Chapter 9 NINE

The estate no longer felt like just a cage.

It felt like a target.

The morning had started quietly enough-Emilia in the garden, sketching roses again for the first time in weeks. A guard stood at a polite distance, pretending not to watch her every move.

But then came the letter.

Folded perfectly. Slipped between the pages of her sketchbook when she wasn't looking. No stamp, no address.

Just her name.

Her hands trembled as she unfolded it.

"A pretty girl in a pretty cage. Let's see how long the glass holds before it shatters. Tick, tock."

No signature.

No trace of who had left it.

Just red ink. Like blood.

She dropped the paper like it burned.

The guards swarmed immediately. Luca arrived less than ten minutes later, face stone-hard, voice clipped with commands. He read the note in silence, then turned to her.

"Did you see anyone?"

"No," Emilia whispered. "They must've been close. I didn't hear a thing."

He cursed under his breath in Italian and pulled out his phone. "I'll double the security. You don't leave the estate. Not without me."

Her anger sparked. "So I'm a prisoner again?"

"You were never not one, Emilia," he said, his tone sharp. "But now? You're visible. And that makes you vulnerable."

She stared at him, heart pounding. "Who would do this?"

He didn't answer right away.

Then: "Someone who thinks getting to me means getting to you."

For the first time since the wedding, fear sank its claws into her.

It wasn't about being married to a criminal. It was about being tied to a world that had enemies-enemies that didn't care she was innocent.

Emilia clenched her fists. "So what now? I hide?"

"No," Luca said, eyes unreadable. "You learn how to survive."

She looked at him, truly looked-and for the first time, saw the war etched into his posture. The weight of carrying enemies he couldn't kill and allies he couldn't trust.

And now, she was part of it.

Whether she liked it or not.