Chapter 2 - The Offer and the Estate
"I'm not going anywhere with you," I said firmly, my voice echoing through the quiet restaurant.
The bodyguards stiffened. The manager nearly fainted behind the counter. Nobody said no to Rico Moretti.
Rico paused, one foot already stepping out of the booth. He turned his head slowly, looking down at me with an unreadable expression. "I didn't ask for your permission, Miss Vance. My son is holding your apron. If you pull away from him right now, he will break again. Are you going to do that to him?"
I looked down. Leo’s little fingers were clutching my apron so tightly his knuckles were white. His little forehead was resting against my leg, his breathing slow and rhythmic. If I stood up and walked away, the terror would return instantly.
Rico had used my own empathy as a trap.
"Fine," I said, my teeth clenched. "I’ll walk him to your car. But that's all."
Five minutes later, I found myself stepping out into the chilly Manhattan night. A fleet of three blacked-out SUVs was idling at the curb. Marco opened the heavy armored door of the center vehicle.
I gently scooped Leo into my arms. He weighed almost nothing, his small body soft and exhausted. He nestled his face into the crook of my neck, clinging to my sweater. I stepped up into the back seat of the SUV, sitting on the custom leather interior. Rico slid in right beside me, closing the door.
The heavy glass shut out the sounds of the city. The SUV pulled away into the night.
"Ten thousand dollars a month," Rico said suddenly, looking out the blacked-out window.
I blinked, turning my head to glare at him in the dim interior light. "What?"
"Ten thousand a month," Rico repeated, turning his sharp profile to face me. "Live-in nanny. Governess. Whatever title makes you feel comfortable. You live at my estate in upstate New York. You take care of Leo. You bring him back to life."
"I have a job, Mr. Moretti," I said tightly. "I have an apartment. I have a life."
"You work eighteen hours a day at a mid-tier steakhouse to pay rent on a third-floor walkout in Queens," Rico said smoothly, pulling out a tablet. "Your mother died when you were ten. Your father died three years later. You have no living relatives, twelve hundred dollars in your savings account, and your landlord is raising your rent next month."
My blood ran cold. "You had your men look me up in five minutes?"
"In two minutes," Rico corrected coldly. "I don't leave variables around my son. You are a variable, Miss Vance. But you are also the first person in six months who made him feel safe. I will pay off your lease in Queens. I will triple your current income. You will have full authority over his care, his meals, and his schedule."
"And if I say no?" I challenged, leaning closer.
Rico’s grey eyes narrowed. A dark, terrifying aura seemed to fill the SUV. "If you say no, I will double the offer. And if you still say no, I will buy that restaurant tomorrow morning and fire you, so you have nothing better to do."
"You are unbelievable," I hissed.
"I am a father whose son is dying inside," Rico snapped back, his voice dropping into a harsh, fierce whisper. "I don't care about your pride, Clara. I care about my boy."
I looked down at Leo. He was fast asleep in my lap, his tiny hand resting over my wrist. The tight, agonizing tension in his face had completely melted away.
I took a deep breath. "Fifteen thousand a month," I said, glaring at the mafia boss. "And I have total authority over his daily routine. Your security guards don't intimidate him. Your men don't hover over his breakfast. And you... you talk to him like a human being, not a soldier."
For the first time that night, the ghost of a faint, dark smirk touched Rico’s lips. "Deal."
An hour later, the SUV passed through massive iron gates surrounded by twelve-foot stone walls topped with security cameras and armed guards.
The Moretti estate was a massive, gothic limestone mansion nestled deep inside a private forest in Westchester. It looked less like a home and more like a fortress. Dark, looming, and surrounded by shadows.
Marco opened the door. I stepped out, carrying the sleeping child, while Rico walked alongside me up the grand marble steps.
The grand foyer was vast, lit by a towering crystal chandelier. Standing at the foot of the sweeping staircase was a woman in her late fifties, wearing a stiff black dress, her gray hair pulled back into a bun so tight it pulled her eyes back.
This was Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper.
"Mr. Moretti," Mrs. Gable said stiffly, casting a disgusted look at my worn sneakers and server apron. "Who is this girl? And why is she carrying Master Leo?"
"This is Clara Vance," Rico said, removing his heavy overcoat and handing it to a butler. "She is Leo’s new primary caregiver. Her word in this house regarding Leo is absolute."
Mrs. Gable’s eyes flared with immediate resentment. "Absolute? Sir, I have managed this estate for twenty years. A common girl off the street cannot possibly know—"
"Mrs. Gable," I interrupted, stepping forward, holding Leo securely against my chest. "Show me to Leo’s room immediately. He needs a bed, not an audience."
Mrs. Gable looked like she had just swallowed glass. She looked to Rico for support, but Rico simply gestured toward the stairs with a cold wave of his hand.
"You heard her," Rico said flatly. "Show her the room."
I followed the furious housekeeper up the grand staircase, down a long hallway lined with dark oil paintings of grim-faced Moretti ancestors, until we reached a pair of double doors at the end of the wing.
The nursery was huge, filled with thousands of dollars worth of untouched toys, custom furniture, and expensive silk draperies. But it felt cold, sterile, and lonely.
I set Leo down on the large bed, carefully unlacing his tiny shoes. I pulled a warm cotton blanket over his shoulders.
As I turned to face Mrs. Gable, Rico walked into the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame, watching me silently.
"First rule, Mrs. Gable," I said, keeping my voice low. "Remove these heavy silk curtains tomorrow morning. He needs sunlight. Second, all these electronic toys go into storage. He’s overwhelmed, not bored. And third, I want a kettle, fresh milk, and simple cotton pajamas brought up here right now."
Mrs. Gable sneered. "I don't take orders from servants."
"She isn't a servant," Rico’s voice cut through the air like a blade. "She is Leo’s guardian. Do what she says, or turn in your keys tonight."
Mrs. Gable bowed her head stiffly, her jaw tight, and marched out of the room, slamming the door softly behind her.
I let out a long breath, running a hand through my hair. I looked over at Rico. "You don't need to treat your staff like enemy combatants."
"It’s the only language people in my world understand," Rico said, stepping into the room. He walked to the edge of the bed, looking down at his son’s sleeping face. For a brief second, the hard, lethal mafia king vanished, revealing a broken, grieving husband underneath.
"He used to laugh all the time," Rico murmured softly, his voice barely audible. "Before Isabella died... he wouldn't stop talking. Now I haven't heard his voice in six months."
I looked at Rico, seeing the profound, crushing guilt etched around his eyes.
"He will speak again," I said softly. "When he knows the world isn't going to collapse on him every time he opens his mouth."
Rico turned his head, his grey eyes searching my face in the dim lighting of the nursery. "You're very confident, Miss Vance."
"I'm not confident, Mr. Moretti," I replied quietly. "I'm just patient."
Rico stayed silent for a long moment. Then he stepped closer to me, his tall frame blocking the light, his signature scent of expensive cedar, crisp linen, and faint tobacco wrapping around me.
"Your quarters are connected through that door," Rico said, pointing to an adjoining room. "If he wakes up screaming, call security."
"If he wakes up screaming, I’ll handle it," I corrected. "Goodnight, Mr. Moretti."
Rico stared at me for three seconds longer, as if trying to decipher a code he couldn't crack. Then he turned and walked out, closing the heavy doors behind him.
I sat on the edge of Leo’s bed, taking off my server’s apron at last. I looked at the dark windows of the massive fortress.
May you like
I had just walked into the heart of New York’s most dangerous crime family. I was surrounded by men with guns, envious staff, and a terrifying boss who ruled by fear.
Yet as I looked at the sweet, sleeping boy beside me, I knew I couldn't walk away.
