Chapter 2 — Six Months, Five Million

“You leave,” Dante said. “The consequences are mine.”

“That sounds reassuring until you remember that I don’t know what the consequences are.”

“They won’t be transferred to you.”

“Put that in writing.”

“I intend to.”

“And I’m not signing anything tonight.”

For a moment, I thought he might withdraw the offer.

Instead, he nodded.

“Tomorrow morning?”

“I work tomorrow morning.”

“Do you want to continue working for Giuseppe?”

“I want to keep earning money until I know whether this is real.”

Dante reached into the pocket of his jacket and removed a business card.

A telephone number had been written on the back.

“Call me when you finish.”

I took it.

“Is this yours?”

“Yes.”

“Does someone answer it for you?”

“Usually.”

“Then tell them not to hang up when a waitress calls.”

He looked at me for a long moment.

“I’ll answer.”

I opened the door.

Nico stepped aside as I climbed out.

“Sofia.”

I looked back.

“Would you allow Nico to drive you home?”

I glanced at the rain, then at the front seat.

“Without you?”

Something flickered across his face.

“Without me.”

I gave the driver an address two blocks from my building.

Dante didn’t comment.

The next morning, Giuseppe handed me an envelope before I had taken off my coat.

Five hundred dollars.

“I reconsidered,” he said.

I looked through the kitchen window.

A black SUV stood across the street.

“You reconsidered very quickly.”

“Do you want it or not?”

I put the envelope in my bag.

“Yes. I want the money that was given to me.”

His eyes narrowed.

I expected him to tell me to watch my tone.

Instead, he said, “You’re off at ten.”

I worked the breakfast shift, bought a pair of plain black flats on the way home, and called the number from my kitchen.

Dante answered on the second ring.

“Sofia.”

“You knew it was me?”

“Nico said you had finished work.”

“That isn’t as charming as you think.”

“I wasn’t attempting to be charming.”

I looked around my apartment.

Elena’s blue mug stood beside the sink. I had brought it home after packing her belongings into storage because I couldn’t bear to put everything away.

There was a red notice on the counter.

“I want to see the agreement,” I said.

An hour later, I sat across from Dante in a law office overlooking Madison Avenue.

A folder lay between us.

The attorney beside him began explaining the contract.

I stopped him after the first paragraph.

“Do you represent me?”

He adjusted his glasses.

“I represent Mr. Salvatore.”

“Then I need someone who doesn’t.”

Dante closed the folder.

“Agreed.”

His attorney looked mildly offended.

That alone made me feel better.

I chose a lawyer from a list of local firms and spoke to her privately the following afternoon. Dante paid for the consultation, but I insisted that the conversation remain mine.

The lawyer, Ruth Bennett, read the agreement carefully.

She didn’t tell me I was lucky.

She asked whether I understood that living with someone powerful could make leaving difficult even if a document said otherwise.

“Yes,” I said.

“Then we make the practical arrangements as clear as the promises.”

By the time I met Dante again, I had a page of changes.

“My own room.”

“Yes.”

“A lock I control.”

He looked up.

“Yes.”

“No one takes my phone or stops me from contacting people.”

“Agreed.”

“No touching me privately without permission. Publicly, we discuss what’s necessary beforehand.”

His gaze sharpened.

“No one touches you without permission, Sofia. Including me.”

I swallowed and continued.

“I keep access to money for ordinary living expenses. I’m not asking someone every time I need toothpaste.”

“Fine.”

“If I leave because I’m threatened or because you break the agreement, I don’t lose everything.”

He read Ruth’s proposed wording.

“That’s acceptable.”

“And I want a copy of anything I sign before I sign it.”

“You’ll have one.”

I sat back.

He watched me.

“Anything else?”

“Yes. You don’t get to call this generosity.”

“What would you prefer?”

“A job with unusually bad hours.”

His mouth moved.

“That can go in the informal terms.”

I should have felt triumphant.

Instead, I felt the weight of what I was considering.

Elena had spent years turning down help that came with strings. I had seen her stretch a pot of soup until even the potatoes tasted apologetic.

She would have hated this.

Then again, she had never shown me how to pay rent with grief.

“Who made the bet?” I asked.

“Vittorio Moretti.”

“What does he win if you fail?”

“The satisfaction of being right.”

“And if you succeed?”

“Something I want.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It’s the answer I’m giving you.”

I pushed the pen away.

Dante looked at it.

“I need to know whether this puts me in danger.”

“The marriage will attract attention. I can’t promise you that every person in my life is harmless.”

“Are you harmless?”

“No.”

At least he said it plainly.

“But the agreement gives you a choice,” he continued. “Take it home. Call your lawyer again. If you decide against it, no one will trouble you.”

I did take it home.

I read it twice.

I looked up his foundation. His companies. The rumors that never quite became allegations.

Then I called Ruth again.

Two days later, I signed.

The wedding took place in a small private room with an officiant, two witnesses, and no flowers.

Dante wore a black suit.

I wore a navy dress I had bought for Elena’s funeral.

When he saw it, he asked, “Would you like something else?”

“No.”

He accepted that.

The ring was another matter.

“That’s too large,” I whispered.

“It was already resized.”

“That wasn’t my concern.”

His fingers closed lightly around mine.

“May I?”

I nodded.

The diamond slid onto my finger.

His hand was warm. Mine was cold.

When the officiant pronounced us married, Dante didn’t pull me toward him.

He leaned close enough that only I could hear.

“Your choice.”

I offered my cheek.

His lips touched it briefly.

Nico looked down at the floor.

By evening, I was standing in a bedroom larger than my apartment.

Dante showed me the lock, then pointed toward a connecting door.

“That leads to my room.”

“Does it lock from this side?”

He turned the key and handed it to me.

I checked it after he left.

It worked.

On the dressing table stood a phone charger, a folder containing my copies of the agreements, and a pair of black slippers.

For some reason, the slippers unsettled me most.

Someone had noticed that my feet hurt.

The following morning, a stylist asked whether I would prefer my hair pinned up for the foundation gala.

I chose to leave it down.

While she worked, I heard Dante speaking in the corridor.

“An inconsistency isn’t confirmation. Check the original record.”

His voice stopped when he saw me through the open door.

I waited until the stylist went to fetch another dress.

“What record?”

“Your background documents.”

“You already ran a background check.”

“There’s something my attorneys need to clarify.”

“What?”

“A discrepancy.”

“About me?”

“Yes.”

He sounded certain of what he could say and careful about what he wouldn’t.

I disliked both.

“You should tell me when you know.”

“I will.”

That evening, I descended the staircase in black silk.

Dante stood at the bottom.

His gaze moved over me, then returned to my face.

For a second, he forgot to speak.

“Is something wrong with the dress?” I asked.

“No.”

“Then stop looking as though you’ve discovered a problem.”

“I’m reconsidering the guest list.”

I almost smiled.

Outside the gala, his hand settled at my waist after I nodded.

“Smile like you chose me,” he murmured.

“Try looking pleased that I did.”

He turned toward me.

The cameras caught his smile before he could hide it.

Inside, a silver-haired man approached carrying a champagne glass.

“Dante. I had to see whether the announcement was true.”

“It is, Vittorio.”

The man looked at me.

His smile vanished.

His gaze searched my face with such concentration that I stepped closer to Dante without meaning to.

“Extraordinary,” he murmured.

“Have we met?” I asked.

“No.”

He lifted his glass, but his hand wasn’t quite steady.

“You look exactly like a woman I used to know.”