Chapter 3 - The Devil’s Bargain“A job?” I repeated, my voice shaking as I shrank back against the leather upholstery. “What kind of job? I’m a waitress, Mr. Vance. I don't know anything about... whatever it is you do.”
Dante straightened up, walking back to his desk and picking up a thick, leather-bound folder. He tossed it onto the glass surface in front of me. It slid across with a heavy, ominous thud.
“You’re wrong,” Dante said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You have two crucial qualifications. First, you are desperate enough to do anything to keep your daughter fed and housed. Second... Ellie likes you.”
I blinked, confused. “What does Ellie have to do with this?”
“Everything,” Dante said flatly. He pulled out a leather chair and sat down opposite me, his expression turning unreadable. “Three weeks ago, an attempt was made on my life. Not by a rival syndicate, but by someone inside my own organization. A traitor within my inner circle. To smoke them out, I need to move freely through public society, attend high-society galas, charity dinners, and corporate boardrooms where a known crime lord walking in alone triggers immediate suspicion.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.
“I need a beard, Lena. A wholesome, struggling young mother who recently lost her husband, whom I have ‘graciously’ taken under my wing as a philanthropic benefactor. You provide the respectable civilian cover. In exchange, I provide you with a bulletproof penthouse, a tax-free salary that will clear your debts by morning, 24/7 armed security for your daughter, and—” He paused, his eyes narrowing—“the names, bank accounts, and heads of the men who murdered your husband.”
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to pack up Ellie and flee the city. Aligning with a mafia boss was walking straight into the jaws of a dragon.
And yet... the alternative was starvation. Eviction. Letting the men who murdered my husband walk free while my daughter grew up in a homeless shelter.
“And if I refuse?” I whispered.
Dante gave a cold, humorless smile. “You won't. Because you’re a mother, Lena. And a mother will burn the world to ash to keep her child safe. The question isn't whether you’ll say yes. The question is how fast you want to start.”
I reached out with a trembling hand, untied the red ribbon binding the folder, and opened it. Inside lay a deed to a luxury penthouse overlooking the city skyline, a bank card with a black obsidian finish, and a glossy photograph of a man with a smug smile—the union boss who signed my husband’s death warrant.
May you like
“When do I start?” I asked, my voice suddenly steady.
Dante’s lips curved into a dangerous, approving smirk. “Tomorrow morning, Ms. Vance. Welcome to the family.”
