Chapter 4 - The Gilded Cage of Elm Street
The next three weeks were a blur of luxury and frustration for Daisy. She was confined to the guest wing of the Bianco estate, a sprawling suite of rooms that overlooked a private, manicured garden. A private physical therapist arrived every morning to treat her ankle, and the estate's chef delivered three meals a day that tasted like Michelin-starred art.
But Daisy was a woman used to working fourteen hours a day. Rest felt like a punishment.
By the fourth week, her ankle was strong enough to support her weight without pain. She limped into the grand study one evening, carrying her grandfather’s canvas bag and three bolts of expensive English wool she had requested Marco source for her.
Lorenzo was sitting behind his desk, surrounded by financial ledgers. He looked up, his eyes instantly tracking her movement.
"You're not limping," he noted, his voice dropping into that low register that always made her pulse quicken.
"The compression bandage worked," Daisy said, setting her bag down on the leather sofa. "And your therapist is a miracle worker. Now, Mr. Bianco, it’s time for me to earn my keep. Stand up. I need your measurements."
Lorenzo stood, his massive frame dominating the room as he stepped away from the desk. He had discarded his jacket, wearing only his white shirt and trousers.
Daisy pulled the old yellow measuring tape from her bag. She stepped close to him, her heart hammering against her ribs. To measure a man properly, a tailor had to enter his personal space. She had done it a thousand times with old men, young grooms, and neighborhood teenagers, but standing this close to Lorenzo Bianco felt entirely different.
She stepped behind him, wrapping the tape across his broad shoulders. Her chest brushed against his back, and she heard his breath hitch slightly.
"Forty-eight inches," she murmured, her voice trembling as she wrote the number down in her small notebook.
She moved to his front, stepping between his legs to measure his inseam. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, could smell the dark cedarwood cologne. As she reached up to place the tape at the top of his thigh, Lorenzo’s hand shot out, catching her wrist mid-air.
Daisy looked up, breathless. His face was inches from hers, his eyes dark, stormy, and heavy with a desire he had been suppressing for weeks.
"Daisy," he whispered, his grip on her wrist tightening just enough to communicate his power. "Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch you walk around my house for a month? To see your hips in those vintage dresses, to hear your laugh in the halls, and to know I cannot touch you because you think you’re here as a servant?"
"I am a tailor, Lorenzo," she whispered back, her full lips parting. "I’m here to pay a debt."
"The debt was paid the moment you walked through my door," Lorenzo growled, his other hand coming up to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her thick brown hair. "I don't want your grandfather's suits, Daisy. I want you. I want the woman who didn't blink when I broke a man's leg for her. I want the woman who looks at me and sees a man, not a monster."
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Before she could answer, his mouth came down on hers.
The kiss was everything she had feared and craved—brutal, possessive, yet intensely deep. Lorenzo pulled her full body against his, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her slightly until she was pressed flat against his hard chest. Daisy let out a soft groan, her measuring tape dropping to the floor as her arms wrapped around his neck, giving in completely to the storm.
