Page 65 of Cage the Storm
That’s the lesson my father taught me before I was old enough to understand its meaning. And it’s a lesson I never forgot. Now, everything I’ve built, everything I’ve controlled, is changing.
Because of her.
I stand in my office, staring at the numbers, the reports, the names that will decide the future of this war. Loyalty isn’t assumed, it’s earned. And if we’re going to tear down Luna’s father, we need to secure it first.
When the door clicks open, I don’t bother turning around. I already know it’s Mateo. “She’s ready, isn’t she?” His voice is skeptical at best.
“Luna thinks she is.”
“Then you better make sure she is.”
“She’s not a damn soldier,” I growl. “She’s not supposed to be ready.” Mateo leans back, unfazed.
“Then why are you throwing her into a war?”
“She threw herself in the moment she married me.” I swirl the whiskey in my glass before downing it in one gulp. Setting it down a little louder than I’d like.
“Well, she believes it was her idea,” he argues.
“It had to be.” I’m so fucking agitated that I need to have this conversation with my capo.
“Do you think she’s ready?” I twist the wedding ring on my finger, reflecting.
“Luna doesn’t have to be. She just has to believe she is.” Neither of us says a word. Because we both know belief isn’t enough to win.
“She may carry your name,” Mateo states, “but your father-in-law’s men? They won’t lay down their guns just because you’re his son-in-law.”
He’s right. Some of those men have bled for my father-in-law, built their lives under his rule. They won’t abandon him—not for family or false promises.
“Then we don’t give them a choice.” My voice is final.
“That’s more like it.”
As soon as our meeting ends, I find Luna in the library. She’s curled into the chair with a book resting against her knee. But I know she isn’t reading. She’s thinking.
I lean against the doorframe, watching her for a fraction of a second before speaking. “Tomorrow, everything changes.”
“I know,” she says, lifting her gaze to mine.
“You haven’t stepped outside these walls in years. Not unless Gio was glued to your side and the guards were breathing down your neck.” She snickers, and her fingers tighten against the spine of the book.
“I’ve spent one thousand three hundred and ninety-five days in this prison, to be exact. But who’s counting?”
One thousand three hundred and ninety-five days.
She’s kept count, not out of desperation, but out of survival. A reminder, every day, of how long she’s been locked in a life she never chose.
“It wasn’t supposed to be a prison.” And yet, here we are. She huffs a quiet laugh, hollow but not cruel.
“Tell that to the eighteen-year-old virgin who wasn’t given a choice.” In a few short strides, I close the distance between us.
“You have a say now.” Her furious gaze meets mine.
“Do I?” I reach out, my fingers grazing her jaw.
“You wouldn’t be standing by my side if you didn’t.” This isn’t just a gala. This is her first real step into power. Into freedom. Into the life she finally gets to shape.
And she knows it.
