Chapter 4 - The Golden Cage
The Moretti estate sat behind twenty-foot stone walls in the oak-lined hills of River Forest, twenty miles outside the noise of Chicago.
It was a sprawling stone manor built in the 1920s, surrounded by formal gardens, high security gates, and armed guards patrolling the perimeter with silent dogs. It looked less like a home and more like a fortress built to withstand a siege.
Adrien personally escorted Lena and Rosa through the grand foyer, where crystal chandeliers hung over marble floors.
"Marcus will take Rosa to the guest suite on the east wing," Adrien said, turning to Lena. "You will stay in the primary suite on the second floor, next to mine."
"I can stay with Rosa," Lena said quickly, holding her small overnight bag against her curvy hips.
"No," Adrien said, his gaze locking onto hers with unwavering authority. "My uncle knows Rosa is your assistant, but he knows you are the target. You stay where I can reach you in three seconds."
Lena flushed slightly under his intense stare, but she didn't argue.
An hour later, after Rosa had been settled and given a hot meal by the estate's quiet kitchen staff, Lena sat in the sprawling master guest room. The room was decorated in shades of cream and gold, featuring a king-sized bed, a fireplace, and French doors that opened onto a stone balcony overseeing the dark gardens below.
A knock sounded at the door.
Adrien walked in. He had discarded his suit jacket and necktie; his crisp white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing the thick, tan muscle of his arms and the faint trace of a dark tattoo winding up his wrist.
He carried a tray containing two porcelain cups of tea and a small plate of sliced fruit.
"You haven't eaten," Adrien said, setting the tray down on the small table near the fireplace.
"I don't have much of an appetite when I'm being hunted by the mafia," Lena replied dryly, walking over to sit in one of the velvet armchairs.
Adrien sat across from her. He picked up his cup, took a sip, and looked at her over the rim.
"My uncle Dominic took over the family's logistics arm when my father died," Adrien explained softly. "He has been trying to find a way to oust me from the chairmanship for five years. He believed my grandmother hid millions in offshore accounts inside her personal recipes before she passed."
"Did she?" Lena asked.
"No," Adrien said, a sad smile touching his lips. "My grandmother hated the money. She hated the violence. The only thing she loved was her garden and her kitchen. She spent her entire life trying to keep me away from the family business, but after she died... I had no choice. I had to take control to keep Dominic from destroying everything."
Lena looked at him—really looked at him. She saw the heavy exhaustion beneath his handsome features, the burden of a man who had been forced to become a monster to protect what was left of his family.
"Why did you keep coming back to my shop, Adrien?" Lena asked quietly. "After the first day... you knew I didn't have a secret ledger."
Adrien set his cup down. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes fixed on her face.
"The first day, I came because of the cake," Adrien admitted, his voice dropping into a intimate, magnetic register. "The second day... I came because of you."
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Lena’s heart skipped a beat. "Me?"
"You stood behind that counter, covered in flour, arguing with me about blueberry muffins," Adrien said, a genuine, breathtaking smile lighting up his face. "You didn't care about my name, my money, or my guards. You looked at me like I was just a man. I haven't been looked at like that in twenty years, Lena."
