The night stretched long, filled with restless silence and the occasional groan of the city beyond the glass walls. Lottie lay awake in the unfamiliar bed, her body stiff against silk sheets that smelled faintly of cedar and smoke. Every creak of the penthouse seemed amplified, her ears straining for sounds she couldn't name.
Sleep was impossible. Her mind replayed Gabe's words over and over: You don't have to trust me. You just have to stay alive.
Alive. The word tasted bitter.
She threw back the covers and rose quietly, padding barefoot across the cool marble floor. The city glittered beyond the glass, vibrant and merciless. From this height, the world looked small, almost manageable. But she knew better. Danger lurked in every shadow, waiting for her to stumble.
Her reflection stared back at her—pale, weary, framed by loose strands of dark hair. She didn't look like herself anymore. She looked like someone caught between two lives: the freedom she craved and the prison she couldn't escape.
Behind her, the faintest sound broke the silence. She turned sharply, her pulse spiking.
Gabe leaned in the doorway, sleeves rolled, hair damp from a recent shower. He studied her quietly, his presence filling the room without effort.
"You should be sleeping," he said.
"I can't." Her voice was soft but edged.
His eyes flicked to the city below. "The view doesn't help."
"It makes me feel like I'm not even part of it," she admitted before she could stop herself. "Like I'm locked away, watching life happen without me."
Something shifted in his expression, but he didn't argue. Instead, he crossed the room, stopping just behind her. Close enough that the heat of him brushed her skin, but not so close as to touch.
"You're not locked away," he said quietly. "You're above it. Safe."
She turned her head slightly, catching his reflection beside hers in the glass. "Safe doesn't feel like living."
His gaze held hers, dark and unreadable. For a heartbeat, the air thickened between them, the world narrowing to the steady rhythm of his breath and the wild pulse in her throat.
Then his phone buzzed, cutting through the moment like a blade.
Gabe pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen. His jaw tightened. Without a word, he stepped away, answering with a clipped tone.
"Talk."
Lottie couldn't hear the voice on the other end, but she saw the shift in Gabe's posture, the coiled tension in his shoulders. He ended the call quickly, sliding the phone back into his pocket.
"What is it?" she asked, her chest tightening.
"Nothing you need to worry about."
Her eyes narrowed. "That's not an answer."
His gaze cut to hers, sharp as glass. "It's late, Lottie. Go back to bed."
But she didn't move. Because in that moment, she understood—something had changed. Something had happened beyond these walls. And Gabe didn't want her to know.
Across the city, in a velvet-lined lounge dripping with smoke and shadows, Richard Vitale leaned back in his chair. His cigar glowed in the dim light, the smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling. The man had the look of a predator too comfortable in his den—thick shoulders, graying hair slicked back, a mouth fixed in a permanent sneer.
Veronica Caruso sat across from him, her long legs crossed, a glass of red wine poised delicately in her hand. She wore black silk like a second skin, her smile sharp as the knife strapped beneath her garter.
"You pushed too soon," she said, swirling her wine. "Cavelli will smell blood in the water if you're not careful."
Richard chuckled, his voice low and gravelly. "He already smells it. That's the point. Fear makes a man clumsy. And Cavelli's got something to lose now. The girl."
Veronica's smile widened, predatory. "Pretty little thing, isn't she? So fragile. So… claimable."
"She's leverage," Richard said simply, tapping ash into the tray. "Cavelli thinks keeping her in his tower makes her untouchable. But towers have doors. Guards slip. Walls crack. It's only a matter of time."
Veronica leaned forward, her eyes glittering. "And when it is time?"
Richard's smile was cold, merciless. "Then we'll take her. Piece by piece if we have to."
Veronica's laugh was low, sultry, but edged with steel. "You always did like breaking toys."
Richard exhaled smoke and shrugged. "And Cavelli always hated losing them."
By morning, the penthouse felt different.
Marco was already stationed near the door, his expression grim as he scanned the security feed. Two other men Gabe trusted lingered in the shadows of the living space, their silence speaking louder than words.
Lottie paused at the sight, frowning at the tension in the air.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"Nothing for you to worry about," Gabe said again, his voice firm, final.
She bristled. "You keep saying that. But I'm not blind, Gabe. Something happened."
His eyes flicked to hers, dark and unreadable. Then he exhaled slowly, as though conceding a battle he hadn't meant to fight.
"There was an incident near the building," he said finally. "One of Vitale's men tried to tail Marco on his way back. Sloppy, but deliberate."
Lottie's stomach dropped. "So they know I'm here."
"They've always known," Gabe said flatly. "This was just their way of saying hello."
Fear coiled through her chest, sharp and suffocating. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to steady the tremor in her hands. "And what happens when 'hello' turns into something worse?"
His gaze softened slightly, though his voice remained iron. "That's why you're here. Because if they want you, they'll have to go through me."
But reassurance didn't erase the unease that followed her through the day.
Every step in the penthouse echoed. Every shadow looked sharper than it had before. Even the glass walls seemed thinner, like they couldn't possibly keep the world out.
At lunch, she barely touched her food. At dinner, she caught herself jumping when the elevator chimed, even though no one but Gabe's men could come up unannounced.
It wasn't just fear. It was the realization that she was truly trapped. Out there was danger; in here was suffocating safety. Both cages, just built differently.
By evening, she found herself standing at the windows again, her hands pressed flat against the glass. Below, the streets thrummed with ordinary life—people laughing, rushing, living without the weight of predators circling them. She envied them with an ache so sharp it nearly doubled her over.
"You're restless," Gabe's voice came from behind her.
She turned, startled. He stood a few feet away, his tie loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled, the exhaustion in his features barely hidden.
"I can't live like this," she blurted. "Pacing around, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for them."
His jaw flexed. "And what would you prefer? That I let you walk right into their hands?"
"I'd prefer honesty." Her voice cracked, raw. "If I'm in danger, tell me. If they're coming for me, tell me. Don't keep me in the dark and expect me to just… obey."
For the first time, his composure wavered. He stepped closer, his eyes locked on hers. "Do you think I enjoy this? Locking you up here, watching you unravel? You think I don't see what it's doing to you?"
"Then stop!" she snapped, her hands trembling. "Stop playing god with my life."
The silence after her words was deafening. The two of them stood close, breathing hard, the city blazing behind them like a witness.
Finally, Gabe spoke, low and fierce. "I'm not playing god. I'm the only thing standing between you and ruin."
Her heart twisted, her chest aching with something she couldn't name—fear, longing, defiance. She hated him for the truth in his words. She hated herself more for needing him to say it.
Because in that moment, she knew—if the wolves were at the gate, Gabe Cavelli was the wall keeping them out. And walls, no matter how high, had cracks.