Chapter 3 - The Golden Cage
For three days, I didn't step foot outside the concrete mansion.
I was a ghost, trapped in a golden cage with a billionaire who was supposed to be dead.
Dante spent his hours on encrypted phone calls, rallying a very small, fiercely loyal faction of his company.
I spent my time pacing the library, wearing expensive clothes Marcus had procured for me, feeling completely out of place.
On the fourth evening, Dante found me staring blankly at a bookshelf.
“You haven't eaten dinner,” he noted, leaning against the doorframe.
“I’m not hungry,” I lied.
“You're terrified,” he corrected, walking toward me.
“You have every right to be. But starving yourself won't bring your old life back.”
I turned to face him, anger finally piercing through my fear.
“My old life wasn't much, but it was mine! Now I'm a target for a corporate assassination because your wife is a psycho!”
Dante didn't get angry. He just nodded slowly.
“You're right. I owe you your life back. But to do that, I need your help.”
“My help? I’m a waitress.”
“You are the only witness who saw the man she was with.”
He walked over to a heavy oak desk and opened a laptop, gesturing for me to join him.
“Vanessa is smart, but she doesn't get her hands dirty. This lover of hers orchestrated the mechanical sabotage.”
“I didn't see his face,” I reminded him. “He was sitting in the shadows of the booth.”
“Think, Cara,” Dante urged, standing dangerously close to me.
“Was there anything about him? A scent? A piece of jewelry? A specific turn of phrase?”
I closed my eyes, forcing myself back into the dim lighting of Bellini's.
I smelled the rich marinara, heard the clinking of wine glasses, and heard the man's low whisper.
“Cut just enough. They'll fail on the mountain road.”
My eyes snapped open.
“He had a nervous habit. He was tapping a coin on the table. A heavy, silver coin.”
Dante froze.
“What kind of coin?”
“I don't know,” I said, frustrated. “It looked old. It had an eagle on it.”
Dante’s jaw tightened so hard I thought his teeth might crack.
“A 1921 silver dollar. He carries it everywhere.”
“You know him?”
May you like
“Yes,” Dante whispered, the betrayal heavy in his voice.
“Julian Vance. My Chief Financial Officer. My best friend.”
