"A Cage with Velvet Walls"

Morning crept in slowly, bleeding through a narrow split in the velvet curtains. Elián lay stiff on the bed, fully dressed in last night’s tuxedo, eyes open, unmoving.

He hadn’t slept.

He couldn’t—not with Luca just inches away.

The Don had slept like a man with nothing to fear. One arm slung over the sheets, chest rising in steady rhythm, lips parted slightly as if even in sleep, he commanded the room.

Elián shifted slowly, sitting up.

He watched Luca’s face for any movement, then swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

Quiet.

Careful.

His bare feet touched the cold marble floor.

But the moment he reached for his jacket, a voice cut through the silence.

“You’re an early riser.”

Elián turned.

Luca was still in bed, eyes now open, staring at him with unsettling calm.

“I didn’t sleep,” Elián replied.

Luca pushed himself upright with a stretch. “Good. Rest makes you soft.”

Elián stood. “So does captivity.”

Luca gave a dry smile. “Captivity implies bars. You’re free to roam the estate. There are rules, of course. Don’t go near the vault. Don’t speak to my men without permission. Don’t try to escape.”

“Escape?” Elián repeated, walking slowly toward the tall wardrobe in the corner. “Is that what your last... spouse did?”

Luca tilted his head. “You think I’ve done this before?”

“I think men like you never marry without motive.”

“And men like you never shut up,” Luca murmured. “Get dressed. You have an appointment.”

Elián narrowed his eyes. “With who?”

“Tailor. And photographer.”

Elián scoffed. “What is this, a magazine cover?”

“No,” Luca said. “A public statement. Photos of us together—your face beside mine. It's already trending.”

Elián’s stomach turned.

“You can’t manipulate everyone with a photo.”

“I don’t need everyone,” Luca said simply. “Just enough to keep the wolves in line.”

Elián grabbed a black button-down shirt from the wardrobe, ignoring the dozens of tailored options clearly picked for him.

“And what am I supposed to do?” he asked, voice tight. “Smile and pretend you didn’t threaten my life?”

Luca stood and moved behind him, close enough that Elián could feel the warmth of his breath.

“No. I want you to pretend you want to be here,” he said quietly. “There’s a difference.”

Elián didn’t move.

“I could kill you,” he said softly.

“I know,” Luca replied. “That’s what makes this interesting.”

......................

The estate’s courtyard was sprawling and lush, framed by thick ivy and marble columns. A fountain bubbled in the center, its water dyed red by choice or nature—Elián wasn’t sure which.

The photographer adjusted his camera while the stylist fussed with his collar. Luca stood beside him, dressed in an immaculate three-piece suit, hand resting lightly at Elián’s lower back.

The pressure of that hand was a warning.

Elián kept his face neutral as the flash went off.

“This is all for show,” he muttered between shots.

“Of course it is,” Luca replied. “But shows have power.”

Elián turned his head slightly, just enough that their faces were nearly touching in the next frame.

“You want power?” he whispered. “Then watch me become the best lie you’ve ever told.”

Luca’s smirk was barely visible. “Lie well, marito.”

......................

Later that afternoon, Elián wandered the halls alone. Luca had vanished for a meeting, guards posted at every other corner like living statues.

He wasn’t stupid. This house was beautiful—but every inch was a trap. He needed to map it, understand it, exploit it.

By dinner, he’d memorized five exits, two blind spots in the security cameras, and the shape of the knife drawer in the kitchen.

He’d play the husband.