Chapter 7 - The Gilded Cage
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By the following evening, Vincent had cleared the entire top floor of his private Tribeca penthouse.
Arabella was transported from the hospital in an armored ambulance under an umbrella of armed tactical guards.
She refused a wheelchair the moment they reached the penthouse foyer, leaning heavily on Vincent’s arm instead.
Every step sent a sharp bolt of agony through her stitched abdomen, but she refused to show weakness in front of his guards.
Vincent practically carried her across the polished marble floor, his arm securely wrapped around her waist.
“You don't have to prove anything to anyone, Arabella,” he scolded her gently as they entered the master bedroom.
“I am walking into this room on my own two feet, Mr. Cavallo,” she retorted, breathless from the exertion.
“Even near death, you are the most stubborn creature on the planet,” he muttered, though admiration softened his sharp features.
He lowered her carefully onto the king-sized bed, propping three plush silk pillows behind her back.
The room was warm, filled with the scent of fresh white lilies and cedarwood from the lit fireplace.
On the bedside table sat a silver tray with hot chamomile tea, fresh broth, and her prescribed medications.
Arabella sank into the soft mattress, closing her eyes as a sigh of relief escaped her lips.
“This is your bedroom,” she said, opening her eyes to look around the masculine, slate-gray room.
“I should be in the guest suite.”
“You will stay right here where I can see you,” Vincent stated firmly, unbuttoning his vest.
“I am not leaving you alone in a room where someone can slip past a window.”
“You can't babysit me forever, Vincent.”
“I am not babysitting you, Arabella.”
He sat down on the edge of the mattress, his dark eyes intense and unyielding.
“I am keeping you alive because without you, this entire place turns into an empty tomb.”
Arabella looked at him, surprised by the raw vulnerability in his voice.
For six years, they had danced around an unspoken boundary.
She was the efficient secretary who kept his chaotic empire organized and shielded from legal ruin.
He was the untouchable mob boss who protected her from the shadows without ever crossing the professional line.
Now, the invisible wall between them had shattered into dust.
Vincent reached out, taking a small damp cloth from a bowl of warm water on the nightstand.
Gently, with infinite patience, he began wiping away the remaining traces of antiseptic from her neck.
Arabella froze under his touch.
His large, rough hands, known across the state for violence, were impossibly soft against her bruised skin.
“You don't have to do that,” she whispered, her heart skipping a beat.
“I want to,” he replied simply, his eyes focused entirely on her face.
“I should have protected you, Arabella.”
“I let you walk into the dark alone.”
“You didn't know,” she reasoned softly, her fingers lightly brushing his wrist.
“I chose to go.”
“Because of me.”
He leaned in, his breath warm against her temple, his voice dropping to a low, passionate rumble.
“Tomorrow night is the Five Families annual summit at the Plaza Hotel.”
Arabella stiffened.
“The summit where your political engagement to Sofia Moretti is supposed to be announced?”
Vincent’s expression turned venomous.
“Sofia Moretti was the mastermind behind your interrogation, Arabella.”
“She was the one who promised Marco half my territory if he eliminated you and cleared her path to my empire.”
Arabella’s breath caught in her throat.
“What are you going to do?”
Vincent smiled, a cold, terrifying smirk that sent a thrill of anticipation down her spine.
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“We are going to that dinner, Arabella.”
“Together.”
