Chapter 8 - The Golden Cage
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The transition was jarring and surreal.
Within forty-eight hours, Billy and Deardra were relocated from their cramped, drafty house in Dorchester to a sprawling, two-bedroom penthouse suite at the top of the Windmir Hotel. The suite overlooked the Boston harbor, the very waters controlled by the man who had placed them there.
Deardra sat in her wheelchair near the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the glittering city skyline.
"He’s keeping us as pets, Billy," Deardra warned quietly, her sharp mind unclouded by the luxury surrounding them. "He feels guilty that his trucks killed Eleanor, so he’s paying us off. But mafia bosses don't keep loose ends around for long."
"He isn't going to hurt us, Mom," Billy replied, organizing a stack of fresh towels in the marble bathroom. She believed it, but a knot of anxiety still tightened in her stomach.
Later that afternoon, a soft knock echoed on the suite door.
Billy opened it to find Rafe standing in the hallway, unaccompanied by his usual security detail. He wore a simple black sweater and slacks, looking less like a crime boss and more like an exhausted businessman.
"May I come in?" Rafe asked politely.
Billy hesitated, then stepped aside. "My mother is resting in the other room."
Rafe walked into the living area, looking around the suite to ensure they were comfortable. He stopped near the dining table, where Billy had set up her grandmother’s heavy sewing machine.
"You brought your work with you," Rafe noted, tracing the edge of the antique machine.
"It grounds me," Billy said, crossing her arms defensively. "What do you want, Mr. Santangelo?"
"I want to offer you a job," Rafe said, turning to face her.
Billy scoffed. "I think my career as a banquet server is officially over."
"I don't want you pouring wine," Rafe clarified, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "Sabine’s foundation, the Second Thread, is currently collapsing. The board is scrambling to distance themselves from her arrest. They need a new creative director to salvage the brand and re-launch the line under the original designer's true vision."
Billy’s heart stopped.
"You want me to run Sabine’s fashion line?" she gasped, absolute disbelief washing over her.
"I want you to run Eleanor’s fashion line," Rafe corrected softly. "You have her original sketches. You know the reverse-beading technique. The board has agreed to rebrand the entire foundation in Eleanor’s name. You will be the CEO."
Tears sprang to Billy’s eyes. It was everything her sister had worked for, everything she had died for, handed back to her on a silver platter by the man whose trucks had ended Eleanor's life.
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"Why are you doing this?" Billy asked, her voice breaking.
"Because," Rafe murmured, taking a step closer, "you are the most formidable woman I have ever met. And I prefer to keep formidable women on my payroll, rather than plotting against me in the shadows."
