Page 16 of Cage the Storm
I’ve been staring at the same stack of papers for God knows how fucking long when the claustrophobia hits hard. And I knowfrom experience, when that happens, I need to change my focus. Fast.
I run my fingers through my hair in frustration as I push away from the desk. Sitting has never been one of my strengths, and if I don’t move, the pressure of everything will come crashing down around me. So, I slip out of my office and down the hall, undetected.
When I reach the secret door to the wine cellar, the air instantly changes. I gently press my hand against the thick wood before pushing it open. The scent of aged oak and damp stone fills my lungs as I make my way down the stairs.
Inside, the women are scattered in small clusters, their eyes flick toward me before darting away. I don’t expect gratitude, nor do I seek it. I know what I represent to them. A man in power. A man who, by all accounts, should be their enemy. But the truth is far messier than that.
“How are they?” I ask as I turn to the caretaker, overseeing their needs.
She looks up from where she’s kneeling beside one of the women, wrapping a blanket around frail shoulders. “Still scared,” she answers honestly. “But alive. And that’s more than they expected.” More than they expected. The words gnaw at something deep inside of me.
I crouch down near a woman sitting closest to me; she’s tense, and her eyes are rimmed with exhaustion. She doesn’t recoil, but she doesn’t meet my gaze either. “You’ll be safe here.”
She says nothing. Since we both know safety is a fragile, fleeting thing in this world. But I’ve made a promise. And for as long as I breathe, I intend to keep it.
The distinct scent of antiseptic greets me as I step into the infirmary. There’s an occasional clink of metal and hushed voices as they check their patients. Antonio and two nurses arestanding near a metal table, their expressions grim, and I know, before they even speak, that something’s wrong.
“Tell me,” I say. The words come out clipped and harsher than I intended.
“Three of them didn’t make it; their injuries were too extensive, and with the dehydration, well, their bodies just couldn’t recover.”
The room spins, and I grip the back of a chair to steady myself. My chest burns with emotions I can no longer contain. Anger, guilt, frustration. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not on my watch.
“And the others?” I manage, keeping my voice in check.
“Stable, for now,” Antonio replies. “But they’ll need time, physically and emotionally. A lot of time.”
This is my fault. My brother’s empire and my family’s legacy all lead back to me. And I failed them, those three women. Their faces and names, I’ll never know, will haunt me for the rest of my life.
“Thank you, I’ll send Mateo to dispose of them properly.” The hallway seems endless as each step feels heavier than the last. Three lives lost—three lives I couldn’t save. And the worst part is, I know there could be more.
The weight of the news presses down with every step as I return to the main hall. Mateo’s waiting for me near the entrance, calming me in ways I can’t explain. Perhaps it’s just unquestionable loyalty or a familiar presence that brings me a sense of peace.
“Three didn’t make it,” I confess. “I need you to handle the cremation.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he replies, without hesitating.
I watch as he turns to leave, and I consider following him, but I know Mateo will ensure the job is done with the utmost respect. Even if the world they lived in never offered them any.
Now I’m desperate for something to fill this void that’s buried deep inside of me. Somewhere quiet where I can think and forgive myself for something I had no control over. I did the best I could within the allotted time.
I step into the library, and the scent of old books and polished wood soothes something restless inside of me. It reminds me of being eight, curled up in the corner with a battered copy ofOliver Twistin my lap. Words were my escape. Peace meant I was safe.
Maybe that’s why I ended up here. Not by intention, just instinct. I needed a diversion. And then I see her. Luna, sitting by the window with her nose buried in a book. Probably some romance about happily ever after. That doesn’t exist in this house.
“Hiding from the world, Luna?” I ask. She doesn’t even blink. Instead, she lifts her gaze, her eyes locking onto mine with an infuriating calm.
“Not hiding.” A pause. “That’s your specialty, isn’t it?”
Heat rises in my chest at her words, but I push it down. Forcing myself to stay composed as I step closer. I can’t help wondering if this is how things will always be between us—an endless push and pull, where every word cuts like a knife.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LUNA
The pressure coils around me,like his hand around my throat. I tell myself to look away, to sever that invisible pull that tightens with each passing second. But my gaze refuses to budge, locked onto his. There’s something there, undeniable and explosive, curling behind the carefully crafted mask he wears. It’s raw and restless, and I see the way he fights to keep it hidden. He steps closer, and every inch of him screams danger. But I hold my ground, daring him to come closer.
“Careful, Nicolai. Come any closer and I might think you’ve got something to say.”
