Chapter 3 - The Golden Cage
Dominic’s private study was lined floor to ceiling with dark walnut bookshelves, thousands of leather-bound volumes standing in meticulous order. A fire roared in a secondary hearth, filling the room with the rich scent of cedarwood and pipe tobacco.
He gestured toward a plush burgundy velvet armchair near the fire. "Sit."
I hesitated, looking at my wet jeans. "I'll ruin the fabric."
"Sit, Lily," he repeated, his tone soft, yet carrying an authority that left no room for argument.
I sat down, sinking into the luxurious leather. Moments later, Marcus entered, carrying a silver tray with a steaming porcelain teapot, a delicate cup, and a folded cream-colored throw blanket. Marcus set the tray on the side table, placed the blanket across my lap—careful not to brush against my legs—and promptly left, closing the heavy double doors behind him.
Dominic stood near his mahogany desk, leaning his lower back against the wood, his long legs crossed at the ankles. He watched me silently as I poured the tea with trembling hands.
"Why am I here?" I finally asked, my courage returning slightly as the warm tea hit my throat. "If you brought me here to threaten me for touching you, you could have just let your bodyguard shoot me at the diner."
A faint, bitter curve touched his lips. "If Marcus had pulled that trigger, he wouldn't be breathing right now."
I blinked, setting my teacup down with a quiet clatter. "You told your manager that nobody touches you. Frank said... people lose fingers for reaching out to you."
"Frank is a coward who spreads rumors to keep his own skin intact," Dominic said calmly. "Though the rumor serves a purpose. It keeps people at a distance."
"Then why didn't you stop me?" I looked up, locking my eyes onto his grey gaze. "You could have slapped my hand away. You could have backed up. But you just stood there and let me wipe your face."
Dominic went completely still. The firelight danced across his sharp features, casting half his face in shadow.
"Because of your hands," he whispered.
"My hands?"
"You didn't reach out to grab me like Crowley," Dominic said, his voice dropping into a low, somber cadence. "You didn't reach out out of fear, or out of ambition, or to see if the monster was real. You reached out because you saw someone bleeding, and your first instinct was to soothe the pain."
He took a slow step toward me, then stopped himself, his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides as if fighting a powerful internal impulse.
"I haven't felt a gentle touch in fifteen years, Lily," he admitted softly, the words hanging between us like heavy velvet curtains. "Not since my mother died."
My heart gave a painful, sudden squeeze. The dangerous mafia kingpin of Pennsylvania was standing six feet away from me, surrounded by millions of dollars, armed guards, and absolute power, looking completely, profoundly isolated from the rest of humanity.
"I'm sorry about your mother," I offered softly.
"Do not pity me," Dominic snapped, a sudden flash of his dangerous edge returning, though his eyes remained soft. "Pity is dangerous in my world. It makes men weak."
"I don't think you're weak," I said truthfully. "I think you're lonely."
The air in the room seemed to freeze. Dominic stared at me, his chest rising and falling heavily. No one in his world would ever dare utter those words to him. Anyone else would have been thrown into the river for such insolence.
Before he could respond, a sharp knock sounded at the study door.
Marcus stepped inside, his expression grim. "Boss, we have a situation. Dennis Crowley’s associates are raising hell down at the docks. And the police chief is on line two, demanding an explanation for the disturbance at the diner."
Dominic’s warm, quiet demeanor vanished in an instant. The cold, ruthless titan returned like an iron visor slamming shut over his face.
"Handle Crowley," Dominic commanded coldly. "Tell the police chief his campaign donations will cease if he continues to ask stupid questions."
"Yes, Boss," Marcus said. He glanced at me. "And Miss Carter?"
Dominic looked at me, his eyes lingering on my face for three long seconds.
"Miss Carter is staying here," Dominic announced firmly. "Prepare the east wing suite for her. She will not be returning to Hawthorne."
I jumped to my feet, the cashmere blanket falling to the floor. "What?! You can't keep me here! I have a job! I have rent to pay!"
Dominic turned his cold, beautiful face toward me, his voice smooth as ice. "Your landlord has already been paid for the next five years, Lily. Your diner job has been compensated. You are safe here."
"I don't want your money!" I yelled, my fear giving way to pure indignation. "I am not your prisoner!"
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Dominic stepped closer to me, stopping mere inches away. I could feel the radiant heat radiating from his chest, smell the sandalwood on his skin. He didn't reach out to grab me, but his presence encircled me like an invisible cage.
"You are not my prisoner, Lily," he murmured, leaning down until his lips were inches from my ear. "You are my guest. But until I find out who sent Dennis Crowley to attack me tonight, you are safer in this fortress than anywhere else in this state."
