Chapter 3 A cage of silk and smoke

* Chapter Three: A Cage of Silk and Smoke

Elena Rivers never imagined her first night in a mafia estate would be spent in silk pajamas.

They were folded neatly on the guest bed, along with slippers, scented lotion, and a black velvet robe embroidered with gold initials: *LM*.

Luciano Moretti.

She rolled her eyes at the monogram but wore them anyway. They were softer than anything she owned.

Still, comfort couldn't quiet the chaos inside her head.

*I should be calling the police. Or running. Or screaming.*

Instead, she was... brushing her teeth with a gold-plated toothbrush in a marble bathroom while armed men stood outside her bedroom door.

She wasn't a prisoner, not technically. But her freedom had become fragile.

And it started to feel like a choice she hadn't really made.

At 2:17 a.m., Elena crept into the hallway. She wasn't sure why. Curiosity? Nerves? Insomnia?

The manor was silent, but alive.

Motion sensors glowed faint green. A single lamp burned in the main hall, casting long shadows. She stepped barefoot down the stairs, hugging the velvet robe around her as if it might shield her from the weight of what she'd stepped into.

And then she heard it.

Music. A faint melody. Piano.

She followed it.

Down a long corridor lined with oil paintings and security cameras... to a large door, slightly ajar.

Inside, the source revealed itself: a grand piano, black and sleek, and at its bench-*Luciano.*

Alone. Shirt sleeves rolled. Hair tousled. Playing.

Elena froze, watching him. The notes were dark, haunting... deliberate.

*Not what she expected from a man with blood on his hands.*

Luciano paused mid-chord, then spoke without turning.

"You're up late."

"You play beautifully," she said quietly.

He glanced over his shoulder. "Don't sound so surprised."

"I'm not. I just didn't expect Chopin in a mafia mansion."

He smiled faintly. "It's Liszt. But I'll forgive you."

Elena stepped inside, drawn forward. "Where did you learn?"

"My mother," he said. "Before she died."

Something in his voice cracked slightly.

Elena sat in a nearby chair. "Why do you do it?"

"The music?"

"No. *All this.*" She gestured to the manor. The guns. The world.

Luciano looked at her then, his gaze heavier than steel.

"I was born into it. You don't walk away from a kingdom that's buried your blood."

She didn't reply. Not immediately.

Then, softly: "I think you hate it."

His jaw clenched. "What makes you say that?"

"Because you don't smile unless you're lying. And you only look alive when you're playing something that sounds like a cry for help."

Silence stretched between them.

Then, to her surprise, he laughed. Low. Bitter. "You're not as quiet as you look."

"And you're not as heartless as you pretend."

Luciano stared at her.

"Elena... the more you learn about me, the more reasons you'll have to run."

She met his gaze. "Then stop giving me reasons to stay."

-

Meanwhile, across the city, a storm was brewing.

In a warehouse off the Brooklyn docks, a rival family's lieutenant held up a photo. Elena's face, blurred but visible.

"This her?" he asked.

The mole nodded.

"She matters to Moretti?"

"She was seen entering his house. At midnight. Guarded."

The man smirked. "Then we'll make her scream."

-

Back at the manor, Elena returned to her room and found something chilling on her pillow.

A single white rose.

And a note:

*"You're not as invisible as you think."*

Her fingers trembled.

She ran to the door. Yanked it open. "Luciano!"

He appeared instantly, two guards behind him.

She showed him the note.

His expression darkened. Voice sharp.

"Seal the house. No one leaves. No one enters."

He looked at her, eyes burning.

"You're mine now, Elena. And no one touches what's mine."

....

Elena Rivers never imagined she'd trade the sound of Columbia's campus chatter for the sharp clicks of guns being cleaned in the next room.

Her first morning in the Moretti estate began not with sunshine, but with shadows.

When she awoke in the velvet-draped room, sunlight cut through thick curtains, but it couldn't chase away the uneasy feeling. She lay there, wrapped in silk sheets and disoriented, trying to convince herself that this was temporary. That she could still wake up in her noisy walk-up apartment with her chipped kettle and pile of overdue library books.

But the polished floors, the faint scent of cigars and sandalwood, and the quiet presence of someone standing *outside* her door reminded her-this was very real.

And she was not free.

She pulled on the robe left for her, black velvet embroidered with the letters *LM*. It smelled faintly of musk and lavender. Too soft for someone like him.

When she opened the door, a man in a dark suit looked up from his post.

"Miss Rivers. Breakfast is downstairs. Mr. Moretti is waiting."

It wasn't a request.

The dining room was a palace of mirrors and silence. Long mahogany table. Ornate chandelier. One man seated at the head.

Luciano.

He didn't look up as she entered. He was sipping espresso, flipping through a dossier, his suit as sharp as the blade tucked in his belt.

"Good morning," she said, hesitantly.

He nodded without looking up. "Did you sleep?"

"Like someone being watched."

His lips twitched. "You were."

She sat across from him and eyed the spread: fresh fruits, pastries, soft cheese, honeycomb.

"Is this breakfast or a bribe?"

Luciano finally looked at her. "Both. Eat."

She reached for a croissant. "So, are we going to talk about the note someone left on my pillow last night?"

Luciano's eyes darkened. "We are."

She waited.

He set the folder down. "There's a leak."

"In your security?"

"In my family."

He said it like an admission of guilt. His voice, usually smooth and controlled, held an edge now.

"I've moved you to the safest wing of the house. Two guards outside. Surveillance on all levels. No one comes near you unless I allow it."

"That's supposed to make me feel *better*?"

He leaned forward, voice low. "You're not just a witness anymore, Elena. You're leverage. A message. And if they touch you-"

"What?" she cut in. "You'll kill them?"

Silence.

Then, simply: "Yes."

-

Later that day, she wandered the estate, needing air. Space. *Answers*.

She stumbled into a study lined with books.

Real ones. First editions. Leather-bound classics. Her fingers trailed along the spines like old friends.

"A woman after my own taste."

She spun. Luciano leaned against the doorway.

"I needed quiet," she muttered.

"I imagined you would."

She hesitated. "Why are you really protecting me?"

Luciano's gaze didn't flinch. "Because someone put a target on you. And I don't like unfinished business."

She crossed her arms. "You don't even *know* me."

"I know you read Brontë and underline sentences like they're lifelines. I know you only drink coffee if it's scalding. And I know you've been afraid since the moment you walked into my world... but you haven't run."

She blinked. "You were watching me *before* the street?"

He didn't answer.

"You scare me," she whispered.

"Good," he said. "That means you're still thinking clearly."

-

That night, she couldn't sleep.

The walls, despite their opulence, felt closer. The silence louder. Her own heartbeat too fast.

So she walked.

Through corridors lit by dim sconces. Past locked doors and marble statues that seemed to watch her.

Then she heard it again-music.

Not gentle this time. Fierce. Violent. A storm in the keys.

She followed it to the music room.

Luciano sat at the piano again, hands flying across the keys like they were burning. He didn't notice her. Or maybe he didn't care.

The melody was raw. It bled anger and regret.

And then-he stopped.

He turned.

"You should be asleep."

"You should be gentler on your piano."

He stood. Walked toward her slowly.

Elena didn't step back.

"I don't sleep well," he admitted.

"Nightmares?"

"Memories."

She tilted her head. "Of what?"

"Of the man I was. And the one I have to be."

His voice dropped. "You don't belong in this world, Elena."

"Then why did you pull me into it?"

He didn't answer.

But when he reached out, his hand brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. Gently. Reverently.

"I should send you away."

"Then why don't you?"

His eyes locked on hers.

"Because something about you makes me want to be *better.*"

Her breath caught.

But before anything else could be said-gunshots echoed outside.

Three sharp cracks.

Then shouting.

Luciano moved instantly, pulling a gun from his waistband.

"Elena-get down!"

-

*........TO BE CONTINUED.........*