Chapter 5 - The Golden Cage
Within forty-eight hours, the East Wing of the Montesi mansion was completely transformed.
The dark, dusty guest rooms were stripped of their heavy velvet draperies and antique mahogany furniture. Teams of interior decorators, contractors, and private security specialists worked around the clock, converting the second floor into a bright, secure sanctuary.
Soft cream carpets covered the hardwood floors. High-end play sets, custom bookshelves filled with children's literature, and plush toys arrived in endless delivery trucks from downtown Chicago.
Yet, despite the luxury, Elena sat nervously on the edge of the large velvet sofa in the new private sitting room, her eyes tracking the two armed guards standing posted outside the glass balcony doors.
Dario walked in, carrying a large silver tray holding hot tea and fresh pastries.
"You look like a prisoner, Elena," Dario said, setting the tray down on the low marble table.
Elena looked up, offering a timid, tired smile. "It's just... so much, Mr. Montesi. Two days ago, I was sleeping on a twin mattress in the basement, worrying about buying milk. Now I have a dressing room larger than my old apartment, and men with automatic rifles outside my window."
"It's Dario," he corrected her, sitting down in the armchair across from her. "And the guards are necessary. Word travels fast in our world. By now, the Moretti family in Cleveland knows about Maya."
Elena’s face paled instantly. "Are we in danger?"
"You are safe inside these walls," Dario reassured her, his voice steady. "This house is a fortress. But until I settle the business with Moretti, you and Maya do not leave the grounds."
"Mama! Look!"
Maya came tearing out of the adjoining playroom, her small patent-leather shoes sliding across the rug. She was holding a large, beautifully illustrated picture book about horses, her face flushed with excitement.
"Uncle Dario!" she chirped, scrambling straight up into his lap without an ounce of hesitation. "Read the horse book! Read it!"
Elena gasped softly. "Maya, don't climb on your uncle like that—he's busy—"
"It's fine, Elena," Dario said, his broad hands instinctively adjusting to hold the little girl securely against his chest.
He opened the book. Dario Montesi—a man who spent his mornings reviewing extortion manifests and weapons shipments—spent the next forty-five minutes carefully pronouncing the names of cartoon farm animals, his deep, baritone voice softening every time Maya pointed her small, chubby finger at a picture.
Elena watched them from the sofa, a quiet, bittersweet ache settling in her chest.
"She looks so much like Julian when she smiles," Elena whispered softly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Dario paused, his finger resting on a page featuring a spotted pony.
"Julian loved you, Elena," Dario said, looking across at her. "Matteo showed me his ledger."
Elena looked away, wiping a tear from her cheek. "He wanted to take us away. He said he was going to buy a small farm in Vermont... far away from the city, far away from the family. He said he was going to sell his sports car to buy the down payment."
Dario’s eyes narrowed slightly. Sell his sports car.
"Julian died in that sports car, Elena," Dario said quietly. "The police report said he lost control on Lake Shore Drive because the brakes failed."
Elena nodded, her shoulders slumping. "That's what they told me."
Dario didn't say another word, but his hand tightened slightly on the cover of the children's book.
Four years ago, when Julian died, Dario had been too consumed by the rising war with the rival families and his father's declining health to personally oversee the forensic investigation of the crash. The family mechanics had written it off as an accident caused by high speed and wet pavement.
But Julian hadn't been drinking that night. And if Julian had been planning to leave the syndicate to start a family in Vermont...
Dario set the book down on the table, gently kissing the top of Maya’s dark curls.
"Stay here with your mother, little one," Dario said softly, standing up. "Uncle has some work to do."
He walked out of the suite, his face setting into a terrifying mask of suspicion.
He walked down the corridor to his private office, where Matteo was waiting with the daily intelligence reports.
"Matteo," Dario said, closing the door firmly behind him.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Four years ago, when Julian’s car went off the road... who was the head mechanic who inspected the wreckage before it was scrapped?"
Matteo looked surprised by the question. "That was Old Sal. Sal worked out of the South Side garage for twenty years."
"Where is Sal now?"
"He retired two years ago," Matteo said, frowning. "Lives in a quiet house near the docks in Gary, Indiana. Why?"
May you like
Dario reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a heavy, matte-black sidearm and sliding it into his shoulder holster.
"Because my brother wasn't an idiot, Matteo," Dario growled softly. "And I think someone paid Sal to make sure Julian never made it to Vermont."
