Chapter 5 - The Velvet Prison
By afternoon, the grand estate had transitioned into a full military fortress.
Heavy steel shutters were lowered over the ground-floor windows, and tactical patrols with Belgian Malinois swept the sprawling wooded perimeter.
I was moved from the guest quarters back into the third-floor master suite—the very room I had stumbled into the night before.
Massimo insisted it was the only room in the mansion with ballistic-grade titanium reinforcements and a private escape elevator.
I paced the wide Persian rug, feeling like a caged bird in a palace of silk and steel.
The charcoal sheets were made, the steam had long vanished from the marble bath, and a fresh vase of white gardenias sat on the nightstand.
The fragrance was intoxicating, reminding me of my shop, my small, quiet life that had been incinerated in less than twenty-four hours.
The heavy door clicked open, and Massimo entered, shedding his suit jacket over the leather armchair.
He looked exhausted, dark shadows carving hollows beneath his cheekbones, his linen shirt unbuttoned at the collar.
"You haven't touched your lunch," he noted, glancing at the silver tray of roast chicken and roasted vegetables resting on the small table.
"It's hard to eat when you're waiting for a car bomb to go off," I shot back, crossing my arms over my chest.
Massimo let out a weary, low chuckle, walking over to the bar cabinet to pour two fingers of amber bourbon.
"There won't be any car bombs, Sophie," he said, taking a slow sip.
"Salvatore Vitali doesn't use explosives. He uses paper, bribes, and poisoned blades in dark corners."
"Like Elena?"
Massimo’s jaw tightened. "Elena was picked up by my security chief forty minutes ago at O'Hare airport."
"She had fifty thousand dollars in cash and a one-way ticket to Palermo in her purse."
"She confirmed that Salvatore offered her a hundred grand to plant a miniature audio transmitter in this bedroom last night."
I stared at him, stunned. "An audio transmitter? Why?"
"Because the council was holding an emergency hearing downstairs at midnight," Massimo explained, walking over to the window and peering through the armored slats.
"Salvatore wanted a recording of me discussing the southern rail shipments."
"If he couldn't get the recording, he planned to create a moral scandal by sending his family upstairs to 'catch' me with an unauthorized woman."
"Either way, he intended to strip my authority before the weekend."
"And instead, you told them I was your bride," I whispered, watching his broad back against the gray afternoon light.
Massimo turned around slowly, setting his glass on the sill.
"It was the only play that took away his leverage instantly," Massimo said, his eyes locking onto mine with fierce, unblinking intensity.
"Under syndicate law, a boss's betrothed is sacred. Anyone who attacks her or questions her presence commits high treason against the entire commission."
"By claiming you, I put an invisible wall around your life that even Salvatore cannot cross without signing his own death warrant."
"And what happens when this war is over?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Do I get my flower shop back? Do I get my life back?"
Massimo walked toward me, each step slow, deliberate, and hypnotic until he was standing barely an inch away.
He reached out, his warm, calloused fingers gently cupping my chin, lifting my face toward his.
"Do you really want to go back to scrubbing floors and worrying about van payments, Sophie?" he murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of my lower lip.
"I want my freedom, Massimo," I whispered, though my breath hitched at the dangerous heat radiating from his chest.
May you like
"You were never free, little florist," he breathed, leaning in until his lips brushed against my cheek.
"You were just surviving. With me, you rule."
