Chapter 3 - The Iron Cage
Victoria spun on her heels, completely abandoning her dignity as sheer survival instinct took over.
The hem of her red silk gown trailed through the pool water as she sprinted toward the driveway.
Her breath came in ragged, jagged gasps, her diamond earrings tearing at her earlobes as she ran.
She reached into her purse, frantically searching for the key fob to the armored Mercedes parked ahead.
Her fingers closed around the cold metal just as the deafening hum of heavy hydraulics echoed through the night.
The immense, wrought-iron front gates of the Moretti compound slammed shut with a bone-jarring crash.
Two heavily armed guards in tactical gear stepped out from the security gatehouse, automatic rifles raised.
They did not show the slightest hint of sympathy for the trembling woman standing before them.
Victoria turned around, pressing her back against the black iron bars, her eyes wide with terror.
She saw Marcus leading four massive enforcers across the immaculate lawn toward her position.
She screamed that they worked for her, demanding that they open the gate and let her through.
Marcus did not even blink, merely stepping forward and snatching the car keys right out of her hand.
He gripped her slender wrist with the force of an iron vise, twisting her arm behind her back.
Victoria shrieked in pain, cursing him, his family, and every ancestor who shared his bloodline.
Marcus leaned down and whispered coldly that a traitor has no rank, no voice, and no future in Chicago.
Back on the poolside patio, Dante was already being transferred into a spare manual wheelchair.
A heavy black blanket was draped across his broad shoulders, but his shivering was not from the cold.
It was the terrifying, vibrating tremor of a predator preparing to utterly annihilate his prey.
Elena remained kneeling beside the pool edge, wrapped in a coarse towel provided by a sympathetic butler.
Dante stopped the guard pushing his chair and looked down at the soaked, shivering banquet worker.
His icy dark eyes softened for a fraction of a second as he took in her torn apron and bloody knuckles.
He asked her why a simple girl serving canapés would risk her life to save a monster like him.
Elena looked up into the eyes of the city's most feared criminal without flinching or looking down.
She replied calmly that a murder happening right before her eyes was something she could never permit.
She told him that even a monster deserved to meet his fate facing forward, not drowned like a rat.
Dante let out a low, dry chuckle that held more darkness than warmth, nodding his head slowly in respect.
He ordered Marcus to escort the brave young woman into the private wing and guard her with his life.
Then his gaze snapped back toward the entrance where Victoria was being dragged across the lawn.
Her high heels were missing, her red gown was coated in dirt, and her face was streaked with mascara.
Dante told his men to drag his loving wife down into the cellar vault beneath the wine cellar.
He declared that death in the pool was far too quick, far too clean, and far too merciful for a traitor.
He wanted her to sit in the darkness, listening to the ticking of the clock, anticipating his arrival.
The heavy oak doors of the mansion banged open as Victoria was hauled inside, kicking and screaming in vain.
The terrified party guests remained frozen like statues, praying Dante would not turn his wrath upon them.
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Dante slowly turned his head toward the crowd, his voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly whisper.
He announced that the celebration was over, and anyone who breathed a single word of tonight’s events would vanish forever.
