Nico’s jaw flexes, eyes flicking toward the hall. “Because everybody needs someone. Even in situations like yours.”
He doesn’t say prisoner. There’s no need to.
“I’m not—” My voice catches on the lie before it can form.
Nico tilts his head slightly. “Aren’t you?”
My stomach drops.
“Use it when you need it.” His voice lowers. “Not now. Cameras don’t cover the west hall bathroom. Bad wiring. Use that spot.”
My pulse spikes. “If Lorenzo finds out—”
“He won’t.” Nico’s mouth tightens. “And if he does, you didn’t get it from me.”
He steps back into the hall, already retreating like he knows staying longer makes him a target.
At the doorway, he pauses, eyes on mine. “Mrs. Amante.”
The title again—soft, cautious.
Then he’s gone.
I stand frozen with the burner in my hand, feeling the weight of it like a weapon I don’t know how to use.
A lifeline.
A trap.
A test.
I slip it into my pocket and force my legs to move, carrying myself upstairs like I’m not trembling under my skin.
My room is too big, too perfect, too wrong. Sunlight spills across the bedspread. Everything looks peaceful, but it’s a lie.
Nothing about this place is a paradise.
Blocked phone lines. Stopped at the doors. Eyes everywhere.
I don’t care what anyone says . . . this is my cage. Like my nickname,Little Bird.
The funny thing is that he thinks he can control me.
That he can keep the world from me.
But he doesn’t get to keep me from myself. I straighten slowly, making my spine harden.
He wants me contained.
He wants me compliant.
He wants me broken.
“No,” I whisper.
If Lorenzo Amante thinks he can trap me in this house, choke off my world, and call it protection—
He’s forgotten who he married.
