Chapter 5

My brain chooses this moment to remind me of one very important fact. I've been at this mafia back office for a few hours—the clock on the wall reads one minute after midnight. Which means today is exactly the third day of three promised days Don Federico gave me to consider his offer.

It's obvious why he's here. He wants an answer to his offer—whether I intend to take his deal or not.

And while my body is screaming in relief and the adrenaline is fading, I know this is the most dangerous man I could ever meet. Far more dangerous than the small time thugs he just shot and took care of. He could ruin my life without even trying.

I barely stood a chance against them—there's no way I can stand against someone like the King of the Criminal Underworld. Even if I wasn't already injured and tired and incapable of fighting, the outcome would be the same.

Don Federico only expects one answer. He will only accept one answer. Saying anything else but "yes" would be like putting his gun directly to my head and asking him to shoot.

So, just like usual, I don't really have a choice.

Don Federico doesn't say a single word after I accept his offer. He simply takes my shoulder and guides me outside to a waiting limo. The car is sleek yet oddly shaped—it might be a vintage model?

Don Federico doesn't open the door for me. Instead, he opens the door and steps inside, dragging me along with him. Finally, he places me in the seat next to him.

The whole experience makes me feel more like I'm a pile of bags from the don's latest shopping trip than a potential employee.

The second Don Federico is buckled, he snaps his fingers. The driver rolls up the divider, raising up a thick black glass between us and him. Once he's hidden, the driver starts the car.

The drive is utterly silent. While Don Federico won't take his eyes off me, he keeps his mouth firmly closed. It's odd and unsettling, to say the least.

But it's not like his behavior can get any weirder to me. I try my best to ignore it.

I stare out the tinted windows and try to focus on the moving scenery. Considering the late hour though, I can barely make out the odd tree here and there—reading street signs is impossible. I have no idea where we're going.

I like to think I'm a patient person. But considering the day I just had and what feels like an hour of absolute silence, even my patience breaks.

"Is there a reason you chose me?" I finally ask. My voice shakes more than I would like, but the important thing is that I've asked the real question. "You're the King of the Criminal Underworld so it's not like you couldn't pick whoever you wanted—so why pick me?"

Don Federico stares at me with those appraising, calculating eyes. I think I might've surprised him with my forwardness. But I can't tell whether he's amused or annoyed.

"You're special."

He says the words exactly in the same neutral tone he's said everything else so it's hard to tell if he's making fun of me or not. Before I can say anything, he pulls out a red silk handkerchief from his pants pocket and offers it to me.

"Your left knee is still bleeding," Don Federico explains simply. "You should apply pressure to it."

What a practical thing to offer me. It takes me completely off guard.

"Oh. Thanks," I reply awkwardly. I take the handkerchief and do as he says.

The conversation dies there. Don Federico turns to look out the window.

Though he was kind enough to offer me a handkerchief, that doesn't mean I've forgotten everything else he's done. I just saw him kill three people with the same ease and disinterest of someone flicking on a lamp. I'm not brave or foolish enough to risk pissing him off, so I stay quiet.

Even though I have no idea what he meant by saying I'm special.

I wouldn't ever say I'm special, but I guess my life hasn't exactly been average. Most people aren't raised by a drug-addicted single-mother and forced to grow up way too fast. Most people get to finish their college education instead of getting saddled with generational debt and forced to work for a criminal empire like the Oklahoma branch of the mafia.

I guess most people also know who their biological father is, too. Most people probably at least have a photograph or a name—but between my mom's drug-induced memory loss and all the possessions we lost the multiple times we had to move or got kicked out, I don't even have that.

So I guess maybe I am special. My special talent is that I'm incredibly unlucky.

Eventually the car stops. Don Federico opens his door.

"We're here," he says. "This is my estate."

Don Federico moves to pick me up like a grocery bag again, so I slip out the door quickly before he can do so. There's only so much embarrassment and bad luck I can stand.

I'm immediately overwhelmed by what I see.

First off, I was never expecting to see a medieval castle. It's bigger than any castle that I've seen in documentaries or old books. It's also very well taken care of—I don't see a speck of dirt on even the steps leading up to the main entrance of beautiful, rich wooden doors.

Speaking of which, that brings me to my second major surprise. All along the path from the limo to the doors are people. Some are dressed more like the mafia men from three days ago, but most are in old-fashion servant clothes like maid and butler uniforms.

Stranger still, they all look at me with cold, dead eyes.

As Don Federico steps out of the limo, they all immediately bow.

Don Federico walks to the entrance of his home like all of this is normal and uninteresting.

"Hailey," he calls from the door, "follow quickly. We wouldn't want you to get lost."

I hurry to catch up to him, but the don still keeps his steps long and quick—which makes me have to jog to keep up the pace. Of course, there's way more servants inside than outside. They all stop and bow as Don Federico walks by.

After he passes, they turn to look at me with wide eyes. It's like they're seeing a ghost or some kind of intruder.

I want to tell them I was specifically asked for—that I wouldn't be here if I had any choice in the matter—but I doubt Don Federico would appreciate it. So I keep my thoughts to myself and try to ignore the many eyes watching us walk through the estate.

Don Federico leads me to his office. All the furniture, from the desk to the bookshelves to the chairs, keep up the medieval theming. They're all made of old wood and expertly carved—his desk though has little details attached to its surface that are made of a bronze metal.

Don Federico's desk is perfectly neat and tidy, except for one pile of papers. Don Federico takes a seat behind his desk and slides the papers to me.

"What is this?" I ask.

"Your contract. For our deal," he replies.

I start reading through the deal. There's a lot of clauses in it, and I'm not going to let this man swindle me. At least the don isn't so shameless as to demand I sign the contract without reading it.

Most of it is the usual legal jargon that's to be expected. But there's one section of the contract that's left entirely blank—Employee's Payment.

I take out the offending page and show it to Don Federico. "What do you mean by this?" I ask.

"Write down your wishes," Don Federico replies. "Then sign it."

"But you're then legally responsible to uphold them," I explain. "Don't you want to check them first?"

"Not particularly."

"But I could ask for anything, even impossible things like to never die," I press. "Then you'd be in huge legal trouble."

Don Federico just smiles. "Write them down, Hailey—every single wish. Nothing is impossible for me."

At his urging, I write down three wishes. I want to pay off all my debts, return to college, and live an ordinary life. I feel a little bad about including the last one, but he said to write them all down.

It's a pretty cozy deal. So I'm not surprised that the next page is full of all my responsibilities. They seem pretty standard, save that I basically can't leave Don Federico's side.

"Still seems like a bargain for no money troubles, an education, and a normal life," I mutter to myself.

The don's ears prick up. "It is," he agrees. "But your wish will only be fulfilled after I grow tired of you."

"I did see that clause, yes," I say. Not ideal, but not terrible either. A rich man like Don Federico will probably get tired of me quickly.

I turn the page to the last set of clauses. Again, mostly standard stuff. The don wants me working as his personal assistant, ready to assist him at any time.

The contract lists out all the needs I'll be expected to attend to. Third from the top are the words "all physical needs."