Chapter 1 — The Water Between Us

The water struck Dante Salvatore across the chest.

Before the pitcher hit the floor, a hand closed around my wrist and twisted my arm behind my back.

“Don’t move.”

I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to.

My broken shoe was caught between two floorboards. Glass shattered beside my foot. Across the table, the second bodyguard reached beneath his jacket.

Every conversation in Giuseppe’s Trattoria stopped.

Dante looked down at his soaked charcoal suit. Water dripped from his cuff onto the white tablecloth.

Then he raised two fingers.

The man holding me loosened his grip.

“Let her go, Nico.”

Nico released me, though he stayed close enough that I could feel his breath against my hair.

I pulled my foot free. The damaged heel came off entirely.

For a moment, I stood holding one empty hand above the table, as though I might somehow gather the water back into the pitcher.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “My shoe caught in the floor. I wasn’t—”

“Trying to drown me?”

His voice was quiet. I couldn’t tell whether he was joking.

“No.”

His gaze moved to my wrist, where red marks were beginning to appear.

“Are you hurt?”

The question surprised me enough that I answered honestly.

“Not badly.”

Giuseppe arrived before Dante could say anything else.

“Mr. Salvatore. Please accept my apologies. She’s careless. I told her those shoes were unsuitable.”

I turned toward him.

“I asked to go home and change them.”

His smile tightened.

“Not now, Sofia.”

“I asked three hours ago.”

Dante leaned back in his chair.

Giuseppe ignored me.

“I’ll dismiss her immediately. Naturally, we’ll cover the cleaning.”

“Did I ask you to fire her?”

“No, sir, but—”

“Then stop offering.”

Giuseppe’s mouth closed.

Dante looked at me.

“What is your name?”

“Sofia.”

He waited.

“Sofia Rossi.”

He repeated my first name once, without smiling.

I knew who he was. Everyone working in a New York restaurant knew the Salvatore name.

People mentioned his shipping companies, his foundation, the photographs of him beside politicians. They also mentioned warehouses where police cars never stayed long and men who changed their stories after a visit from his lawyers.

Elena had warned me about powerful men.

Never let them notice you.

She had died six weeks ago, and I had already managed to fail her.

Dante took several bills from his jacket and placed them beside his glass.

“Five hundred dollars,” he told Giuseppe. “Give it to her.”

My face grew hot.

“I can pay for the cleaning in installments.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Then why are you giving me money?”

“For shoes that won’t break while you’re carrying glass.”

“I spilled water on you. That doesn’t mean you owe me anything.”

Nico glanced at his employer.

Dante studied me for a moment.

“Perhaps it doesn’t.”

He turned to Giuseppe.

“She finishes her shift when she chooses. And someone should repair that floor.”

It was a dismissal. Giuseppe understood it before I did.

He caught my elbow and guided me toward the kitchen.

Once the swinging door closed, his fingers dug into my arm.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“You heard him.”

“I heard you arguing with Dante Salvatore.”

“I was explaining what happened.”

“You’re lucky he was in a generous mood.”

He pushed the money into his pocket.

I stared at the movement.

“That’s mine.”

“It covers the damage.”

“You offered to cover the damage.”

“And you’re welcome to thank me.”

There were three other servers in the kitchen. None looked up.

I could have shouted. I could have walked out.

But rent was eleven days overdue, my bank account contained nineteen dollars, and the landlord had stopped sliding polite reminders beneath my door.

I had eleven more dollars in my purse.

Thirty dollars wasn’t enough to turn dignity into dinner.

“Give me my tips, then,” I said.

“At the end of the shift.”

I looked at the clock.

Four hours left.

I wrapped the loose heel in a paper napkin, put it in my apron, and went back to work.

By closing time, the skin above my right heel had split.

Giuseppe counted my tips twice before handing them over.

Forty-three dollars.

I counted them myself.

“Table eight left twenty.”

“They left ten.”

“I picked it up.”

He sighed and added another bill.

I put the money away before he could change his mind.

At the door, I looked back.

Dante’s table had been cleared. His chair was pushed in. Nothing remained to suggest that the most frightening man in the city had sat there and asked whether I was hurt.

Outside, rain soaked through my coat before I reached the corner.

The bus stop was three blocks away.

I had walked half a block when a black SUV slowed beside me.

The passenger window lowered.

Nico sat behind it.

“Mr. Salvatore would like a word.”

I kept walking.

“He had several earlier.”

The SUV followed at walking speed.

“Sofia.”

“Is that supposed to make this less alarming?”

He glanced toward the back seat.

The rear window lowered.

Dante was sitting in the shadows, wearing a dry white shirt with the collar open. His ruined jacket lay beside him.

“Five minutes,” he said.

“For what?”

“A proposition.”

“I’m not getting into a stranger’s car because he uses expensive words.”

Nico looked straight ahead. His mouth moved slightly.

Dante noticed.

“Would you prefer to speak in the rain?”

“I’d prefer to know what you want first.”

He considered me.

“Something I’m willing to pay for.”

My stomach tightened.

“No.”

“You haven’t heard the offer.”

“I’ve heard enough.”

I turned away.

“Sofia. It isn’t sex.”

I stopped.

Two people emerging from the restaurant looked toward us. One recognized Dante and immediately lowered his eyes.

I hated that I noticed.

I also hated that the rain had reached the torn lining of my coat and that I was calculating whether I could afford a cab if the bus stopped running.

“Leave the door unlocked,” I said.

“It will remain unlocked.”

“And tell your driver not to move.”

Dante looked toward the front seat.

“We stay here.”

Nico stepped out and opened the rear door.

I climbed in, leaving one hand on the handle.

The interior was warm. That almost made me angry.

Dante sat opposite me, giving me more space than Giuseppe ever had in his office.

“Did he give you the money?”

“No.”

His expression changed.

“He kept it?”

“He said it covered your suit.”

Dante reached for his phone.

“Don’t,” I said.

He paused.

“If you send someone in there to break his fingers, I’ll never find another restaurant job in that neighborhood.”

“Is that what you think I was going to do?”

“I don’t know you.”

“No,” he said. “You don’t.”

He put the phone away.

I waited.

Rain ran down the window behind him. In the reflected streetlight, I could see a small scar near his jaw.

He wasn’t as old as I had assumed from his reputation. Perhaps early thirties.

Too young to make an entire restaurant forget how to breathe.

“What’s the proposition?”

“I want you to marry me.”

I stared at him.

Then I laughed once.

It sounded unpleasant in the quiet car.

“You should see a doctor.”

“Six months,” he continued. “You would live in my house, attend public events with me, and present a convincing marriage.”

I searched his face for amusement.

There was none.

“At the end of six months, you leave with five million dollars.”

The amount was so large it made the proposal seem less believable.

“Why not hire an actress?”

“An actress would know too much about performing.”

“And a waitress wouldn’t?”

“A waitress knows when people are lying.”

“Then you should be worried.”

For the first time, his mouth curved.

I didn’t like how much that changed his face.

“What would you expect privately?”

“Discretion. Reasonable cooperation. Nothing physical that you don’t want.”

“And if I wanted to leave?”

“That would be addressed in the agreement.”

“Address it now.”

His smile disappeared.

“You could leave. The payment would depend on the terms we negotiate.”

At least he hadn’t pretended there would be no consequences.

I looked at his jacket, the dark wet patches still visible across the front.

“You can have any woman you want.”

“That’s a generous assumption.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know what people agree to when they want something from me.”

“So you picked someone too poor to refuse.”

His gaze stayed on mine.

“I picked the woman who refused my money.”

“That doesn’t explain why you need a wife.”

“No.”

“Then explain.”

He rested his forearms on his knees.

“I made a bet.”

“With whom?”

“A man who thinks I can’t remain married to a woman outside my world for six months.”

“And your answer was to stop a waitress in the rain?”

“My answer,” he said, “is sitting in front of me.”

I tightened my grip on the door handle.

“What happens to me if you lose?”