Chapter 3 - The Golden Cage
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The realization that I had been carrying a target around my neck sent a cold, violent shiver down my spine. Damian did not hand the locket back. He placed the micro-SD card into a secure safe behind his desk, locking it with a biometric scan.
“Gabriel will decrypt the contents in the morning,” Damian stated, turning back to me. “Until then, you do not leave my sight.”
Before I could process his words, the heavy oak doors of the office swung open. Victor Crane, the estate manager, stepped into the room. He wore his usual pristine tuxedo, but his face was a mask of thinly veiled disdain. He looked at me, then at Damian, clearly disapproving of the fact that I was still breathing the same air as the boss.
“Sir,” Victor said, his tone crisp and condescending. “The guest rooms in the west wing have been secured. I have instructed the remaining staff to pack Miss Ellison’s belongings. We can have her transferred to a secure hotel downtown under guard within the hour.”
“Miss Ellison is not going to a hotel, Victor,” Damian replied coldly.
“Sir, it is highly irregular to keep a domestic worker in the primary residence during a security crisis. She is a liability.”
Damian moved with a terrifying, predatory swiftness. He crossed the room in three strides, stopping inches from Victor’s face. The estate manager physically recoiled, the arrogant sneer vanishing from his face as he stared into the eyes of a man who killed for a living.
“I will only say this once, Victor,” Damian whispered, his voice vibrating with absolute, lethal authority. “Harper is no longer staff. She does not take orders from you. She does not eat in the kitchens. She will be moving into the master suite in the East Wing, directly across from my quarters. If you speak to her with anything less than absolute reverence, I will cut out your tongue and feed it to the hounds at the east gate. Do you understand?”
Victor swallowed hard, all the color draining from his face. “Yes, Mr. Romano. I understand perfectly.”
“Get out.”
As Victor scrambled out of the office, I stood frozen in the center of the room. The master suite. The East Wing. It was a space reserved strictly for mafia royalty, a gilded cage dripping in luxury and absolute power.
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“Damian, I can’t stay here,” I protested weakly as he turned back to me. “I don't belong in your world.”
“You belong wherever I can keep you alive,” Damian countered smoothly, his eyes locking onto mine with a fierce, burning intensity. “Take off the uniform, Harper. You will never wear it again.”
