silence. I poured the rich, dark liquid into a small white cup and set it before him. “We need rules.”
An amused eyebrow arched upward. “Rules? In my house?”
“In this arrangement,” I corrected, standing my ground. “I am not a mobster’s mistress. I am an employee caught in a turf war because your rival has an ego problem and you have a temper.”
Nicholas didn't touch the coffee. Instead, he leaned in, his frame towering over mine, closing the distance between us until I could feel the radiant warmth of his chest.
“It wasn't temper, Gabriella,” he whispered, his eyes dipping briefly to my lips before rising back to my gaze with intense gravity. “When Roberto looked at you, he saw something fragile he could crush to hurt me. I spoke because the thought of his hands on you made me want to burn this entire city to the ground.”
My pulse stuttered. A dangerous, intoxicating heat rushed beneath my skin. I took a half-step back, my spine hitting the marble counter edge.
“You don't even know me,” I breathed.
“I know you’ve worked twelve-hour shifts without a single complaint for six months,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “I know you read classic Russian literature in the laundry room on your twenty-minute breaks. I know you send half your paycheck to a sister in nursing school in Philadelphia. And I know you have never once looked at me with fear, only defiance.”
My breath caught. “You had me investigated?”
“I know everything about everyone who crosses my threshold,” Nicholas replied smoothly, picking up his espresso and taking a slow sip. “Which is why I know Roberto has already put a tail on your old neighborhood. He knows you’re here. By tonight, the entire council will demand to see us together.”
“To see us?”
“The annual Saint Anthony’s Charity Gala,” Nicholas said, setting the empty cup down. “Every capo, every politician, and every federal agent in the state will be in that ballroom. Roberto expects me to show up alone, proving my claim was a bluff. If you are not on my arm, you become fair game the second you step outside.”
I looked at the panoramic windows, watching the gray clouds roll over the Hudson River. “And if I go with you?”
Nicholas reached out, his long, warm fingers gently catching a stray strand of dark hair that had escaped my knot, tucking it behind my ear with an agonizingly gentle touch.
“If you go with me, Gabriella, you let them see that you belong to the most dangerous man in New York.”
May you like
A shiver ran down my spine—not entirely born of fear.
“Get ready,” Nicholas murmured, his knuckles lightly grazing the curve of my jaw before he pulled his hand away. “A stylist arrives at noon. Tonight, we give them a show.”
