Cage the Storm (The Caputo Brotherhood #1)

Prologue

Luna

I was an eighteen-year-old virgin when I was dropped off at the Caputo mansion like a lamb to slaughter.

An arranged marriage to Giovanni, sealed by handshakes between men who valued bloodlines more than consent.

They told me I was lucky. Eighteen, married into legacy, protected for life.

Protected from what, exactly? From dreaming?

From choosing? From being mine before I became someone else’s?

Do you want to know what it’s like living in that house? It’s like holding your breath for three years and convincing yourself that breathing would be disrespectful.

My every step felt choreographed—walk here, wait there, speak only when spoken to.

You start by wearing the dresses they pick out for you.

You sit where they tell you. You memorize which words won’t get you corrected.

Then one day, you realize you’re second-guessing every move, like your body isn’t yours anymore.

You swallow the things that matter most just to stay safe, until you forget what your own voice sounds like when it isn’t asking permission.

Giovanni didn’t have to scream or make a scene.

He had other ways. Quiet ones. Dark ones.

The kind that left bruises where no one would look.

He used me—physically, emotionally, like I was property wrapped in flesh.

And everyone pretended not to see it. That’s the part that messes with you the most. Not the pain itself, but knowing it was sanctioned.

Expected. I wasn’t a wife. I was a prisoner.

They thought I’d break. That if they trapped me long enough, I’d forget how to claw my way out.

But if you corner any creature long enough, its instincts kick in.

They don’t retreat; they fight back. I wasn’t defiant because I wanted drama.

I became rebellious because it was the only thing I had left.

I’d either vanish completely or make myself heard.

And now that Giovanni’s dead, I’m being passed down to the next in line. His brother, Nicolai. The new boss of the Caputo empire. As if I hadn’t already spent years just trying to survive.

He’s quieter. Smarter. Scarier, maybe, because he’s patient. He doesn’t posture the way Gio did. He waits. And he looks at me like he sees . That’s almost worse.

So tomorrow, I’ll put on that damn wedding dress. Not because I want to. Because I was told to.

But this time, I swear… I won’t go quietly.