The Devil's Doll

CAGE

Lina Rosetti

A got shot was heard .I saw a man in front of the window collapsing on the floor.Smoke still clung to the air. The dining room table was overturned, glasses shattered like broken ice across the marble floor. My chest rose and fell too fast, lungs desperate for air that wouldn't burn.

And then there was him.

Zane still had the gun in his hand. His shoulders were coiled steel, his jaw clenched so hard I swore I heard the grind of his teeth. His men moved around him-checking corners, dragging bodies-but he didn't look at any of them.

He only looked at me.

"Tesoro..."

My name wasn't there. Just that word. That claim. His voice was low, rough, threaded with something I hadn't heard before-fear.

I swallowed hard. "You-saved me."

The corner of his mouth twitched, like it was supposed to be a smirk. But it never made it.
Instead, he shoved the gun into one of his guard's hands and closed the distance between us.

I thought he'd yell. Demand why I'd frozen. Why I hadn't listened when he told me to keep my head down.

Instead, his hands gripped my arms. Too tight. Like he was checking that I was solid, not smoke about to vanish.

"You're bleeding," he muttered.

I glanced down. A slice across my forearm, glass or maybe a stray bullet. I hadn't even noticed.

"It's nothing-"

He cut me off with a look. "Don't."

And then I was moving-no, he was moving me-out of the room, away from the mess of blood and marble and bodies. Up the stairs, down the hall, into his room.

The door slammed shut.

For the first time since the shots fired, silence wrapped around us.

---

He disappeared into the bathroom, returned with a first-aid kit. No gloves. No hesitation. Just Zane, kneeling in front of me on the edge of his bed, the sight so foreign it made my throat close.

"Hold still."

I did. I couldn't do anything else.

His fingers were steady as they cleaned the cut, but his jaw was tight, his eyes dark. Every dab of antiseptic felt like fire, but not from the wound-from the way his hand lingered just a second too long.

"You think I can't tell when you're scared?" he asked finally, voice quiet.

My breath hitched. "I wasn't-"

"Don't lie to me."

My eyes snapped to his. The steel in them should have scared me. But it didn't. It burned.

"You're not supposed to care," I whispered.

For a moment, the world went still. His hand froze halfway to the bandage. His eyes dropped to my lips, then dragged back up with a heat that stole every inch of air from my lungs.

"I don't," he said.
But his voice was too rough. Too raw.

He wrapped the bandage, tied it off, and finally let his hands fall. But he didn't step back.

Instead, he leaned in. Close enough that I felt the whisper of his breath against my temple.

"Next time someone tries to touch you, Lina..." His lips brushed the shell of my ear, lethal and soft all at once.
"...I'll paint the floor with their blood."

My heart stuttered. His words weren't a promise. They were a threat dressed like devotion.

And for the first time, I realized-
I wasn't sure which one I wanted more.

I couldn't sleep.

The house had gone still, shadows stretching long across the walls, but my body refused to rest. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the gunfire-flashes of light, the sound tearing through me. And Zane's voice. Low. Possessive. Promising veins.

I sat on the bed, knees tucked to my chest, staring at the door he'd locked from the outside.

A cage with silk sheets.

The faint murmur of voices carried from the hall. Guards posted. His orders.

My pulse raced at the thought of him just outside-like the air itself bent toward where he was. It was infuriating. And terrifying. And worse than both-it was addictive.

---

The handle turned.

I flinched, heart jumping into my throat, but it wasn't a guard.

It was him.

Zane stepped in, jacket gone, black shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He didn't say anything at first, just leaned back against the door after shutting it behind him. Watching me.

The silence pressed in.

"What do you want?" I snapped, hugging myself tighter.

His head tilted, a ghost of amusement sparking in those dark eyes. "You."

My breath stuttered. He said it too easily, too flat, like it was fact, not desire.

"You think I'm something you can own?" I spat.

He pushed off the door and came closer, slow, deliberate, each step sinking into me like a warning. "I don't think, tesoro. I know."

My throat went dry.

He stopped just short of the bed, close enough that the heat of him reached me, close enough that the sharp scent of gunpowder and cologne lingered in my lungs.

"You locked me in," I accused.

"To keep you alive." His tone carried no apology. Only steel. "Do you know what happens to girls who think they're free in this world? They end up dead in alleys, forgotten. I don't forget."

The words sliced through me, leaving a shiver in their wake. I wanted to scream, to push him back. But instead my voice came out a whisper.

"And what happens to the girls you keep?"

His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes-dark, unreadable, dangerous.

"They live."

The answer wasn't tender. It wasn't kind. But it was true.

---

His hand came up, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. My pulse thundered at the touch, every nerve sparking to life. He didn't push further. Didn't kiss me.

Just lingered.

"Sleep, Lina." His voice was softer now, almost coaxing. "The world is uglier than you know. You'll need your strength."

And then he turned, heading for the door again, leaving me burning, trembling, aching at the absence.

He paused with his hand on the handle.

"Don't dream of running," he said without looking back. "You'll only run into me."

The door clicked shut, and the cage grew darker.

But the truth was cruel and sharp in my chest.

I didn't know if I wanted to escape him anymore.