Chapter 2 - THE GOLDEN CAGE
The blacked-out SUV glided through the rain-slicked streets of Boston with the silent power of a hunting shark.
Maya sat in the leather rear seat, her back pressed against the door. Beside her, Lorenzo Valente was reviewing documents on a sleek tablet, completely ignoring the fact that he had just kidnapped a woman from her workplace.
"Where are you taking me?" Maya demanded, her hands clutched tightly over the front pocket of her 3XL hoodie. "My cat is alone in my apartment. I have rent due on Friday. You can't just take people!"
Lorenzo didn't look up from his tablet. "I just did."
"I will call the police!"
"With what?" Lorenzo asked mildly, tapping the screen. "Your phone was left on your desk, along with your purse and your employee badge. As far as Vanguard Financial is concerned, you panicked after discovering a discrepancy, stole a flash drive, and fled into the night."
Maya felt the air leave her lungs in a sharp gasp. "You framed me."
"I gave you an exit," Lorenzo corrected, finally turning his piercing ice-blue eyes toward her. "If you stayed at Vanguard, my rivals in the Moretti family would have had you killed by morning for touching those ledgers. If you went to the FBI, Greg Peterson would have ensured you met the same fate your father did in federal custody. I am the only reason you are still breathing, Maya."
The vehicle climbed the winding, tree-lined roads of Beacon Hill before pulling through massive wrought-iron gates into the courtyard of a sprawling, historic stone estate.
"Welcome to the Valente estate," Lorenzo said, opening his door. "Your new office, and your new home."
Moments later, Maya was escorted into a master suite on the second floor. It was breathtakingly luxurious—high ceilings with intricate crown molding, a king-sized bed wrapped in dark silk sheets, a roaring marble fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a manicured private garden.
On the bed sat three large leather duffel bags.
Maya stepped closer and unzipped one. Inside were clothes—not the cheap, oversized men's hoodies she used to shield herself, but high-end designer garments in soft cashmeres, rich silks, and tailored wools. Every single piece was sized precisely to fit her 260-pound, full-figured silhouette.
Her breath hitched. "How... how do you know my sizes?"
Lorenzo stepped into the room, closing the heavy oak door behind him. He removed his tailored charcoal jacket, tossing it over the back of an armchair, leaving him in a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing dark ink tattoos winding around his corded muscles.
"I told you," Lorenzo said softly, taking slow, deliberate steps toward her. "I have known who you were for a very long time, Maya."
Maya took a step back, her hips bumping into the edge of the mahogany bed frame. "My father didn't owe you $3 million. He was a low-level bookkeeper for a logistics firm. He never had that kind of money."
Lorenzo stopped inches from her. The oppressive heat of his body washed over her, making her heart hammer against her ribs.
"Your father didn't owe me money," Lorenzo admitted, his voice dropping an octave, rich and dark as melted espresso. "He owed me a debt of honor. Thomas Gallagher saved my younger brother's life ten years ago during a dock strike that turned bloody. Your father took a bullet meant for Marcus. Before he went to prison, he asked me for one thing."
"What?" Maya whispered, spellbound by his gaze.
"He asked me to protect his daughter," Lorenzo murmured. His hand reached out, his bare fingers—warm and slightly calloused—brushing a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear. "He told me you were too good for the world he lived in. He told me you hid yourself away because people were cruel. He made me promise that if you ever stumbled into the crosshairs of the syndicate, I wouldn't let them destroy you."
Maya stared at him, confusion and a strange, terrifying warmth warring in her chest. "If you wanted to protect me, why didn't you just tell me? Why pull me into this house like a prisoner?"
May you like
Lorenzo’s hand dropped from her hair to the drawstrings of her oversized hoodie. Slowly, gently, he pulled them loose.
"Because the moment I saw you through that glass wall tonight," Lorenzo whispered, his thumb lightly skimming her cheek, "protecting you stopped being a promise to a dead man. It became my own personal necessity."
