Chapter 3 - The Golden Cage
The black SUV rode silently through the rain-slicked streets of Chicago.
I sat in the middle row, clutching Julian to my chest. He had fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep, exhausted from hours of crying and oxygen deprivation. Dominic sat beside me, his suit jacket removed, revealing a dark holstered firearm strapped beneath his arm. He didn't speak, but his presence filled the interior of the vehicle, heavy and suffocating.
Frankie was driving, his eyes constantly scanning the rearview mirrors. Two other SUVs followed closely behind us, forming a defensive convoy.
"I have an apartment," I said into the quiet car, my voice trembling slightly. "I have a life. You can't just kidnap me because I saved your baby."
Dominic didn't look away from the window. "I didn't kidnap you, Miss Vance. I hired you."
"I didn't agree to be hired!"
Dominic turned his head toward me. In the passing glare of the streetlights, his jaw looked as though it were carved from granite. "My son’s mother died three days after he was born. Postpartum hemorrhage. The doctors could not stop the bleeding."
The words hung heavy in the air. I looked down at Julian's soft, tuft of dark hair. A motherless child.
"I have hired four different pediatric nurses since he was brought home," Dominic continued, his voice void of emotion. "They were qualified. They had degrees from Northwestern and Harvard. Yet none of them could stop him from screaming. None of them caught the fact that he was choking tonight. You did."
"That doesn't give you the right to force me into your home," I argued, though my voice lacked conviction. The nurse inside me was already bleeding for the motherless infant resting in my lap.
"I offer you fifty thousand dollars a month," Dominic said smoothly. "Private security for your apartment, payment of any outstanding debts, and a fully equipped medical suite inside my estate. You answer only to me, and your sole duty is to keep Julian alive and healthy."
I gasped. "Fifty thousand... a month?"
"That is my initial offer," Dominic said. "If you refuse, I will simply double it. But you are not leaving my son’s side, Clara. Not while he still needs you."
I stared at him, realizing the terrifying truth: Dominic Moretti wasn't giving me a choice. He was wrapping a golden chain around my ankle, disguising it as a career opportunity. But as I looked down at Julian, who let out a sweet, contented sigh against my chest, a part of my broken heart—the part that had died with Leo four years ago—began to beat again.
Twenty minutes later, the convoy pulled through a massive iron gate into the fortress-like estate known as Villa Moretti. Located in the high-security district of Lake Forest, the property was surrounded by ten-foot stone walls, surveillance cameras, and armed patrols walking the grounds with trained guard dogs.
The main house was a sprawling European mansion of limestone and dark wood.
When the SUV came to a stop, Dominic opened his door and stepped out, holding an umbrella over my head as I carried Julian out of the vehicle.
"This way," Dominic instructed quietly.
We walked through grand double doors into a foyer with marble floors and soaring ceilings. A middle-aged woman in a crisp housekeeper's uniform met us at the foot of the sweeping staircase.
"Mr. Moretti," she said, her hands clasped nervously. "How is the young master?"
"He is asleep, Mrs. Gable," Dominic said. "Miss Vance saved his life tonight. She is now Julian's primary medical caretaker. Prepare the suite adjacent to the nursery for her immediately."
Mrs. Gable looked at me, her eyes widening slightly when she saw my waitress uniform beneath my wet jacket, but she bowed her head respectfully. "Right away, sir."
Dominic guided me up the grand staircase to the second floor, down a long hallway lined with classical oil paintings, and into a state-of-the-art nursery. It was massive, featuring white furniture, soft plush rugs, and an automated monitoring system. Yet, it felt sterile—devoid of a mother's touch.
I gently placed Julian in his crib, lying him on his back, ensuring his head was slightly elevated. I adjusted his swaddle, making sure it wasn't too tight around his chest.
When I stood up, I found Dominic standing in the doorway, watching me with a intensity that made my heart race.
"He will sleep for three or four hours now," I whispered, stepping back from the crib. "His body is exhausted."
Dominic walked into the room, stopping inches from me. He looked down at his son, then at me.
"You yelled at me tonight," Dominic noted, his voice dangerously low. "Nobody has yelled at me in ten years, Clara."
I swallowed hard, suddenly remembering that I was alone in a bedroom with a ruthless crime boss. "You were in my way. In an emergency, authority belongs to the person who knows how to save a life, not the person with the gun."
A rare, fleeting ghost of a smirk touched the corner of Dominic’s lips before disappearing.
"You have courage," Dominic said quietly. "Or you are extraordinarily foolish. Time will tell which one."
Before I could reply, a loud commotion echoed from the hallway below. Voices were raised, followed by the heavy thud of boots echoing up the marble stairs.
May you like
Dominic’s expression instantly turned to stone. He reached beneath his coat, his hand settling on the grip of his gun, and stepped in front of me, putting his body between us and the nursery door.
"Stay behind me," he commanded cold.
