Chapter 3 - THE GOLDEN CAGEElena did not tell Dante immediately.
Partly anger.
Partly fear.
Partly because she wanted to see whether she could discover anything without asking a man who seemed capable of controlling the weather.
The estate library contained old newspapers.
She searched Sofia Moretti.
The official story:
Widow of businessman Dante Moretti killed in highway collision.
Vehicle crossed median.
Driver unidentified.
Nothing about enemies.
Nothing about Isabella.
Then Elena found a society photograph.
Sofia Moretti and Isabella Vance at a charity gala.
Not friends.
But connected.
“Looking for ghosts?”
Elena turned.
Dante stood in the doorway.
She hid the envelope too late.
His eyes noticed.
“What is that?”
“Nothing.”
“Elena.”
“Don't.”
He walked closer.
She held up one hand.
“You do not get to search me.”
“I wasn't going to.”
“Your face was.”
Dante stopped.
She handed him the photograph.
His expression changed.
Then the cable fragment.
Whatever calm remained disappeared.
“Where?”
“Under my door.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“You waited until now?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you treat information like permission to take over my life.”
“This is different.”
“Everything is different to you.”
He called security.
The entire wing went into lockdown.
Elena exploded.
“You see?”
“A threat entered your room.”
“So your response is locking every door?”
“My response is keeping you alive.”
“My response is needing air.”
Dante stared.
Then unexpectedly ordered:
“Open the south garden.”
Security looked confused.
“Boss?”
“Open it.”
He looked at Elena.
“You can walk.”
She blinked.
“With guards?”
“Yes.”
She sighed.
“Progress.”
The garden felt almost normal.
Until Isabella Vance arrived.
No one had invited her.
She walked through the courtyard in a crimson suit like a queen returning to disputed territory.
Elena recognized her immediately.
Isabella stopped.
“So this is her.”
Dante appeared behind Elena.
“Leave.”
Isabella smiled.
“You really are serious.”
“Leave.”
“About the waitress.”
Elena folded her arms.
“The waitress has a name.”
Isabella looked her over.
“And apparently new clothes.”
Elena glanced down.
Dante’s staff had replaced her damaged clothing.
She hated that Isabella could make comfort feel like shame.
“Still mine,” Elena said.
Isabella laughed.
“Nothing in this house is yours.”
Elena smiled.
“Neither is Dante.”
The words escaped.
Dante’s eyebrows lifted.
Isabella’s face hardened.
“You think this is romance?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Isabella stepped closer.
“Because men like Dante don't love.”
Dante’s expression turned glacial.
“Enough.”
Isabella ignored him.
“They protect assets.”
“They secure loyalty.”
“They repay debts.”
She looked at Elena.
“You saved his son.”
“So now you're valuable.”
“When the debt is settled, you'll learn what that means.”
Elena hated how accurately the words hit her fears.
Then Isabella whispered:
“Ask Sofia.”
Dante moved.
One step.
Isabella smiled.
There.
She had wanted that reaction.
“You see?”
She looked at Elena.
“He still hasn't told you.”
“Tell me what?”
Dante said:
“Isabella.”
Warning.
She ignored it.
“Sofia discovered the Moretti-Vance alliance was built on blood money.”
Silence.
Elena looked at Dante.
“What does that mean?”
Isabella’s smile widened.
“Ask him why his wife died the week after she tried to cancel the shipping merger.”
Dante’s hand closed into a fist.
Then he said something Elena did not expect.
“She’s right.”
Isabella froze too.
Dante looked at Elena.
“Sofia discovered criminal transfers through Vance ports.”
Elena swallowed.
“And?”
“She wanted me to expose them.”
“You didn't.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because doing so would have started a war.”
Elena stared.
“And then she died.”
“Yes.”
“Did Isabella’s family kill her?”
Dante looked at Isabella.
“I believe Harrison did.”
Isabella’s confidence finally cracked.
“My father had nothing to do with—”
“Leave.”
This time she did.
But before reaching the doors, she looked at Elena.
“You think the chandelier was about Matteo.”
Elena stopped.
Isabella smiled faintly.
“It wasn't.”
Then she walked away.
That night Dante doubled security.
Elena sat alone.
One question repeating.
May you like
If Matteo had not been the target—
who was?
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