Chapter 10 Golden Cage

JEREMY

The hangover had finally faded by mid-afternoon, but the shame lingered.

I sat in my father's study—my study, technically, since he'd given me the east wing office when I turned twenty-five—staring at paperwork that blurred together. Shipping manifests. Import licences. All legitimate on the surface, all covering for the real business happening underneath.

The Santoro family empire. Built on blood and violence and strategic alliances.

And I was supposed to inherit all of it.

"You look like shit."

I glanced up to find my uncle Antonio leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, that perpetual smirk on his face.

"Good morning to you too," I muttered.

"It's three in the afternoon, nephew." He walked in without invitation, settling into the chair across from my desk. "Long night?"

I didn't answer. He already knew where I'd been—Antonio knew everything that happened in this family.

"Crimson, wasn't it?" he continued. "Marco's place. You know your father doesn't like you drinking on neutral territory. Makes you vulnerable."

"I needed space."

"From what? Your responsibilities? Your fiancée?" His eyes glittered with mockery. "Or from the expectations you keep failing to meet?"

My jaw clenched. "Was there something you wanted, Uncle? Or did you just come here to criticise?"

"I came to remind you that we have a meeting tonight. The Castellano family. Finalising details for the spring merger." He leaned forward. "You and Victoria need to present a united front. Can you manage that, or will you be too busy getting drunk and feeling sorry for yourself?"

The merger. Right. That was the sole purpose of my engagement—a business transaction.

"I'll be there," I said flatly.

"Good. Because your father is getting tired of making excuses for you." Antonio stood, adjusting his cuffs. "We all are."

He left, and I sat there in the silence, my hands clenched into fists.

You're too soft. You're not ready. You're a disappointment.

I'd been hearing variations of those words my entire life.

My phone buzzed. A text from Victoria: Dinner at 7. Don't be late. And try to look like you actually want to marry me.

I typed back: I'll do my best.

Her response was immediate: That's what worries me.

I arrived at Castellano Manor at exactly seven o'clock.

The estate was massive—even larger than the Santoro compound. Antonio Castellano had built his empire in real estate and construction, all of it legitimate enough to pass inspection. The dirty money was buried so deep even the feds couldn't find it.

And now our families were joining forces, sealed with the marriage of his daughter to the Santoro heir.

Lucky me.

Victoria met me at the door, stunning in a navy dress that probably cost more than most people make in a month. Her dark hair was swept up, her makeup perfect, and her smile bright and completely fake.

"Darling," she said loudly enough for anyone nearby to hear, then leaned in to kiss my cheek. As her lips brushed my skin, she whispered, "Try not to look miserable."

"I could say the same to you," I murmured back.

We walked into the dining room arm in arm, the picture of a happy couple.

My father was already seated, talking business with Antonio Castellano. Victoria's mother, Maria, was there, as was Victoria's younger brother, Marco—not to be confused with the bar owner, though the coincidence had caused confusion more than once. So people call him MC.

"Jeremy!" Antonio Castellano boomed, standing to shake my hand. "Good to see you, son. Soon to be my son-in-law, eh?"

"Looking forward to it, sir," I lied smoothly.

Victoria's hand tightened on my arm. A warning. Or maybe just solidarity—we were both trapped in this charade.

We sat through dinner making small talk. Business ventures and territorial agreements: which families were gaining power and which were losing it. My father and Antonio discussed the spring wedding as if Victoria and I weren't even there.

"May," my father was saying. "A spring wedding. Symbolic of new growth, new alliances."

"Perfect," Maria agreed. "We'll need to start planning immediately. The venue, the guest list—"

"Perhaps we should ask the actual couple what they want," Victoria interrupted, her voice sweet but with an edge.

Everyone turned to look at us.

"What do you want, sweetheart?" her father asked indulgently.

Victoria's smile didn't waver. "Whatever makes our families happy, of course."

The right answer. The expected answer.

But I caught the flash of something in her eyes—resentment, maybe. Or just exhaustion from playing this role.

I knew the feeling.

"Jeremy?" My father's voice carried expectation. "Your thoughts?"

"I trust Victoria's judgement," I said. "Whatever she wants is fine with me."

Another lie. Another brick in the wall we were building between us.

The conversation moved on. More planning, more business.

Under the table, Victoria's foot tapped an impatient rhythm. I recognised the tell; she wanted this dinner over as badly as I did.

Finally, after dessert, coffee, and what felt like hours of performances, the parents retreated to Antonio's study to finalise some contract details.

Victoria grabbed my hand. "Terrace. Now."

We escaped through the French doors onto the sprawling back terrace. The moment we were out of earshot, Victoria dropped my hand like it burnt.

"God, I hate these dinners," she breathed, pulling out a cigarette and lighter from somewhere in her dress.

"You smoke?" I asked.

"Only when I have to pretend to be in love with you." She lit up and took a long drag. "No offence," she said.

"None taken," I answered nonchalantly.

We stood in silence for a moment. The night air was cold but preferable to the suffocating atmosphere inside.

"You look distracted," Victoria said finally. "More than usual."

I shrugged. "Just tired."

"Bullshit. I've known you since we were kids, Jeremy. Something's different." She studied me through the smoke. "You met someone."

My spine stiffened. "What?"

"You met someone. Some girl who's got you all twisted up." She laughed, but there was no humour in it. "Jesus, finally."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I denied it.

"Please. You've been going through the motions for years, trying to make this work even though we both know it's bullshit. But tonight? You can barely focus. You keep checking your phone. And, you haven't looked at me once with anything except relief that I'm not actually interested in you."

Yes, Victoria, I am not interested in your bullshit and lecturing. Can you excuse me now?. I left before she even opened her mouth. I know Victoria; she can be nice as well as corny, and I am not ready to let her ruin my evening.