Chapter 4 - The Price of the Golden CageThe River Room was not a restaurant you could book on an app. It was a private club located on the penthouse floor of a glass tower overlooking the Chicago River, accessible only by a private elevator that required a biometric scan.
Ellie sat across from Dante Russo at a corner table, the lights of the city sprawling out beneath them like a carpet of fallen stars. She had spent two hours trying to find something in her closet that didn't look like it had been bought on clearance, finally settling on a simple black slip dress she had inherited from her mother. It was elegant, but next to Dante’s custom-tailored dark blue suit, she felt like an imposter.
Dante was cutting his steak with slow, precise movements. He hadn't spoken since they sat down, his silence a heavy, pressurized space that Ellie felt she was drowning in.
"You're quiet tonight, tesoro," Dante said, not looking up from his plate.
"I'm waiting for you to tell me why I'm here," Ellie said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Your man Marcus said I was a target. Is that true, or is this just some game you play with girls who look sad at weddings?"
Dante set his knife down with a soft click against the porcelain. He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, and studied her. The candlelight caught the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint scar that ran from the corner of his left eye down to his cheekbone.
"Marcus does not lie," Dante said. "And I do not play games, Ellie. Three weeks ago, my family took control of the shipping docks on the South Side. The people who used to own those docks—the Moretti family—are not pleased. They are looking for a weakness. A vulnerability."
Ellie felt the cold hand of fear squeeze her throat. "What does that have to do with me?"
"At ten-thirty last night, twenty-four hours after I walked you onto that dance floor, a photograph of us was delivered to the desk of Silvio Moretti," Dante said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "You are now documented as my wife, Ellie. In my world, a wife is a hostage. A wife is leverage."
"But I'm not!" Ellie cried out, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself and lowered it, glancing at the nearby tables. "You can just tell them the truth. Tell them it was a lie to help me look good in front of my ex-fiancé's sister. It's ridiculous!"
Dante let out a short, dark laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Do you think Silvio Moretti cares about your ex-fiancé? Do you think he will accept a retraction? If I tell him you are nothing to me, he will kill you just to see if I am lying. In our world, weakness is confirmed by denial."
Ellie stared at him, her hands trembling so violently she had to press them flat against her thighs under the table. Her ordinary, boring life of waiting tables and writing chapters of a fantasy novel that would never be published had just been obliterated.
"So what do I do?" she whispered. "I can't live like this. I can't have people in black suits following me to the grocery store."
"You will live in my house," Dante said, as if he were offering her a cup of tea. "My estate in Lake Forest is secure. You will have your own wing, your own staff, and whatever you need to finish that book of yours. In exchange, you will accompany me to public events. You will wear my ring. You will smile when the cameras are on us."
"And if I say no?"
May you like
Dante leaned forward, his face coming into the light, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a terrifying, absolute intensity.
"If you say no, Ellie, you will be dead before the week is out," he said softly. "And I would find that a great waste of a very beautiful bridesmaid."
