Chapter 5 - The gilded Cage
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The penthouse atop the Moretti Tower in Tribeca didn't look like a mafia stronghold; it looked like a fortress built by an obsessive minimalist billionaire. Floor-to-ceiling bulletproof glass looked out over the Hudson River, framing the storm in jagged flashes of lightning.
Clara stood in the middle of the cavernous living room, wrapped in an oversized cashmere robe one of the housekeepers had handed her. Down the hall, a private physician was tending to Toby’s smoke inhalation and resetting the brace on his injured knee in one of the guest suites.
The private elevator chimed. Dante stepped out.
He had shed his ruined suit jacket and bloodied dress shirt, wearing only a black silk dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal lean, muscular forearms etched with faint scars and a fresh white bandage.
He walked to the wet bar, poured two fingers of amber liquid into two glasses, and held one out to her.
"Drink," he said. "You haven't stopped shaking since Queens."
Clara took the glass, her fingers brushing his again. This time, the contact sent a jolt of heat straight up her arm. She downed half the bourbon, coughing slightly as it burned a path down her throat.
"What happens now?" she asked, her voice raspy. "Everything we owned was in that apartment. My job is gone. Viktor’s men know who we are."
"Your apartment was a fourth-floor walk-up with black mold in the stairwell, and your job was slowly killing you," Dante replied bluntly, leaning against the marble island. "As for Viktor, he can't touch this building without an army and an airstrike."
"We can't stay here forever, Mr. Moretti."
"Dante," he corrected smoothly. "After tonight, I think we’re past formalities."
"Dante," she repeated, testing the weight of his name on her tongue. "I don't belong in your world. I just wanted to pay off Toby’s debt and go back to nursing school next fall."
Dante studied her over the rim of his glass. "You think you can just walk back into a normal life after tonight? Viktor Kael doesn't leave witnesses breathing. And even if he wasn't hunting you, the NYPD Organized Crime Task Force is currently reviewing the security footage from L’Ombra. What do you think they see?"
Clara’s stomach dropped. "Me passing you a note right before a shootout."
"To the cops, you look like an accomplice," Dante said quietly. "To Viktor, you look like a snitch. And to my own family’s syndicate, you’re the mystery woman I risked my life to pull out of a kill zone while leaving Camilla Sterling behind."
He stepped closer, closing the distance between them until she had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. He smelled of rain, sandalwood, and gun smoke.
"You’re staying here," Dante stated, his voice dropping an octave. "Your brother gets the best medical care in the state. His gambling debt is wiped clean. And in exchange, you follow my rules until I bury Viktor Kael."
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"And what if I refuse?" Clara whispered, though her pulse was fluttering wildly against her throat.
A slow, dangerous ghost of a smile touched Dante’s lips. "You already chose the devil you knew back at table twelve, Clara. Don't start getting cold feet now."
