Chapter 3

FLORA

The drive to Dante's home felt like a dream, or more accurately, a nightmare. I sat rigid in the back of a luxury SUV with tinted windows so dark they were practically black. Victor drove while Dante sat beside me, close enough that I could smell his cologne but not touching me. The silence stretched between us like a rubber band that had been pulled too tight.

"Call your mother," Dante said finally, handing me a sleek phone I didn't recognize. "Tell her you won't be home tonight."

I took it with trembling fingers. "What exactly am I supposed to say?"

"That you've been offered a live-in position with better pay. Nothing about what you saw." His eyes locked with mine. "Nothing about me."

I dialed Mom's number, each ring worsening my anxiety. What if she didn't answer? What if this was the last time I ever spoke to her?

"Flora?" Mom's voice was thick with sleep. "Is everything okay? It's after midnight."

"Hey, Mom." I fought to keep my voice steady. "Sorry to wake you. I... I have some news."

"What's wrong? You sound strange."

Dante kept his eyes fixed on me, watching me like a hawk.

"Nothing is wrong," I lied. "Actually, something good happened. I've been offered a new job. Better pay, a lot better. It's a live-in position as a personal assistant."

"Live-in? Where? With who?" The confusion in her voice broke my heart.

"With—" I glanced at Dante, who gave a slight shake of his head. "With a business executive. I met him through my cleaning job. He needs someone right away, so I'm going there tonight."

"Tonight? Flora, that doesn't sound right. You don't even know this person."

"It's fine, Mom. It's a great opportunity." I swallowed hard. "The pay is really good. Triple what I'm making now."

"Money isn't everything, sweetheart. This sounds too sudden. Why don't you come home and we'll talk about it?"

Dante's eyes narrowed, and I felt panic rising in my chest.

"I can't. I've already accepted. Look, I'll come by tomorrow to get some of my things and explain everything better, okay? I promise it's a good thing."

"Flora, you're scaring me. This isn't like you."

I bit my lip to keep from crying. "Please trust me, Mom. I know what I'm doing."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

"I love you," she said finally. "Be careful."

"I love you too. Take your meds and get some rest." I quickly hung up before I could break down while still on the call with her.

Dante took the phone back, looking satisfied. "Good girl,” he said.

The condescension in his tone made my skin crawl. "I'm not a dog,” I retorted.

"No," he agreed, his voice becoming cool. "A dog would know better than to bite the hand that feeds it."

I turned away to stare out the window, watching the city streets give way to winding roads and gated estates. After about thirty minutes, we turned onto a private drive flanked by tall trees. At the end stood a mansion that belonged in a movie, not real life. It was all stone and glass, and it was lit up against the night sky.

"Welcome to your new home," Dante said as Victor pulled up to the front entrance.

Home. The word felt wrong, obscene even.

Victor opened my door, and when I stepped out, my legs were unsteady. The house loomed over me like a beautiful prison.

"This way," Dante said, leading me up wide stone steps to massive double doors that opened before we reached them. A woman in her forties, dressed in a simple black uniform, stood waiting.

"Mrs. Russo, this is Flora Miller. She'll be joining our household staff."

The woman's sharp eyes assessed me, taking in my waitress uniform still visible under my coat, my badly worn shoes, and my obvious fear.

"Of course, Mr. Romano. I've prepared the blue room as you requested."

"Thank you. We'll be in my study first."

Mrs. Russo nodded and disappeared down a hallway.

Dante guided me through the mansion with a hand hovering at the small of my back, not quite touching me but close enough that I could feel its heat. We passed rooms bigger than my entire apartment.

There was a dining room with a table that could seat twenty, a living room with furniture that probably cost more than I'd make in ten years, and even a library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

Finally, we entered what must have been his study. It had dark wood paneling, leather furniture, and a desk that made the one in his office look modest.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to a chair across from his desk.

This time, I didn't bother looking for escape routes. The house was like a maze, and I had no doubt there were men like Victor stationed throughout.

Dante opened a drawer and pulled out a thick folder. He placed it on the desk between us.

"Your contract," he said.

I stared at it. "Contract?"

"Did you think this was an informal arrangement?" He smiled thinly. "I'm a businessman, Flora. Everything I do is documented."

He opened the folder and slid a stack of papers toward me. My eyes widened at the thickness of the document.

"This outlines your duties, compensation, living arrangements, and the consequences of breach of contract."

I flipped through the pages, my head spinning at the legal jargon. "I need time to read this."

"Of course." Dante leaned back in his chair. "Take all the time you need."

I looked up suspiciously. "Really?"

"Within reason. You have until sunrise to decide. After that..." He shrugged. "The alternative option becomes the only option."

My death. That's what he meant.

I bent over the contract, trying to focus despite my exhaustion and fear. The terms were clear enough:

I would serve as Dante's personal assistant, managing his household staff, coordinating his social calendar, accompanying him to events, and handling "other duties as assigned.” The phrase was vague enough to send a chill down my spine.

In return, I would receive a salary of $150,000 per year—an amount that made me dizzy—plus room and board. All of my mother's medical expenses would be paid in full, including any experimental treatments that might become available.

But the restrictions were equally clear:

I could not leave the property without permission or escort. I could not communicate with anyone outside the household without approval. I could not speak to anyone about Dante's business activities or personal life. I could not quit for a minimum of five years.

The consequences section was the most terrifying:

"Breach of any term herein will result in immediate termination of all benefits, including medical coverage for Katherine Miller, and may result in further punitive measures at the sole discretion of Dante Romano."

In other words, if I stepped out of line, my mother would lose her medical care and possibly her life, and I might lose mine too.

"This isn't legal," I said, looking up at him. "You can't own a person."

Dante smiled coldly. "Take it up with my lawyers. Oh wait, you can't afford your own lawyer."

I slammed the contract down. "This is slavery!"