Chapter 3 A Cage of Gold and Blood

Alba

I was a fool to think I could outrun my past.

The silver pendant in my hand is proof of that.

I sit in my clinic's back room, the weak glow of a single overhead light casting sharp shadows on the cracked walls. My fingers tighten around the pendant as my mind races.

Someone from my father's world was here. Watching me. Leaving breadcrumbs for me to follow-or for others to find.

And now, Gabriel Moretti has inserted himself into the game.

I should be terrified.

I am.

But fear doesn't paralyze me. It fuels me.

Because I know what happens to women like me when men like my father catch up.

And I will never, never go back.

The next morning, I barely step into the main clinic before I hear it.

A commotion outside.

Loud voices. Footsteps.

Then the door swings open.

Him.

Gabriel Moretti walks in first, his suit crisp and perfect as always. But today, his sleeves are rolled up, exposing the ink along his forearms. He looks-wrong. Disheveled, even though every inch of him is still controlled.

Behind him, two of his men half-carry a third between them. The man is bleeding heavily from a wound in his side, his shirt soaked through with dark crimson.

I snap into action before I even think.

"Put him on the table." My voice is sharp, steady. I grab gloves and gauze as they obey without question.

Gabriel steps back, watching. Always watching.

I ignore him. I focus on the man in front of me, on the jagged wound torn through his side. A knife wound. Deep, but not fatal-yet.

"He's lost a lot of blood," I mutter, mostly to myself.

"He'll survive," Gabriel says smoothly. "Just fix him."

His voice grates against my nerves. The control. The arrogance.

I don't reply. Instead, I grab the scalpel and get to work.

The room is tense, filled only with the sound of my movements, the pained groans of my patient, and the measured breathing of the predator standing behind me.

Minutes stretch into an hour. The wound is deep, but I stop the bleeding, stitch him up, and administer painkillers.

Finally, I straighten, stripping off my gloves. "He needs rest. No sudden movements. Keep the wound clean, change the bandages daily."

Gabriel nods once. No praise. No thanks. Just acceptance.

It irritates me.

But then he steps forward. Too close.

"You don't hesitate," he murmurs.

I meet his gaze. "Not when someone's life is on the line."

He tilts his head slightly, considering me. "Good."

Then, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small.

I tense.

A key.

He holds it up between two fingers. "You're coming with me."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

My pulse spikes, but I keep my expression neutral. "I don't think so."

His lips curve, but there's no amusement in his eyes. "That wasn't a request."

Anger flares hot in my chest. "I have a clinic to run."

His gaze flickers to the unconscious man I just saved. "Not anymore."

Cold dread pools in my stomach. "What does that mean?"

Gabriel sighs, like I'm a particularly stubborn child. "It means your clinic is closed."

I laugh. A sharp, incredulous sound. "You can't just-"

"I can." He steps closer, his presence suffocating. "And I have."

My heart pounds. "Why?"

"Because, dolcezza, you belong to me now."

My breath catches. Not just from his words, but from the way he says them.

Not like a threat.

Like a fact.

I shake my head. "No."

He leans in, voice dropping to something dangerously soft. "You want to survive? You want to stop running? Then you come with me."

He lifts the key slightly.

"It's a choice," he says, but we both know it's not.

I stare at him, at the cold certainty in his eyes.

He's not wrong.

If my father's men are already close enough to leave warnings, then I'm not safe here.

And Gabriel Moretti-monster, king, devil-is offering me a different kind of cage.

One lined with gold and blood.

I hate that I'm considering it.

But I am.

Because deep down, I already know.

This man is my only chance at survival.

The ride to his house is silent.

Not a house.

A fortress.

The Moretti estate is built like a goddamn castle, high walls, security cameras, men with guns at every entrance.

He doesn't speak as he leads me inside.

The interior is sleek, modern-black marble floors, dark leather furniture, gold accents that gleam under the soft lighting.

It's suffocating. It's beautiful.

He stops in front of a door. Unlocks it. Steps aside.

I don't move.

"Your room," he says simply.

I glance at him. "You expect me to just... stay here?"

His lips twitch. "Unless you'd rather share mine?"

I scowl. "Go to hell."

He laughs. A real laugh. It's dark, low, dangerous.

"You have no idea what you've just stepped into, Alba."

I know.

And I hate that a part of me-some deep, broken part-doesn't want to run.

I step into the room, the door clicking shut behind me.

And for the first time in years, I wonder if I've just made the worst mistake of my life.

Or the best.

Because Gabriel Moretti isn't just offering me protection.

He's offering me himself.

And that?

That might be even more dangerous than the men trying to kill me.