Chapter 3 - THE OFFER YOU CANNOT AFFORD TO REFUSE
The back of Valentino Duca’s armored Maybach was completely silent, insulated from the Manhattan traffic outside by three inches of ballistic glass and reinforced steel.
Becca sat between Clara and Sophie, while Mia sat firmly plastered against her side, clutching the hem of Becca's black server vest as though it were a lifeline tossed into an open ocean. The girls had stopped screaming, but their tiny hands were clammy, their breathing shallow and rapid. Every time Becca tried to gently pry Sophie’s fingers away to adjust her seatbelt, the little girl’s grip tightened until her knuckles turned translucent white.
Across from them sat Valentino. He had removed his jacket, revealing the holster strapped across his chest. He wasn't looking out the window. He was staring at Becca with the intensity of an interrogator trying to crack an impossible code.
"Who do you work for?" he asked. The question was delivered flatly, without emotion, which made it infinitely more terrifying.
"I work for Philippe," Becca said, her voice trembling slightly before she caught herself. "At least, I did until twenty minutes ago. Now I assume I'm unemployed."
"Do not play games with me, Miss Angelo," Valentino said. "My security team ran your name before we cleared the curb. Rebecca Marie Angelo. Age twenty-six. Born in Queens. Parents deceased in a house fire eleven years ago. You entered the foster system with a younger brother, Leo Angelo. You aged out at eighteen; he was separated into another placement. You attended New York University for three years majoring in Pediatric Developmental Disorders with an emphasis on trauma-induced non-verbal conditions. You dropped out six months ago with seventy-three thousand dollars in debt."
Becca’s heart thudded violently against her ribs. "You pulled all that in ten minutes?"
"I pulled that in three. What I cannot pull from a database is how a girl pouring tap water managed to make my daughters utter a word they haven't spoken since the night their mother died." Valentino leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Who gave you the triangle?"
"Nobody gave it to me!" Becca snapped, her protective instincts suddenly overriding her fear. She looked down at the three trembling heads resting against her ribs. "If your high-priced doctors actually paid attention to non-verbal cues instead of running brain scans and billing you ten grand an hour, they would know that traumatized children don't respond to pressure. They respond to structural containment. A triangle is the most rigid, stable polygon in geometry. It represents balance. I gave them a container they could understand with their hands, and it grounded them enough to access their vocal cords."
Valentino stared at her, his dark eyes narrowing. "And the word they spoke? *Snake*?"
Becca hesitated. "I don't know why they said that. But they didn't say it because of the peas. They said it because that man walked through the door."
A shadow fell over Valentino’s features, dark and unfathomable. "Julian Vance has been my brother in everything but blood since we were boys. He was Elena's dearest friend. He was the one who pulled Clara out of the water after the vehicle plummeted off the cliff. He has spent every week trying to bring them gifts, trying to comfort them."
"Then why do they look at him like he’s holding a butcher knife?" Becca countered, meeting his icy stare without flinching.
The silence stretched long and heavy. Outside, the city lights blurred into streaks of amber and crimson as the limousine swept north, leaving Manhattan behind and climbing into the heavily wooded, gated ridges of Westchester County.
The Maybach passed through towering wrought-iron gates topped with security cameras and armed guards, winding up a mile-long private driveway flanked by ancient, towering oaks. At the summit sat Duca Manor—a sprawling, gothic fortress of dark slate, granite, and floor-to-ceiling glass looking down over the black expanse of the Hudson River.
The car stopped under the grand portico. Valentino did not get out immediately. He looked at his daughters, who had finally fallen into an exhausted, twitching sleep against Becca’s torso.
"You owe seventy-three thousand four hundred and twelve dollars to the federal government and private lenders," Valentino said softly.
"I know what I owe," Becca said defensively.
"As of five minutes ago, your balance is zero."
Becca blinked, stunned. "What?"
"I bought your paper from the servicer. It’s paid in full. The deed to your apartment building? I own the holding company. Your eviction notice has been shredded." Valentino reached into his breast pocket, pulled out an embossed card, and laid it on the leather console between them. "I am offering you a contract. You will live here. You will be their private companion and behavioral rehabilitation specialist. You will receive twenty-five thousand dollars a month, deposited every first of the month. Your sole responsibility is to bring my daughters back to the living."
Becca’s head spun. It was life-changing money. It was freedom from the crushing weight that had been drowning her for five years. But she wasn't a fool.
"And if I find out why they called Julian Vance a snake?" she asked quietly. "What happens if the answer is something you don't want to hear?"
Valentino leaned in so close she could smell the cedarwood, leather, and smoke clinging to his collar. His eyes were cold, obsidian daggers.
"If someone hurt my family," Valentino whispered, "it doesn't matter who they are. I will tear their world apart piece by piece. But if you are lying to me, Miss Angelo—if you are part of a scheme to destabilize my company or leverage my children—there is no corner of this earth where you will be safe. Do we understand each other?"
Clara stirred in Becca’s lap, whimpering softly in her sleep. Becca gently brushed a stray dark curl away from the little girl's pale forehead.
May you like
"We understand each other perfectly, Mr. Duca," Becca said. "Now tell your men to carry their bags. They're shivering."
***
