Chapter 5 GILDED CAGE
Jasmine’s POV:
“Let me out of here, you big oaf!”
I screamed, slamming a wooden chair continuously against the heavy door, as one of its legs broke on impact.
I stopped, breathing heavily, still gripping the broken wood.
I waited for something. Anything. But nothing happened. No reply came from the other side. And the silence made me feel foolish for trying.
A bitter, breathless laugh escaped my throat and dropped the broken chair.
Five days. Five whole days that I was locked in this room.
They hadn’t tied me up. They hadn’t hurt me. They hadn’t even threatened me. They fed me. Three times a day. Warm food. Proper meals. Clean clothes folded neatly on the bed every morning like I was some honored guest instead of a prisoner.
No one spoke to me unless absolutely necessary. No one answered my questions. And most notably…I hadn’t seen ‘him’.
The street fighter, or Don, or… Moretti, or whatever version of him was real. I hadn’t seen any version.
The first two days, I screamed until my throat burnt. The third day, I cursed with every known curse word. The fourth, I demanded answers. And by the fifth, I stopped. I almost pleaded. It was only then I realized they were waiting for that. Waiting for me to calm down. To break quietly. To accept my fate and be submissive.
I straightened, smoothing my hands over my hair, forcing my breathing to steady.
If they thought I’d sit here and look pretty while they decided my fate, they were sorely mistaken.
I looked over the room again. I hated to admit it but it was beautiful. Cool Italian marble floors beneath my bare feet. Walls painted in calm tones. Expensive art hung up in almost every corner. A massive bed with huge silk sheets.
Moretti had taste. Everything screamed luxury. Power. Control.
But I was smart enough to know that this wasn’t a guest room. It was a cage dressed up as luxury.
My jaw tightened. I turned and walked toward the window, pulling the curtains aside. Cool night breeze rushed in the moment I opened it, tangling my hair and kissing my skin. I saw how the city stretched endlessly below; it was a sight to see.
I leaned out and looked down. My stomach dropped.
It was high. Though, not high enough to kill me if I jumped. But high enough to maim me. Break my legs. Shatter bones. Leave me helpless on the ground, easy to retrieve.
They’d thought of everything. Of course they had.
I exhaled slowly and stepped back.
Jumping wasn’t an option.
I moved fast. Tearing the bed apart, ripping sheets into long strips and yanking the curtains down without hesitation. My fingers worked quickly, knotting the fabric together tightly.
I tested it twice, and it finally held.
Good.
I tied one end around the bedpost and gave it a final tug before climbing out the window. I felt the night breeze wrap around my skin as I gripped the makeshift rope and began lowering myself down.
The farther I got down, the more my arms burnt and almost gave way.
I forced myself to remain calm. I was almost there. Just a short distance away from my escape.
I was about to begin another descent, but my eyes caught the fabric just below where I held it loosening.
My heart stuttered. Then the knot loosened completely, and my makeshift rope dropped.
I reacted quickly, grabbing the top of the rope just before I fell, my feet dangling aimlessly and my muscles shuddering as gravity threatened to drag me down.
“Shit,” I hissed between my clenched teeth.
Don’t panic.
Don’t you dare panic.
I forced myself to look to the side.
That’s when I saw it. Another window.
I swung once, shifting my weight. Then twice, each movement fire to my arms. On the third swing, I pushed harder, gathering momentum.
So I let go. For one terrifying second, I was weightless. Then my fingers caught the railing of the other window. I felt instant pain around my shoulders as my body slammed against the wall, knocking the air out of my lungs.
I wanted to scream the pain away, but I swallowed it, biting down hard, refusing to make a sound.
And so, with shaking arms, I hauled myself up and into the room.
The room was pitch black. There were no lamps. The only light came from the window behind me.
Not wasting much time, I blindly walked into the darkness, using my arms for eyes as I searched for the door.
My hands met something solid and warm.
Walls weren’t warm.
My fingers brushed again—slow this time, taking in every detail. The surface wasn’t smooth stone or painted plaster. It shifted beneath my touch, firm but yielding.
Skin.
My pulse slammed violently against my ribs.
I froze, barely breathing, my hands unconsciously going higher to feel a curve.
The “wall” inhaled.
Oh no!
In an instant, I felt strong, firm hands closing around my wrists, stopping me before I could react. My breath caught.
“So,” a voice murmured from just above me, low and dangerous, threaded with amusement, “this is how you plan to leave, principessa?”
Shit! I knew that voice.
I had heard it in the underground arena, rough with violence. I had heard it calm and measured, issuing quiet commands that made men obey without question.
Moretti.
A soft click sounded, followed by the glow of a lamp flooding the room in warm amber light.
And there he was, standing impossibly close. Barefoot. Shirtless with only a jean to cover his lower half.
My eyes betrayed me, tracing the expanse of his chest before I could stop myself—tattoos as far as my eyes could see, so much that each vine surrounding figure-like paintings seemed like they each had a story. His dark hair fell loose around his face, eyes sharp and unblinking as they pinned me in place.
“You break into my room,” he continued evenly, gaze flicking once to the open window. Behind me, the shredded curtains trailing like a confession, “And touch me in the dark. Just how obsessed are you with my body?”
Heat crawled up my neck.
“I—” My voice failed. I swallowed hard, almost slapping myself for my bad luck. “I thought this room was empty.”
A corner of his mouth curved, not quite a smile.
“In this house,” he said quietly, stepping closer, forcing my back toward the wall I’d nearly mistaken him for, “nothing is ever left unguarded.”
That’s when I noticed our intimate position. I stepped back, his strong tattooed arm falling from my waist, and took several steps backward.
His gaze dropped briefly to my scraped palms, my slightly trembling arms, the rope burn already blooming red across my skin.
“You could have fallen,” he said, his voice losing its humor. Something darker replaced it.
I lifted my chin, forcing defiance where fear threatened to take over.
“I didn’t.”
His eyes lifted to mine again, unreadable.
“No,” he agreed softly. “You didn’t.”
A suffocating silence befell us both.
What now?
A girl in a nearly revealing nightgown and a shirtless, infuriatingly calm and hot man in the same room.
My fingers curled into the thin fabric at my sides, grounding myself. Fear had no use here.
Panic would only hand him victory.
Then he reached past me and closed the window.
The soft click echoed louder than any lock.
“You should know,” Moretti murmured, close enough now that I felt his breath against my temple, “The cage wasn’t meant to keep you in.”
My heart pounded violently.
“It was meant to keep everyone else out. So, tell me principessa… was my body tempting enough that you risked your life just to see it?”
I opened my mouth to speak, to tell this monster that I was done and wanted out. I wanted my freedom. I wanted answers instead of the overwhelming silence and uncertainty.
But his nearness stole the words right out of my lungs.
A small, mortifying sound slipped free instead.
“…squeak.”