Chapter 4 - THE GOLDEN CAGE
The Romano estate sat on a lonely cliff overlooking the roaring Atlantic Ocean in East Hampton.
It was a sprawling fortress of gray stone, iron gates, and high security walls, surrounded by manicured gardens that looked desolate under the heavy autumn rain.
It was 3:00 a.m. when the SUV pulled through the wrought-iron gates, which closed behind us with a heavy, final thud.
Two guards in dark suits opened the car doors, holding umbrellas over us as Salvo stepped out into the night air.
"Take her to the guest wing on the third floor," Salvo instructed the older consigliere, whose name I had learned was Bernardo. "Post two men at the door. She doesn't leave the room without my permission."
"Wait!" I demanded, stepping out of the vehicle and ignoring the rain soaking through my uniform shirt. "I have a mid-term exam at nine in the morning! I have rent to pay! You can't just kidnap me!"
Salvo stopped on the grand stone steps, turning around to look down at me.
The rain dripped from his dark hair, trailing down the sharp angle of his jawline. In the dim light of the driveway lanterns, he looked like a statue sculpted from ice and iron.
"Your apartment in Queens was raided twenty minutes ago, Clara," Salvo said, his voice quiet and devastatingly calm.
My blood ran cold. "What... what did you say?"
"Maranzano's men kicked down your door," Salvo explained, pulling a smartphone from his pocket and showing me a live camera feed of my small living room—completely trashed, furniture ripped open, books scattered across the floor. "If my men hadn't gotten to you at the restaurant, you would be dead or being tortured in a basement in Brooklyn right now."
I covered my mouth with both hands, a choked sob escaping my throat. Everything I owned, my entire quiet, peaceful life, had been obliterated in less than four hours.
"You have no apartment, Clara," Salvo continued, stepping down one stair closer to me. "You have no job. The Cathedral was burned to the ground tonight. Your only chance of survival is inside this house."
"Why are you doing this?" I wept, rain mixing with the hot tears streaming down my face. "If you just want the ledger, take whatever my mother had! I don't know where it is!"
Salvo reached out, his long fingers gently catching a tear as it slid off my cheek. His touch was unexpectedly tender, a stark contrast to the violence he carried like a second coat.
"You do know where it is, Clara," he murmured. "You just don't realize it yet. Your mother was the smartest woman in Palermo. She didn't leave a paper trail. She left a story. And you're the only person who knows how that story ends."
He turned back toward the grand oak entrance doors.
"Bernardo, get her dry clothes and something warm to eat," Salvo said without looking back. "We begin searching her memories at sunrise."
Fifteen minutes later, I was standing in the middle of a massive bedroom decorated in cream silk and polished walnut wood. A fire crackled in a grand stone fireplace, throwing warm orange light across a king-sized bed topped with feather pillows.
An elderly woman named Rosa brought me a fresh pair of cashmere lounge pants, a soft wool sweater, and a bowl of hot minestrone soup. She didn't speak a word, only offering me a sad, maternal smile before leaving and locking the heavy oak door from the outside.
I sat on the edge of the plush bed, holding the warm soup bowl in my hands, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace.
I was trapped in a golden cage, surrounded by men who dealt in blood and shadows.
My hand reached inside the collar of my sweater, pulling out a delicate silver chain that had belonged to my mother. Hanging from the chain was a small, strangely shaped silver key with no teeth—only three circular notches carved into its side.
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My mother had told me it was a lucky charm from the old country.
Now, sitting in the heart of the Romano empire, I realized it was the only thing standing between me and a grave at the bottom of the Atlantic.
