The elevator ride stretched into eternity. A soft hum filled the air, broken only by the metallic whisper of cables pulling them higher and higher. Lottie kept her eyes fixed on the polished steel doors, refusing to look at the man standing just inches from her.
She could feel him anyway—every breath, every shift of muscle beneath that dark suit. He stood as though carved from stone, unshaken by the storm, by grief, by her. The kind of man who could command a room without a word. The kind of man she had promised herself never to fall into orbit around.
When the doors opened, the scent of leather and cedarwood spilled out, followed by a wash of golden light.
The penthouse spread before her like something from another world. High ceilings arched above walls of glass that overlooked the glittering sprawl of New York. The city blinked and pulsed beneath them, alive and unrelenting, a kingdom at Gabe Cavelli's feet.
Lottie froze at the threshold, her throat tightening. Luxury dripped from every surface: dark marble floors, steel-framed shelves lined with old-world books, the sleek lines of Italian leather furniture arranged around a fire that burned steadily in the hearth.
It was beautiful. Impeccable. A fortress disguised as elegance.
And she hated it instantly.
Her heels clicked against the floor as she stepped inside, her arms wrapping around herself. "So this is the cage."
Behind her, Gabe closed the door with a soft thud, his voice smooth but edged. "It's not a cage, Lottie. It's a shield."
She turned sharply, eyes flashing. "Funny, it looks the same."
Before he could answer, a figure appeared from the far hallway—a man in his mid-thirties, broad-shouldered, with a neatly trimmed beard and a sharp gaze that missed nothing. He wore the uniform of men like Gabe: tailored suit, concealed weapon just visible beneath the fabric.
"Boss." He inclined his head to Gabe, then let his eyes flick briefly to Lottie. Respectful, but alert. "Everything's secure. Sweep was clean. No tails."
"Good," Gabe said. He gestured slightly toward Lottie. "This is Charlotte Rossi. She's under my protection now. Nothing and no one touches her."
The man gave a curt nod. "Understood."
Lottie bristled, glaring at Gabe. "You make it sound like you're announcing a new acquisition."
The faintest shadow of a smirk crossed his lips. "That's because in this world, protection is a declaration. Everyone needs to hear it loud and clear."
Her stomach twisted. She hated how casually he said it, how easily he folded her life into his empire as though it were an inevitability.
The other man extended a hand. "Marco Esposito. Security detail."
She hesitated, then shook it briefly, her palm clammy. His grip was firm, professional, but there was something behind his eyes—a quiet understanding. As if he knew this wasn't what she wanted, but that wanting didn't matter.
Marco excused himself, disappearing into another room. Lottie exhaled, tension draining only slightly.
She turned back to Gabe. "I'm not staying here. I have my own life. My own apartment."
"You had one," he corrected. His gaze was steady, unyielding. "That life ended the second Daniel did. You need to understand that."
Her chest tightened at the mention of her brother, grief slamming into her like a wave. "Don't you dare use him against me."
Something flickered in his eyes, softer than steel. He stepped closer, his voice lowering. "I'm not. But if Daniel were here, he'd tell you the same thing. You're not safe on your own, Lottie. And I promised him I'd keep you safe."
Her throat burned. She wanted to scream, to break, to throw his words back in his face. But deep down, she couldn't. Not when she remembered Daniel's late-night warnings, his half-spoken fears. Not when she remembered the way he had looked at her, as though he knew his world might consume him and leave her behind.
She swallowed hard, turning away to hide the tears threatening to spill.
The city lights shimmered through the glass walls, distant and unreachable. She pressed a palm to the cool surface, her reflection pale and ghostlike against the skyline.
"I don't belong here," she whispered.
"No," Gabe agreed quietly behind her. "You don't. But as long as I'm breathing, nothing in this city touches you."
The conviction in his tone sent a shiver through her—not fear, but something far more dangerous.
Hours later, the penthouse felt both too vast and too suffocating.
Lottie sat curled on the leather sofa, a glass of untouched wine at her side. The fire crackled, throwing shadows that danced across the room. Gabe had retreated to his office down the hall, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
But solitude didn't bring peace.
Every creak of the building, every shift of wind against the windows made her tense. The weight of unseen eyes pressed down on her, a reminder of the predators circling outside these walls.
Her mind replayed the funeral: Richard Vitale's smirk, Veronica Caruso's scarlet smile. Their gazes had been promises, not condolences. Promises that Daniel's death was not the end of her story, but the beginning of theirs.
A shiver coursed through her.
When the office door opened, she startled, her glass clinking against the table. Gabe stepped into the room, jacket removed, shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms. His presence filled the space, commanding without effort.
"You should get some rest," he said.
"I can't sleep here." Her voice was flat, brittle.
His brow lifted. "Because it's unfamiliar, or because it's mine?"
Her jaw clenched. "Both."
He studied her for a moment, then moved closer, his steps unhurried. He stopped just in front of her, his shadow falling across her.
"I won't apologize for protecting you," he said, voice low but firm. "You can hate me for it. You can fight me on it. But I won't let you put yourself in the ground next to your brother."
The words hit her like a blow, grief and fury colliding in her chest. She stood abruptly, her fists clenched at her sides.
"You think this is protection?" Her voice trembled with raw emotion. "This is suffocation. I can't breathe in here, Gabe. You've locked me in your glass palace and called it mercy."
His eyes darkened, a storm gathering there. He stepped closer, closing the space between them until the air vibrated with tension.
"You think the city cares about your breath, Lottie? You think Richard or Veronica will let you live just because you ask nicely? This isn't about comfort. It's about survival."
Her heart hammered against her ribs, his nearness both terrifying and magnetic. She wanted to push him away, to scream at him until her voice broke. But her body betrayed her—every nerve alive, every breath shallow.
For one dizzying moment, she thought he might kiss her.
But he didn't.
Instead, he stepped back, his expression unreadable. "Get some rest," he repeated. "Tomorrow, we talk about what comes next."
And just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving her trembling in the firelight, her body aching with confusion.
She hated him. She feared him.
But worst of all—she needed him.