Chapter 4 Breakfast and Bloodshed

I woke to the sound of rain against bulletproof glass and the scent of coffee drifting through the air. For a moment, I forgot where I was, forgot the events of the previous night. Then reality crashed back like a cold wave.

Adrian. My father. The underground world I'd been thrust into with no warning and no escape.

The clock read 9:47 AM. I'd slept later than usual, exhaustion from the emotional upheaval finally claiming me. Through the French doors, the city looked gray and muted, wrapped in storm clouds that matched my mood.

I pulled on a silk robe from the collection Margaret had brought me - everything fit perfectly, which was both impressive and unsettling. How much had Adrian learned about me during his weeks of surveillance?

The apartment was quiet as I made my way to the main living area, bare feet silent on the polished hardwood. I expected to find Adrian at the dining table or perhaps in his office, but the space was empty except for the lingering scent of his cologne.

"Good morning, Ms. Marchetti." Margaret appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray laden with what looked like a five-star breakfast. "I hope you slept well."

"As well as can be expected." I accepted the coffee she offered, grateful for the warmth. "Where's Adrian?"

"Mr. Blackwood had some business to attend to this morning. He asked me to tell you he'll be back this afternoon." Margaret set the tray on the dining table - fresh fruit, perfectly scrambled eggs, artisanal pastries that probably cost more than most people's grocery budgets. "He also left you something."

She handed me a small black box, the kind expensive jewelry came in. My pulse quickened as I opened it.

Inside was a phone. Not just any phone - the latest model, sleek and expensive, but I could see modifications that suggested it was far from standard.

"It's encrypted," Margaret explained. "Untraceable. His number is already programmed in, along with mine and the building's security team. He thought you might want to... research some things."

I stared at the device, understanding flooding through me. This wasn't just a phone. It was a lifeline to the outside world, a way to investigate my father's death without Adrian looking over my shoulder.

It was also a test.

"He's seeing if I'll run," I said.

Margaret's smile was knowing. "Mr. Blackwood doesn't do anything without a reason. But I think you'll find that running isn't as appealing as it once was."

She was right, and I hated her for it. Twenty-four hours ago, I would have been planning my escape the moment I was alone. Now, the thought of leaving felt like tearing off a piece of my skin.

"What kind of business?" I asked, settling at the table.

"The kind that keeps you safe." Margaret's tone was gentle but firm. "Mr. Blackwood has many responsibilities, Ms. Marchetti. The organization doesn't run itself."

"You mean the criminal organization."

"I mean the family that protects this city when no one else will." There was steel in her voice now. "Do you know what this city was like before the Crimson Serpent brought order? Before Adrian's father, and then Adrian himself, created structure from chaos?"

I took a bite of eggs, perfectly seasoned and creamy. "Tell me."

"War. Constant, brutal war between a dozen smaller factions. Innocent people caught in the crossfire. Women afraid to walk the streets at night. Children recruited as soldiers before they were old enough to understand what they were fighting for." Margaret sat across from me, her expression serious. "The Blackwood family didn't create the darkness, Ms. Marchetti. They simply learned to control it."

"That doesn't make it right."

"No," she agreed. "But it makes it necessary."

I wanted to argue, to maintain my moral high ground, but the words stuck in my throat. Because deep down, I was beginning to understand that the world wasn't as black and white as I'd believed. That sometimes monsters were the only thing standing between civilization and chaos.

"What was he like?" I asked instead. "As a boy."

Margaret's expression softened. "Brilliant. Determined. Lonely." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "His father was... hard on him. Wanted to make sure he was strong enough to survive in this world. But strength came at a cost."

"What kind of cost?"

"The cost of being human." Her voice was sad. "Richard Blackwood forged his son into a weapon, but weapons don't feel. They don't love. They don't hope." She met my eyes. "Until now."

The implication hung between us like a challenge. I was changing Adrian, making him feel things he'd been trained to suppress. The thought should have been empowering.

Instead, it terrified me.

"What happens when he realizes that?" I asked.

"I don't know," Margaret admitted. "But I hope you'll be brave enough to find out."

She left me alone with my breakfast and my thoughts, neither of which provided much comfort. I picked at the food, my appetite gone, and stared out at the rain-soaked city below.

The encrypted phone buzzed against the table. A text from an unknown number:

*Your father isn't the only one who died for his secrets. Meet me at the fountain in Bryant Park. One hour. Come alone, or more people will die. - A friend*

My blood turned to ice. Someone had gotten this number, had managed to contact me despite Adrian's security. That should have been impossible.

Unless someone inside the organization was helping them.

I stared at the message, mind racing. This could be a trap, a way to lure me out of Adrian's protection. But it could also be my only chance to learn the truth about my father's death.

The smart thing would be to show Adrian the message, let him handle it. But the smart thing wouldn't get me answers. It would only get me more protection, more isolation, more dependence on a man who admitted I was nothing more than a problem to be solved.

I made my decision.

Forty-five minutes later, I was dressed in designer jeans and a cashmere sweater, looking like any other wealthy woman running errands in the city. I'd tested the building's security, finding exactly what I'd expected - guards at every exit, cameras monitoring every corridor.

But I'd also found something else: a service elevator that led to the parking garage, used by maintenance staff and delivery personnel. It wasn't monitored as heavily as the main exits, and during the lunch rush, it would be busy enough to provide cover.

I waited until Margaret was busy in the kitchen, then slipped out of the apartment. The service elevator was exactly where I'd expected, and my heart hammered as I descended into the garage.

The space was full of expensive cars - Adrian's collection, no doubt. But it was the exit that interested me, the one that led to the street without passing through the main lobby.

I almost made it.

"Going somewhere, Ms. Marchetti?"

I spun around to find a man in a dark suit watching me with mild curiosity. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of face that had seen too much violence. One of Adrian's men.

"I needed some air," I said, trying to sound casual.

"Mr. Blackwood wouldn't approve." His tone was polite but firm. "Perhaps you'd like to return to the penthouse?"

It wasn't a suggestion.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I'll have to escort you back personally." He smiled, and it was all teeth. "I'm sure you understand."

I understood perfectly. I was a prisoner in a gilded cage, and the bars were made of men like this one. Men who would kill without hesitation if Adrian gave the order.

"Of course," I said, forcing a smile. "I think I will go back upstairs."

He nodded approvingly and gestured toward the elevator. "After you."

The ride up was silent, tension thick in the air. I could feel his eyes on me, assessing, calculating. When the doors opened, I stepped out with as much dignity as I could muster.

"Ms. Marchetti?" His voice stopped me at the apartment door.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Blackwood cares about your safety. We all do. But caring has limits." His smile was gone now, replaced by something cold and professional. "I'd hate for you to test those limits."

The threat was clear. I nodded and let myself into the apartment, my hands shaking as I closed the door behind me.

The phone was still buzzing with messages:

*Where are you?*

*Time is running out.*

*People are dying because of your cowardice.*

I stared at the words, frustration and fear warring in my chest. Someone was out there, claiming to have information about my father's death, and I was trapped here like a bird in a cage.

"Problems?"

I spun around to find Adrian standing in the doorway, still wearing his black coat, raindrops glistening in his dark hair. He looked dangerous and beautiful and utterly in control.

"You're back early," I said, sliding the phone behind my back.

"I had a feeling you might need me." His eyes were sharp, missing nothing. "What's behind your back, Elena?"

"Nothing."

"Show me."

"Adrian-"

"Show me." His voice was soft, but there was steel beneath the silk. "Now."

With trembling hands, I brought the phone forward. He took it, scrolling through the messages with an expression that grew darker with each word.

"Who is this?" he asked, his voice deadly quiet.

"I don't know."

"But you were going to meet them."

It wasn't a question. I lifted my chin defiantly. "Yes."

"Even though it could be a trap. Even though it could get you killed."

"Maybe I'm tired of being protected."

"Maybe you're tired of being alive." He stepped closer, and I could feel the danger radiating from him like heat. "Do you have any idea what I had to do this morning, Elena? The lengths I went to in order to keep you safe?"

I didn't answer, but something in my expression must have given me away.

"You do know," he said, realization dawning in his eyes. "You know exactly what I am, what I do, and you still thought you could just walk out of here like it was nothing."

"I'm not your prisoner."

"Yes," he said quietly, "you are."

The words hit like a physical blow. All pretense was gone now, stripped away to reveal the truth I'd been trying to ignore.

"And if I try to leave?"

"Then you'll discover that my protection has teeth." His hand cupped my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone with devastating gentleness. "I told you, Elena. You're mine now. And I don't let go of what belongs to me."

"What about what I want?"

"What you want is irrelevant. What you need is to stay alive long enough for me to eliminate the threat." His grip tightened slightly. "Even if that means protecting you from yourself."

Before I could respond, the phone buzzed with another message. Adrian glanced at it, and his expression went completely cold.

"What does it say?" I asked.

He handed me the phone. The message was short, simple, and absolutely terrifying:

*Too late. Check the news.*

With shaking hands, I turned on the television. The breaking news banner made my blood freeze:

*ART GALLERY OWNER MURDERED IN BROAD DAYLIGHT*

The reporter's voice seemed to come from very far away: "...Marina Volkov, owner of the prestigious Volkov Gallery, was found dead this morning in Bryant Park. Police believe this may be connected to recent organized crime activity..."

The phone slipped from my hands, clattering to the floor. Marina Volkov. The woman who had sold my father several pieces for his collection. The woman who had called me three weeks ago, claiming she had information about his "business associates."

The woman who had died because I hadn't been there to meet her.

"This is my fault," I whispered.

"No." Adrian's voice was firm. "This is what happens when people think they can use you against me."

"She died because of me."

"She died because she was naive enough to think she could play games with the Crimson Serpent." He pulled me against him, and I felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "This is why you don't leave, Elena. This is why you stay where I can protect you."

"But she had information-"

"She had a death wish." His hand stroked my hair, soothing and possessive. "And now she's served her purpose."

The casual way he dismissed Marina's death should have horrified me. Instead, I found myself melting into his embrace, seeking comfort in the arms of the man who ruled through fear and violence.

"I'm sorry," I whispered against his chest.

"For what?"

"For trying to leave. For not trusting you."

"You'll learn." His voice was soft, almost tender. "You'll learn that I'm the only one who can keep you safe. The only one who matters."

And as I stood there in his arms, breathing in his scent and feeling the strength of his body against mine, I realized he was right.

I was his prisoner.

But maybe, just maybe, I was starting to like my cage.