Chapter 5 - The Golden Cage and the Old Dojo
The silence in the private study was heavy, filled only with the faint ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner and the low hum of the estate’s climate control system.
Avery stood near the center of the room, her hands in her jacket pockets, refusing to sit down in the plush leather armchairs facing the desk.
“You have a nice place,” Avery said, her voice dripping with dry sarcasm. “A little big for one person, but I suppose it keeps the echoes away.”
Dominic took a slow sip of his coffee, his dark eyes studying her with an intensity that felt almost physical. He didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he walked slowly around the desk, stopping a few feet away from her.
“You’re angry,” Dominic observed quietly.
“Angry?” Avery let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Mr. Moretti, a man wired a quarter of a million dollars into my bank account without my permission, dragged me out of my normal life, and locked me into a meeting I never asked for. Yes, you could say I’m a little irritated.”
“The money is security,” Dominic said, his voice level. “It ensures that your mother doesn't miss a single treatment while we figure out your new position.”
Avery’s eyes flashed with sudden defiance. “My new position? I’m a delivery driver, Mr. Moretti. I deliver takeout and groceries. I don't work for syndicates, I don't smuggle cargo, and I certainly don't sign contracts with mob bosses.”
“You’re a former regional junior champion in collegiate taekwondo,” Dominic countered smoothly, leaning back against the edge of his desk and crossing his arms over his chest.
Avery froze. Her breath caught in her throat.
“What did you say?” she whispered, the color draining from her face.
“Avery Carter,” Dominic continued, reciting the details as if reading from a dossier he had memorized that morning. “Trained under Master Vance at the Chicago Metro Dojo from age fourteen to nineteen. Undefeated in regional circuit matches for three consecutive years. You were slated for the Olympic qualifiers until your father’s death eight years ago forced you to drop out overnight to support your family.”
Avery felt the room tilt slightly on its axis. She took a half-step back, her hands clenching into fists inside her pockets. “How do you know that? Who the hell have you been investigating?”
“When someone walks into my ballroom and drops my fiancée with a textbook roundhouse kick that misses her carotid artery by exactly one inch while maintaining absolute spatial control, I don't call local law enforcement,” Dominic said, his gaze unwavering. “I call my own people. And my people are very thorough.”
“I gave up fighting eight years ago,” Avery said, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed rage. “I traded the ring for a minimum-wage job and a rusted car. It’s none of your business why I stopped.”
“It became my business the moment Vanessa decided to use my house as a training ground for her own petty malice,” Dominic said, pushing off the desk and walking closer to her until she could smell the faint, clean scent of sandalwood and expensive soap. “I need a new head of private security for my family estate, Avery.”
Avery stared at him as if he had grown a second head. “You want me to... what? Be your bodyguard?”
“I want someone who can spot a threat before it reaches my doorstep, someone who isn't blinded by wealth or intimidated by the people who walk through these doors,” Dominic said firmly. “And more importantly... I want someone whose loyalty can’t be bought off by a rival family.”
“And you think because you threw a quarter of a million dollars at my bank account, I’m going to sign up to take bullets for you?” Avery snapped, her temper finally boiling over.
“I think,” Dominic corrected softly, “you’re tired of doing arithmetic every single day of your life just to keep your mother alive. I think you’re tired of scraping cake off marble floors while rich cowards laugh at you. I’m offering you a salary that makes arithmetic obsolete, full medical coverage for your mother at the finest private clinic in the country, and a chance to use the skills you buried eight years ago.”
Avery looked up into his dark, unyielding eyes. Every instinct screamed at her to turn around, walk out the door, and drive back to Cicero. The Moretti family crest was woven into the very fabric of Chicago’s underworld—the same underworld that had swallowed her father’s construction company and left her family to rot in a third-floor apartment.
And yet... her mother’s hollowed-out cheeks flashed through her mind. The endless medication charts. The fear of the next bill.
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“What’s the catch?” Avery whispered.
“The catch,” Dominic said, a faint, dangerous smile touching his lips, “is that you start Monday morning. And you call me Dominic.”
