Chapter 4 - The Golden Cage
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Morning sunlight flooded the massive guest suite, waking Emily from a fitful, exhausted sleep. She sat up in the center of a California king-sized bed, surrounded by expensive silk sheets and pillows soft enough to drown in.
She threw off the covers and rushed to the window. The view was spectacular—a sheer, two-hundred-foot drop directly into the churning blue waters of the caldera. There was no fire escape, no balcony stairs. Dante hadn't exaggerated; the villa was a beautifully constructed, inescapable fortress.
A soft knock interrupted her frantic calculations. Maria, the housekeeper from the night before, entered pushing a silver cart laden with fresh fruit, pastries, and steaming coffee.
“Mr. Moretti requests your presence on the terrace for breakfast, Miss Hart,” Maria said, keeping her eyes respectfully lowered.
“Tell Mr. Moretti I’m not hungry,” Emily snapped.
“He anticipated you might say that,” Maria replied softly, pulling a pristine white sundress from the bottom of the cart. “He also said to inform you that if you do not join him in ten minutes, he will assume you require his personal assistance to get dressed.”
A flush of hot, indignant anger crept up Emily’s neck. She snatched the dress from the housekeeper’s hands.
Ten minutes later, she marched out onto the sun-drenched marble terrace. Dante was seated at a glass table, reading a Greek newspaper and sipping espresso. He wore a crisp white linen shirt, looking perfectly at ease, entirely contrary to the monstrous mafia boss he claimed to be.
“You look stunning in white,” Dante murmured without looking up from his paper.
“What do you want from me, Dante?” Emily demanded, dropping into the chair opposite him. “I told you I don't have my father's money. I don't know where he is. Keeping me here is a waste of your time.”
Dante finally lowered the newspaper. His dark, intelligent eyes locked onto hers with a piercing intensity.
“I believe you don't know where the money is,” Dante conceded smoothly, pouring her a cup of coffee. “But the rival syndicate that helped your father fake his death does not believe that. The Konstantinos family has been tracking you for months. They think you are the key to the offshore ledger.”
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“What?” Emily gasped, her blood running cold.
“I didn't bring you here just to interrogate you, Emily,” Dante said, leaning forward. “I brought you here to keep you alive. Because if the Konstantinos family gets their hands on you, they will not be nearly as polite as I am.”
