The next few weeks felt strange and suspended. I fell into a routine set by the four walls of the penthouse and the unyielding schedule of my two shadows, Marco and Julian. They were Leo's men—quiet, professional, and always there. They drove me to and from the university for my final exams, stood discreetly in the halls, and waited outside lecture rooms. They constantly reminded me that my life was no longer my own. While Aria seemed to accept her own security detail with tired resignation, I struggled under the constant watch. It felt like a brand, marking me as someone tied to the dangerous world of Dante Moretti.
Still, on the day my internship at Alistair & Finch began, I felt a bit of my old self come alive. Wearing a smart blazer and heels, carrying my briefcase, it felt like I was reclaiming a piece of my identity. This was *my* world. The world of torts and statutes, of justice and advocacy.
The firm's office was completely different from Dante's cold, steel-and-glass tower. It was in a historic building with warm, creaky wooden floors, walls filled with overflowing bookshelves, and the air thick with the smell of old paper and brewing coffee. It was a place of passionate chaos, where lawyers in slightly rumpled suits argued fervently over important cases—wrongful convictions, asylum seekers, corporate wrongdoing. It was everything I had ever wanted.
"Isabella Rossi, welcome aboard," said Mr. Henderson, the junior partner assigned to supervise me. He was a kind, busy man with glasses resting on the tip of his nose. "We'll start you off with research for the Rivera case. It's a big one—a group of farmers suing a multinational for polluting their water supply."
I couldn't hide my grin. A multinational. The irony was thick, but I didn't care. I was finally on the right side of the fight.
My security detail was as unobtrusive as Dante had promised. Marco waited in the lobby, posing as a driver, while Julian took up a post at a coffee shop across the street. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe. I dove into the work, spending hours in the firm's law library, cross-referencing cases and drafting memos. I fetched coffee, made copies, and completed every intern task with deep gratitude. This was real. This was earned. This was mine.
For two glorious weeks, I almost forgot the gilded cage I returned to each night. I would come home, exhausted but happy, and retreat to my room, building a wall of case files between myself and Dante's world. We barely spoke. I saw him in the evenings, a dark, brooding presence in the living area, always focused on a laptop or phone. We orbited each other like reluctant planets, a tense silence stretched between us. He never asked about my day, and I never offered any details. It was a quiet, unspoken agreement.
I was beginning to believe I had won. I had carved out a space for myself that he couldn't touch.
The illusion shattered on a Friday afternoon at the end of my second week. I was summoned to the office of Mr. Alistair, the firm's senior founding partner. He was a legal icon, a man in his late sixties with a mane of white hair and a reputation for being fierce in the courtroom. I walked into his large corner office, my heart racing with a mix of nervousness and excitement.
"Miss Rossi, please, have a seat," he said, his voice warm and cultured. He gestured to the leather chair in front of his grand, cluttered desk. "Mr. Henderson tells me you're doing exceptional work. Your research on the Rivera case was insightful, to say the least."
"Thank you, sir," I said, pride warming my cheeks. "I'm just happy to be contributing."
"Nonsense, you have a fine legal mind," he replied with a grandfatherly smile. "It's exactly the kind of talent we've been looking to support since our recent changes."
"Changes, sir?" I asked, confused.
"Yes," he said, leaning back in his chair. "A new primary shareholder bought a controlling interest in the firm about a month ago. A private investor who wishes to remain anonymous but has a real interest in funding our kind of work. His investment has allowed us to take on bigger cases, bigger corporations. It's been a blessing."
A chill ran up my spine. *A month ago. Private investor.*
"He's been particularly impressed with our new interns," Mr. Alistair continued, unaware of my internal fight. "In fact, he specifically mentioned you. He's very pleased with your placement here."
My mouth went dry. My blood ran cold. I knew, with a sickening certainty, what he was going to say next, but I had to hear it.
"Who… who is the new owner, sir?" I managed to ask, my voice shaking.
Mr. Alistair chuckled as if sharing a delightful secret. "Well, it's not public knowledge, but I suppose I can tell you. It's Mr. Moretti, of course. Dante Moretti. He said it was time he put his money towards something with a bit more… integrity."
The world tilted. Every breath of freedom I had taken for the past two weeks turned to poison. My victory, my hard-won compromise, my sacred space—it was all a lie. A carefully constructed illusion. He hadn't compromised. He hadn't agreed to my terms. He had simply bought the whole game. My law firm, my noble cause, my dream internship—it was just another one of his assets. Another room in the cage.
I don't remember what I said. I think I mumbled my thanks, stood up on shaky legs, and walked out of his office in a daze. The sympathetic smiles from the other lawyers felt like mockery. The scent of old books now reeked of betrayal.
I walked past my desk, grabbed my bag, and left the building without a word. Marco, seeing the look on my face, simply opened the car door.
The ride back to the penthouse was a blur of silent, volcanic fury. I didn't just hate him in that moment. I loathed him. I loathed his power, his money, and his suffocating control. When the private elevator doors opened into his penthouse, he stood there, as if he'd been waiting.
"How was your day?" he asked, his voice calm and even.
The question, so ordinary and utterly insincere, lit the spark.
"You didn't just buy my cage, Moretti," I spat, my voice trembling with rage as I approached him. "You bought the sky."