Chapter 2

FLORA

The office door closed behind me with a soft click that sounded like a death sentence. I stood frozen, staring at the massive desk that dominated the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the glittering city skyline, but all I could see was the reflection of a terrified woman: me.

"Sit," ordered the towering bulk of a man who had dragged me in.

I managed to lower myself into a leather chair without collapsing. My mind raced through escape scenarios, but each one more seemed more impossible than the last. The office had only one door, and Mountain Man stood in front of it like a boulder.

"He'll be in soon," he said, crossing his arms. "Don't try anything stupid."

Stupid would be sitting here waiting to be murdered. I nodded meekly, trying to look defeated while my eyes darted around the room. There had to be something, anything I could use.

"I need to use the bathroom," I said. My voice was barely above a whisper.

Mountain Man frowned. "Hold it."

"Please," I begged, crossing my legs for effect. "I'm about to wet myself."

He sighed heavily. "Fine. But I'm standing right outside the door."

He gestured toward a door in the corner of the office. It was a private bathroom because, of course, the big bad boss wouldn't use the regular ones.

"Thank you," I mumbled, hurrying toward it.

The bathroom was bigger than my bedroom at home. It was fitted with marble countertops, fancy soaps in little dishes, and a shower stall that could fit three people. Rich people lived in a different world.

I didn't waste time admiring the décor. A small window was set high in the wall, probably for ventilation. It would be a tight squeeze, but I was skinny enough. The question was whether I could reach it.

I climbed onto the toilet, then carefully stepped onto the tank. It wobbled dangerously under my weight. Stretching my arms, my fingers just brushed the bottom of the window.

"What's taking so long?" Mountain Man called through the door.

"Sorry! Just a minute!" I called back, panic rising in my throat.

I looked around desperately and spotted a decorative vase on a shelf. Grabbing it, I used it to push the window open wider. Then I set it on top of the tank for a few extra inches of height.

"That's it. I'm coming in," Mountain Man warned.

It was now or never!

I jumped, catching the windowsill with my fingers, and pulled myself up with strength born of pure terror. I wiggled through the opening headfirst, scraping my back on the frame. As my legs cleared the window, I heard the bathroom door crash open.

"Boss! She's going out through the window!"

I dropped onto a narrow ledge that ran around the building. Thirty floors up, the wind whipped my hair around my face. Don't look down, I told myself. Don't.

But knowing myself, I had to look down.

The ground was impossibly far away, and all the cars were like tiny toys on the streets below. My stomach lurched, and I pressed myself against the building, inching sideways toward a maintenance ladder I could see about twenty feet away.

Voices shouted from the bathroom. A face appeared at the window. It wasn't Mountain Man, but another man in a suit. He started climbing out after me.

I moved faster, even as my sweaty palms kept sliding against the concrete ledge. Ten more feet to the ladder. Five more feet.

Then my foot slipped.

For one horrible moment, I hung suspended in the air, with one hand desperately clutching the ledge. A scream tore from my throat as my fingers began to slip.

Then a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist in an iron grip.

"I've got her!" my pursuer yelled, his other hand anchored to the window frame as he stretched out over the ledge.

He pulled me back from the brink of death, dragging me toward the window with surprising strength. I fought him. It was better to die by falling than whatever Dante Romano had planned, but all my struggles were useless.

He shoved me back through the window, following close behind. I tumbled onto the bathroom floor, gasping loudly. Mountain Man hauled me to my feet and slapped handcuffs onto my wrists.

"That was extremely stupid," he growled, shoving me back into the office.

Dante Romano now stood behind his desk. He had pulled off his suit jacket, and now, his sleeves were rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. A glass of amber liquid sat untouched by his hand. When he saw me, his expression darkened.

"Trying to run from me?" he asked, voice dangerously soft.

"Wouldn't you?" I shot back, surprising myself with a spark of defiance.

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost turning up into a smile, if smiles could be threatening, that is.

"Sit her down," he ordered. "And leave us."

Mountain Man pushed me into the chair again. "Boss, after what she just pulled—"

"I said leave us, Victor."

Victor hesitated, then nodded. "Call if you need me,” he said." Then he walked out of the office, closing the door behind him.

Alone with Dante Romano, I felt like a rabbit trapped with a wolf. He studied me for a long moment, then sat down across from me.

"Most people who see what you saw tonight don't live to tell about it," he said conversationally, as if he was discussing the weather.

I swallowed hard. "Are you going to kill me?"

"I haven't decided." He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "Tell me about yourself, Flora Miller."

"Why? So that you can know who you're murdering?"

His eyes narrowed. "So that I can decide if I need to."

My hands trembled in the cuffs. "There's nothing to tell. I clean offices at night and wait tables during the day."

"Two jobs. That's unusual for someone your age. Most young women are in college or already starting careers."

I looked away. "Some of us don't have those options,” I replied.

"Why not?"

"Because life isn't fair," I snapped. "Is that what you want to hear? That I'm drowning in debt while people like you live in penthouses?"

His expression didn't change. "What kind of debt?"

I laughed bitterly. "The American kind. Medical bills."

Something flickered in his eyes. "For yourself?"

"My mother." The words caught in my throat. Mom. I knew she would still be waiting up despite what I'd told her, worried when I didn't come home. "She has kidney disease. Stage three. The medications cost more than our rent, and insurance only covers a part of it."

Dante rose from his chair and walked to a cabinet, where he poured another glass of whatever he was drinking. He didn't offer me any.

"No father in the picture?" he asked with his back to me.

"He left when I was twelve. Haven't heard from him since then."

Dante returned to his desk and picked up an iPad. He tapped the screen a few times, then turned it toward me.

"Is this you?"

On the screen was my social media profile, or what little there was of it. A few photos with Mom at the park last summer, before her latest downturn. My high school graduation picture, where I was holding my acceptance letter to the state university. It was a dream which I had deferred at first, and then later abandoned.

"How did you—"

"I have resources," he replied, cutting me off before I even had a chance to speak. He swiped to another screen which displayed my mother's medical records.

My blood ran cold. "You have no right to look at those," I said through clenched teeth.

"I have every right when you threaten my business." He set the iPad down. "Remarkable. No criminal record. Not even a parking ticket. Honor roll in high school. Accepted to university but never enrolled. Instead, you've worked menial jobs for..." He checked the iPad again. "Four years, since your mother's diagnosis."

I said nothing. What was there to say?

"How much is her monthly medication?" he asked abruptly.

"What?"

"Your mother's medication. How much is it?"

"Two thousand eight hundred and forty-three dollars a month," I answered automatically. The number was burned into my brain. "After insurance."

He made a note on the iPad. "And the total medical debt?"

"Seventy-eight thousand, give or take a few hundred." I shook my head. "Why are you asking me this? What does it matter if you're going to kill me anyway?"

Dante set the iPad down and looked at me with those dark, unreadable eyes.

"I'm not going to kill you, Flora."

Relief flooded through me for a split second before suspicion took its place. "Why not? I saw you murder someone."

"You saw me execute a thief who stole from my family," he corrected. "There's a difference."

"Not to the police."

A cold smile spread across his face. "The police aren't a concern."

Of course not, I thought. Men like him owned the police.

"So what happens now?" I asked. "You let me walk out of here, and I pretend I never saw anything?"

"Not exactly." He leaned back in his chair, studying me. "I have a proposal for you, Flora Miller."

My stomach knotted. "What kind of proposal?"

"I need someone I can trust in my house. Someone to manage the staff, organize events, and keep track of my schedule."

I blinked at him. "You want me to be your... secretary?"

"Personal assistant would be more accurate."

"Why would you trust me? I just witnessed you commit murder."

"Precisely,” he said, smiling again, this time with genuine amusement. "You know what I'm capable of. That makes you less likely to cross me."

I shook my head. "I don't understand."

"It's simple. You come work for me, live in my house, do as I ask. In return, I'll pay off your mother's medical debt and cover all future treatments."

My mouth fell open. "That's—that's almost a hundred thousand dollars."

"A trivial amount to me," he said with a dismissive wave. "Your mother will receive the best care available. Private doctors, experimental treatments if necessary."

Hope and suspicion warred within me. "What's the catch?"

"The catch, Flora, is that you'll belong to me. You don't leave without permission. You don't speak to anyone about what you see or hear. Your life as you knew it, ends tonight."

I stared at him as the full weight of his words sank in. "You're talking about making me a prisoner," I pointed out.

"I'm talking about saving your life and your mother's." He stood up and came around the desk, perching on the edge of it just inches from me. "Consider the alternative. If you refuse, you die tonight. Your mother will wonder what happened to you forever. Without your income, she loses her medication and her home. How long do you think she'll last?"

Tears burned behind my eyes. He was right, and he knew it.

"What about my mother? Can I see her?"

"Of course. She can even live with us if you prefer."

"Us?"

His eyes darkened. "You'll be living in my home, Flora. Where else would you stay?"

The implications of his words sent a shiver down my spine. Not just his assistant, but living under his roof, at his beck and call.

"I need to think," I whispered.

"You have thirty seconds."

"That's not—"

"Twenty-five seconds."

I closed my eyes. Mom needed those medications. Without them, her kidneys would fail completely within months. And I'd seen what Dante Romano did to people who crossed him.

"I'll do it," I said, opening my eyes to meet his gaze. "I'll work for you. But my mother gets treatment first before I do anything."

Something that looked like respect flashed across his face. "Agreed." He reached forward and unlocked my handcuffs. "We leave for my home tonight. You can call your mother from the car."

As the cuffs fell away, I rubbed my wrists. "Just like that? You trust me not to run?"

Dante stood and walked to the window, looking out at the city he clearly controlled. For a moment, his hard expression softened almost imperceptibly.

"My mother died when I was fifteen," he said quietly. "Kidney failure. We couldn't afford the treatments back then."

I stared at his back, speechless.

When turned to face me, all traces of softness had vanished from his face. "But make no mistake, Flora. If you try to run again, or if you betray me in any way, our deal is void. And your mother won't be the only one to suffer the consequences."

The office door opened, and Victor stepped in. "The car is ready, boss."

Dante nodded. "Bring Ms. Miller's things. She won't be returning to her apartment tonight."

As Victor led me toward the door, Dante called after us: "And Victor? Make sure she understands what happens to people who break promises to me."

I looked back at him over my shoulder, this man who held my life and my mother's in his hands. For the briefest of moments, his eyes met mine, and I noticed something unexpected. It wasn't just coldness or calculation, but a glimpse of something almost human.

Then it was gone, and I wondered if I'd imagined it.