Chapter 2 - The Gilded CageThe Moretti estate was not a home; it was a fortress disguised as a cathedral. It sat on a sprawling cliff overlooking the Sound, encased in high-voltage fencing and patrolled by men who didn't exist in any official registry.
I was given a suite in the guest wing. Everything was marble, velvet, and gold, but it felt suffocating. I spent the first two days waiting for someone to realize the mistake—to find me, drag me out, and throw me back into the freezing dark where I belonged. But no one came.
On the third day, the door opened. It was Vincent. He looked different here, stripped of the park's chaotic energy. He wore a simple black sweater, and he held a book in his hand—Ethan’s favorite, I realized.
"He's asking for you," Vincent said. There was no warmth in his tone, but there was a strange, guarded respect.
"How is he?" I asked, sitting on the edge of the massive bed.
"The doctors say he’s lucky. The cold didn't reach his organs. He was drugged, Lily. Someone gave him something to incapacitate him, and then they left him in the park to freeze." Vincent’s hands tightened around the book. "He’s my only son. My life is built on shadows, and I’ve tried to keep him out of them. It appears my efforts have failed."
I stood up. "Who would do that to him?"
"My enemies," he said bluntly. "And perhaps people who think they are my friends."
He walked toward me, his presence dominating the room. He reached out, his thumb brushing the side of my face where the cold had left a raw, red mark. I didn't pull away.
"Why did you stop?" he asked. "You're a street girl. You know how the world treats people like us. You had every reason to walk away."
"I saw a boy," I said, my voice steady. "I didn't see a mafia boss's son. I saw someone who couldn't feel his legs and was going to die."
He looked at me for a long time, as if trying to find the lie in my soul. He found nothing. A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. "You have a dangerous heart, Lily. In this city, that's a death sentence."
"I've been dead for a long time," I whispered.
He didn't reply. He just nodded, turned, and led me toward the east wing, where Ethan was convalescing.
The room was filled with medical equipment and the smell of sterile antiseptic. Ethan looked small in the massive bed, his face pale, but his eyes lit up when he saw me.
"Lily!" he managed to sit up, his movements stiff.
I walked over and took his hand. It was warm—thank God, it was warm.
"I told you," he whispered, looking at his father. "She's not like the others."
Vincent stood by the door, watching us. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a precipice, realizing that the walls he had built around his life were starting to crumble.
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"Rest, Ethan," Vincent said. He looked at me. "Come with me. We need to talk about your future."
I followed him out of the room. I knew my life was about to change, but as I walked down the silent, luxurious halls of the Moretti estate, I felt a tremor of dread. I had saved the boy, but I had hitched my fate to the man, and in this world, nothing came without a cost.
