Chapter 6

• VALENTINA
• ~•~
• It wasn’t even ten in the morning, and yet someone was already banging on my door like they owned the place.
• I had just finished brushing my teeth, still wearing my robe, hair damp from the shower. My stomach was already twisted from everything that happened last night.
• The knocking came again—firm, sharp, and way too confident. I tightened my robe and stepped quietly to the door, peeking through the peephole only to see two men. Both in suits.
• One of them was massive—built like a damn wall, his arms stretching the sleeves of his jacket like it was one size too small. The other man was leaner, clean-cut, with a briefcase in one hand and a face that looked like it had been trained to smile just the right amount.
• I opened the door just enough to speak through it.
• “Yes? Who are you looking for?”
• The smaller one smiled, polite and precise. “We’re here on behalf of Mr. Gustavo DeLuca. I’m Mr. Bernardi, his attorney. May we come in, Miss Romano?”
• My heart did a weird little drop at hearing that name again.
• I hesitated for a second too long but then I stepped back and opened the door. “Yeah. Fine. Come in.”
• Mr. Bernardi moved to sit on the edge of my old couch while the bigger guy remained by the door, arms crossed and silent as stone.
• I stayed standing my voice sharper than I meant it to be.
• “What is this about?”
• Bernardi opened his briefcase with a soft click, pulled out a neat stack of papers clipped at the corner.
• “As promised by Mr. DeLuca,” he said, “we’ve brought the employment agreement for your review and signature. He mentioned the two of you reached an understanding last night.”
• I blinked. “You mean that… actually went through?”
• Bernardi nodded once. “Mr. DeLuca is a man of action.”
• I swallowed and looked down at the document while he flipped through a few pages and tapped one with his pen.
• “As you requested, here is the clause ensuring that Mr. DeLuca will not, under any circumstance, inflict physical harm upon you. It is clearly stated, initialed, and legally binding. If violated, the contract becomes void.”
• I leaned in to read it. The words were right there. Black ink on white paper. He’d actually done it.
• He thought of everything.
• I glanced up slowly. “He really signed this?”
• “Last night,” Bernardi confirmed. “He was very clear on the details.”
• “And… this is just a job?” I asked. “Cleaning, laundry, groceries, that kind of thing?”
• “Yes,” Bernardi said. “Standard live-in household management. No additional obligations. No illegal activity. No explicit services. Just care of the residence.”
• He handed it to me, nice and smooth.
• “However, there is one condition to signing.”
• My stomach sank. “What kind of condition?”
• “You’ll be required to leave with us immediately upon signing. No delays. That was Mr. DeLuca’s instruction.”
• “What?” I stepped back a little. “Why? I thought this was just a job offer. Why the rush?”
• “It is a job offer,” Bernardi said calmly. “But the terms include residence at his home. You’ll be provided everything ranging from a room, wardrobe, security, meals, and any medical needs if necessary.”
• “So I just… leave?” I asked, voice low. “Right now?”
• “Yes,” he said. “Mr. DeLuca will arrange to have your belongings delivered. You need not worry about packing or logistics.”
• I stared at both of them, my heart thudding loud enough to feel in my ears. The giant guy hadn’t moved once.
• “You people don’t waste time, do you?” I muttered.
• Bernardi gave a small smile. “Time is the one thing Mr. DeLuca values most. He respects efficiency.”
• My eyes dropped to the file again. My thoughts spun in every direction. I could say no. But then I’d still be stuck dancing half-naked every night while my brother’s clock kept ticking down.
• I had ten thousand already, and a hundred and fifty more promised.
• And so I reached for the file with both hands.
• The second I opened the file, my eyes locked on the bold title at the top.
• ‘Marriage Contract.’
• My chair screeched backward as I stood so fast it nearly tipped.
• “What the hell is this?” My voice cracked. “This wasn’t the deal. He said maid, not wife.”
• Mr. Bernardi just smoothed a hand over his tie like we were discussing the weather. “Like I said, it’s a legal arrangement, Miss Valentina. There would be no physical contact unless you consent. It’s protection under a different name. Symbolic, really. Think of it as a paper shield—for both of you.”
• I stared at him, heart pounding. My hands shook at my sides. I wanted to slam the folder shut and tell them to take it back to whatever glass tower Gustavo lived in.
• But when I remembered the reason why I was doing all of this in the first place, I stayed calm. One year of my life for his.
• My voice came out hoarse. “It ends after a year?”
• “Yes,” Bernardi said. “You’ll have it in writing. Date to date.”
• I looked down at the contract again and then I picked up the pen. My hand hovered for a second, then I signed.
• As soon as the ink dried, Bernardi stood and closed the file. “Thank you, Miss Valentina. If you’ll come with us now.”
• “Can I at least grab some clothes?” I asked.
• The big guy near the door finally spoke, voice deep and hoarse. “The boss will take care of it.”
• I looked between the two of them, stunned. “Seriously? I can’t take anything?”
• Bernardi offered the same polite smile. “He prefers efficiency.”
• Before I could argue, the briefcase was snapped shut, and they were already heading toward the door. I followed, numb. It was like I didn’t even own my life anymore.
• Outside, a sleek black SUV waited at the curb like it had been idling for hours just for this moment. The bodyguard opened the door, and I slid in without a word. Then he turned and handed me a silk blindfold.
• I stared at it. “What is this?”
• “Protocol,” he said.
• I didn’t have the energy to protest so I tied the blindfold around my eyes and then the engine started with a soft purr.
• When the blindfold finally came off, I blinked against the sunlight and gasped.
• We were pulling through iron gates that stretched taller than some buildings. At every corner, there were guard towers with men in matching black uniforms.
• The driveway curved between fountains and flowerbeds that looked like they belonged in a royal garden. I couldn’t even see where the grounds ended.
• And at the center of it all sat the mansion—a damn monument.—designed with white stone, gold trim, arched windows, balconies, and a whole lot of columns. The stairs were marble. The doors looked like they weighed a ton each and stone lions guarded the front like something out of a fantasy.
• My mouth was dry. No way one man owned all this.
• Inside the mansion was even worse—or better. I didn’t know how to feel anymore.
• Gold staircases. Crystal chandeliers. Walls lined with paintings in heavy frames. Every corner looked like money had been poured into it without restraint. The rug beneath my shoes probably cost more than my entire apartment’s yearly rent.
• I barely heard the woman approach.
• “Miss Valentina?”
• I turned to see a woman dressed in black, her posture perfect and her hands folded gently in front of her.
• “I’m Elira. I’ll be showing you to your room.”
• I followed without speaking. Everything smelled like fresh linen and polished wood. Even the light fixtures looked like they belonged in museums.
• When we finally reached the room, Elira pushed the door open and I stopped in my tracks.
• It was huge. Bigger than my whole apartment. A king-sized bed with soft white linens sat in the middle of the rom with cream walls. Long, sweeping curtains framed the windows that looked out over a private garden.
• Elira handed me a shopping bag.
• “Sir requests your presence for dinner in the garden tonight,” she said softly. “He would like you to wear this.”
• I nodded. I didn’t even look inside the bag. I just waited until she left, then sank down on the edge of the bed.
• I had signed a contract with a man I barely knew. And now I was in his house—his fortress—surrounded by power and money, and a kind of silence that didn’t feel safe.
• I curled my legs under me, pressing my hand against the shopping bag like it might ground me.
• Who the hell was Gustavo DeLuca?
• And what the hell had I just done?