Chapter 6 The Monster’s Mercy
The nightmares always tasted of copper and old velvet. In her sleep, Lisa was dragged back to that dim, smoke-filled office where her father’s pen had scratched against the paper, a sound like bone snapping as he signed away her life. Then the scene blurred, shifting into a frantic sprint through the Moretti estate. Her hands stayed glued to her stomach, shielding the tiny life Silvio would surely snuff out if the truth ever surfaced.
"Dante, help me!" she screamed into the void, but the father of her child only laughed, his features dissolving into shifting shadows.
Lisa bolted upright, a strangled cry tearing from her throat. Her nightdress clung to her, damp with cold sweat, and the air in the room felt thick enough to choke on. She gasped, her heart hammering against her ribs like a bird battering the bars of a cage.
"It was just a dream," she whispered, her voice a jagged tremor. "Just a dream."
"Was it?"
The deep, gravelly voice vibrated from the corner. Lisa jumped, nearly sliding off the massive silk-draped bed. Silvio sat in a leather armchair, half-hidden by the gloom. He had discarded his suit jacket; his white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled high to reveal the dark ink of tattoos crawling up his forearms. In his hand, a glass of amber liquid glinted.
"How long have you been sitting there?" she hissed, clutching the duvet to her chest.
Silvio stood, his movements fluid and predatory. He didn't offer an answer. He moved toward the bed, the floorboards silent beneath his heavy boots. When he reached the edge, he didn't loom over her with his customary coldness. He sat. The mattress dipped under his weight, and the scent of expensive bourbon and sandalwood enveloped her.
"You were screaming," he said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "You sound like someone who has seen the devil, Lisa."
"I live in his house, don't I?" she shot back, though the usual bite was missing.
Silvio’s eyes darkened, but he didn't snap. Instead, he reached out. Lisa flinched, bracing for a harsh grip, but his hand stopped mid-air. He hesitated a rare crack in the Don’s armour before resting his palm against her forehead. His skin felt burning hot against her cold sweat.
"You're shaking," he noted. He set his glass on the nightstand and did the unthinkable. He reached behind her, adjusted a pillow, and propped it up so she could lean back. Then, he pulled the heavy comforter up to her chin, tucking her in as if she were a precious heirloom rather than a prisoner of war.
"Why are you doing this?" Lisa whispered, searching his eyes. "You told me I was just a tool. A way to get to my father."
Silvio leaned closer. In the moonlight filtering through the curtains, his sharp features looked less like a weapon and more like a tragedy. "You are. But a tool is useless if it breaks." He paused, his thumb brushing her cheekbone. It was a light touch, barely there, but it sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core. "And you look like you’re shattering."
Lisa felt a lump form in her throat. She had spent weeks bracing for his cruelty, his anger, his ice. She was prepared for a monster, but she wasn't ready for this strange, monstrous kindness. It was harder to fight than his hate.
"I'm fine," she lied, her voice cracking.
"You're a terrible liar, little bird." Silvio’s hand moved to the back of her neck, pulling her gently toward him.
She should have recoiled. She should have thought about Dante, or the secret growing in her womb, or the fact that his family loathed her very existence. But the room was so cold, and he was so warm. When her forehead finally rested against his shoulder, she exhaled a breath she felt she’d been holding since the day she was sold.
Silvio didn't push for more. He didn't try to take her. He simply held her, his large hand rubbing slow, grounding circles into her back. The silence shifted. It wasn't the suffocating quiet of a cage anymore; it felt like a shield.
"I won't let them hurt you," he muttered into her hair, his voice so low she almost missed it. "Not your father. Not the snakes in this city. Nobody touches what is mine."
Lisa closed her eyes, a single tear escaping. The irony was a physical ache. She was starting to feel safe in the arms of the man who would be her greatest enemy if the truth ever came out. She was falling for the jailer while carrying a ghost's child.
His grip tightened slightly, his nose brushing her temple. The air grew charged, the "kindness" warping into something hungrier, something primal. Silvio pulled back just enough to look at her lips. Lisa’s breath hitched. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and for a terrifying moment, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drown the fear with his fire.
But then, a sharp pain flared in her stomach a reminder. The baby. The lie.
She stiffened, pulling back. The spell shattered instantly. Silvio’s expression shuttered, the warmth vanishing behind his usual mask of ice. He stood up abruptly, smoothing his shirt.
"Get some sleep," he said, his voice returning to its cold, commanding edge. "The doctor comes tomorrow. If you’re sick, I want to know why."
He turned and walked toward the door without looking back. As the door clicked shut, Lisa sank into the pillows, trembling harder than before. She had felt a spark tonight, a connection more real than anything she’d ever shared with Dante.
But as she touched her stomach, reality settled in. Silvio Moretti was starting to care for her, and that was the most dangerous thing that could happen. Because when a man like Silvio found out he’d been protecting a lie, his mercy would turn into a massacre.
She lay there in the dark, the "Golden Shackle" feeling heavier than ever. She was no longer just a prisoner of the Moretti family; she was a prisoner of her own heart.