Chapter 2 - The Gilded Cage
The transition from the grimy, comforting walls of Rosie’s Diner to the sprawling, high-security Salvatichi estate in Lake Forest happened so fast Grace felt like she was suffering from decompression sickness.
The estate was a modern fortress of glass, steel, and limestone, situated behind automated iron gates and heavily armed patrols. Inside, the floors were white marble, the walls lined with priceless renaissance art, and every window was reinforced with ballistic glass.
Grace sat on the edge of an emerald-green velvet sofa in the main drawing room, holding a porcelain cup of chamomile tea. She had refused to change out of her diner uniform, clinging to it like a life jacket from her old reality.
"I can't stay here, Mr. Salvatichi," Grace said, looking up as Dante entered the room, his tie loosened, a glass of amber bourbon in his hand. "I have finals next week. I have rent due in forty-eight hours. My life is on West Taylor Street."
"Your life on West Taylor Street is over, Grace," Dante said, sitting in the armchair opposite her. He didn't sound cruel; he sounded profoundly logical. "The men who attacked the diner today were members of the Falcone family. They wanted to kidnap Ethan to force me into relinquishing control of the shipping ports. They saw your face. They saw you shield my son. To them, you are a high-value asset, a vulnerability they can use to get to me."
"I'm a waitress!" Grace’s voice cracked. "I have forty dollars in my savings account!"
"You are the woman who saved the heir to the Salvatichi throne," Dante corrected, leaning forward, his gaze intense. "If you walk out of those gates, Falcone’s men will pick you up within two blocks. They will torture you to find out what you know, or use you as bait. Here, you are safe. My wealth is yours. My men are yours."
The double doors of the drawing room peeked open, and Ethan’s small face appeared through the gap. He was wearing silk pajamas, his stuffed bear tucked under his arm. He looked at Grace, his brown eyes wide with that same heavy sadness she had noticed before the shootout.
"Grace?" Ethan whispered. "Can you read me a story? The nanny ran away when the bad men came, and Daddy’s books don't have pictures."
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Grace looked at the terrified child, then at the mafia boss whose world was a minefield. She set her teacup down, her maternal instinct overriding her terror. "I'll stay. But only until it's safe. And I'm not a prisoner, Mr. Salvatichi."
"Call me Dante," the don murmured, watching her walk toward his son. "And nobody who commands my loyalty could ever be called a prisoner."
