Chapter 3 - Locked in the Gold Cage
The Lake Forest estate didn't look like a home. It looked like a medieval fortress wrapped in polished granite, bulletproof glass, and ten-foot wrought-iron gates topped with security cameras.
It was nearly four in the morning by the time the armored motorcade cleared the main gates.
I sat in the middle seat of a black SUV, wrapped in a heavy cashmere blanket Daniel had thrown over my shoulders to cover my unbuttoned top. Baby Leo—Daniel had finally spoken his name during the drive—was fast asleep inside a specialized tactical chest harness strapped to my body, his cheek glued to my skin.
Daniel sat directly across from me in the darkened cabin, an untouched glass of scotch in his hand, his eyes never leaving us for a single second.
"He hasn't needed the oxygen tube for two hours," I murmured softly, breaking the suffocating silence. "His lung expansion is improving because his nervous system isn't fighting the sensory overload anymore."
"You knew what the doctors didn't," Daniel said. It wasn't a compliment; it was an observation.
"Doctors look at charts and numbers," I said, looking up to meet his dark gaze. "I look at the baby. He was born six weeks early, Mr. Russo. His skin wasn't ready for the physical world. The adhesives were burning him. The fluorescent lights were blinding him. He just needed to feel like he was still inside someone who was alive."
Daniel’s jaw tightened. A dark, painful shadow crossed his face, gone so fast I thought I had imagined it.
"His mother wasn't alive," Daniel said flatly.
I froze. "What?"
"Sophia died on the operating table three weeks ago," Daniel said, taking a slow sip of his scotch. "Internal hemorrhage during the C-section. The doctors saved the boy, but she was gone before he took his first breath."
The cold, matter-of-fact way he spoke couldn't hide the raw, jagged grief buried beneath his words. A man like Daniel Russo couldn't afford to show weakness, not even when his wife bled out in a hospital room.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Don't be," Daniel growled. "Sympathy is useless in my line of work. Results are the only currency that matters."
The SUV pulled up to the grand front entrance of the mansion.
Marco opened the door, offering a hand to help me out, but Daniel stepped in front of him, reaching into the vehicle himself. He didn't touch the baby; he wrapped his large, warm hand around my arm, steadying me as I stepped down onto the marble driveway.
"Take her to the east wing," Daniel commanded Marco. "Set up the primary suite next to mine. The child stays with her."
"And her brother, boss?" Marco asked quietly.
Daniel stopped on the steps, looking back over his shoulder at me.
"Put Tommy Jenkins in the cellar," Daniel said coldly. "Feed him. Give him water. Let him spend the night thinking about how close he came to a bullet."
"I want to see him," I demanded, taking a step forward despite the armed guards surrounding us. "You promised he wouldn't be hurt!"
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Daniel turned completely, stepping close enough that I had to tilt my chin back to look at him. His frame blocked out the estate lights, casting a long shadow over me and the baby.
"I promised he wouldn't die, Clara," Daniel whispered, using my first name for the very first time. The sound of it on his tongue made my pulse jump. "You want to see him? Earn it. Keep my son alive through the night. We'll talk about your brother in the morning."
