Chapter 12 The Queen of Thorns
The master suite of the Moretti estate was no longer a room; it was a gilded fortress. Since the night of the garden escape, Lisa hadn't been allowed to touch a doorknob. Silvio had moved her entire existence her few clothes, her books, and the crumpled sonogram into the oppressive luxury of his own massive bedroom.
The air here felt heavy, saturated with him. It smelled of power and expensive leather, underscored by the lingering ghost of the cigars he smoked late at night when he mistakenly thought she was asleep.
"Stand still, Lisa," Silvio’s mother, Bianca, snapped, her voice cutting through the silence.
Lisa stood on a velvet pedestal while three tailors hovered around her like scavenging crows. They were pinning a dress that looked less like silk and more like a suit of armor. It was a deep, blood-red velvet, featuring a neckline that dipped dangerously low and a waist cinched so tight it forced her to feel the slight, protective swell of her stomach even more acutely.
"Why am I wearing this?" Lisa asked, her voice sounding small and fragile in the vast room.
"Because tonight, you are not a prisoner," Silvio’s voice rumbled from the doorway.
He walked in, looking devastating in a black tuxedo. The sling was gone, replaced by a subtle stiffness in his posture that only her constant observation could detect. He gestured for the tailors to leave. Bianca gave Lisa one last look of pure ice before following them out, leaving the two of them alone in the ringing silence.
Silvio walked toward her, his eyes raking over her body in the red dress. The heat in his gaze was enough to make her skin flush with a traitorous warmth. He stepped onto the pedestal, his height making her feel tiny even in her heels. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace—a choker of heavy gold, dripping with rubies that looked like fresh droplets of blood.
"Turn around," he commanded.
Lisa obeyed, her heart fluttering against her ribs. She felt his large, warm fingers brush against the back of her neck as he fastened the clasp. His touch sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold air of the room.
"You are going to sit by my side at the Commission dinner tonight," Silvio whispered into her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "The whole world is whispering that you ran away. They think I’m weak. They think my brother took what was mine."
He turned her around to face him, his hands resting heavily on her waist as if anchoring her to the spot.
"Tonight, you show them who you belong to. You will smile. You will look at me like I am your God. And if Dante is watching and I know he is he will see that he didn't just lose a brother. He lost his woman."
"I was never his woman," Lisa whispered, her hands instinctively coming up to rest on his silk lapels. "Not in the way you think."
Silvio’s jaw tightened. He pulled her closer, his thumb tracing the curve of her hip through the velvet. "Then show me. Show him. Show everyone."
He leaned down, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was meant to be a warning but quickly spiraled into something far more desperate. It was hungry and raw. Lisa melted into him, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. She hated that she wanted him this much. She hated that even after the North Wing, even after the threats, her body sang when he touched her.
He broke the kiss, his eyes dark with a possessive fire. "Stay close to me tonight. Do not speak to anyone. Do not look at anyone. You are the Moretti Queen, Lisa. Act like it."
The gala was held in a ballroom that felt like a shark tank. Every head turned as Silvio walked in with Lisa on his arm. The whispers were like the hissing of snakes from every corner. Lisa kept her head high, her hand resting on the crook of Silvio’s arm, but her eyes were secretly scanning the shadows.
She felt a strange heaviness in her chest. Every man in this room looked at her like she was a prize to be stolen, but Silvio looked at her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded to the earth.
Halfway through the night, Silvio was pulled away by an elderly Don for a private word. "Stay here," he muttered, his hand lingering on her lower back for an extra second. "Do not move from this spot."
Lisa nodded, clutching her glass of sparkling water. But as soon as Silvio’s back was turned, a waiter brushed past her, dropping a small linen napkin onto her tray.
On it, written in faint charcoal, were three words: Check your pocket.
Lisa’s breath hitched. She reached into the hidden pocket of the velvet dress and felt a cold, hard piece of metal. She pulled it out just enough to see. It was a key. A key with a small tag that read: East Gate. 1:00 AM. Final chance.
"Enjoying the party, Lisa?"
She jumped, nearly dropping the key. Silvio was back, his eyes narrowed as he looked at her pale face. He looked at her hand, which she had shoved back into her pocket with guilty haste.
"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low level.
"I’m just tired, Silvio. The baby," she lied, her heart thumping so hard she was sure he could see it vibrating through the velvet.
Silvio’s expression softened for a fraction of a second. He reached out and touched her cheek. "A few more minutes. Then I’ll take you home."
But Lisa knew there was no "home" anymore. There was only the cage, the key, and the two men who were about to tear her life apart. As she looked at Silvio, she realized she didn't want to leave him. But she also knew that as long as she stayed, he was in Dante’s crosshairs.
She had to make a choice. Not for her, but for the life growing inside her.
As the clock struck midnight, Lisa looked at the man who had become her world and felt a tear prick her eye. The Queen of Thorns was about to make her move, even if it meant bleeding herself dry.