Chapter 10: The New Deal

"You are not going anywhere."

I spoke the words clearly. I spoke them into her ear.

Chloe stopped fighting. She went limp against the floor. She looked up at me. Her face was wet. Her eyes were red. They held no spark. They held only death.

"She is alone," Chloe whispered. "She is in a drawer. In the cold. I need to go to her."

"You cannot go."

"Why?" Her voice broke. " The debt is gone. My mother is dead. I don't owe you money anymore. I don't owe you anything."

She pushed against my chest. Her hands were weak. They slid off my shirt.

"I quit," she sobbed. "I quit. Let me out."

I looked at her.

She thought she was free. She thought death erased the ledger.

She was wrong.

I stood up. I pulled her with me. I did not ask. I dragged her.

I threw her onto the bed. She bounced on the mattress. She tried to rise. I pushed her back down.

"You think you can leave?" I asked. I walked to the window. I pointed at the gates.

"Look outside, Chloe."

She did not look. She buried her face in her hands.

"Look!" I roared.

She flinched. She looked at the window.

"You spent twenty-four hours in this house," I said. "You spent the night in my study. You slept on my floor. You now live in the family wing."

I turned to face her.

"To the world you are not a cook. To the world you are mine."

"I don't care," she wept. "I just want my mother."

"Marco knows you are here," I lied. Or maybe it was the truth. It did not matter. "If you walk out that gate you are a target. They will kidnap you. They will torture you. They will ask what you saw in my office."

"I saw nothing!"

"They will not believe you. They will peel your skin off to get answers you do not have."

She stared at me. The horror cut through the grief.

"You are trapped," I said. "You walked into the lion's den. You do not walk out because you are tired."

"So I am a prisoner forever?" She choked on the word. "Because of a risotto?"

"Yes."

I walked to the bed. I sat on the edge. The mattress dipped. I was close to her. I smelled her tears. I smelled her fear.

"But I am not a cruel man," I said.

That was a lie. I am a cruel man. But I needed her to sign. I needed her to agree. A willing prisoner cooks better than a slave.

"You have a problem," I said. "Your mother is dead. You have no money. You have no home. How will you bury her?"

She froze. The reality hit her.

"Pauper's grave," I said. The words were knives. I twisted them. "They will put her in a pine box. They will put her in a hole with ten other bodies. No name. No stone. Is that what she deserves?"

Chloe shook her head. Fresh tears fell.

"No. Please. No."

"I can give her a funeral," I said.

I leaned closer. I trapped her gaze.

"I can buy the best plot in the cemetery. I can buy a marble headstone. I can fill the church with white lilies. I can have a priest sing her name to heaven."

Her lips trembled. Hope warred with hatred in her eyes.

"You would do that?"

"I have the money," I shrugged. "It is pocket change to me."

"What do you want?" she asked. "I have no money to pay you back."

"I do not want money."

I reached out. I wiped a tear from her cheek. My thumb lingered on her skin. It was soft. It was addictive.

"I want a contract," I said.

"What kind of contract?"

"A Life Contract."

I stood up. I loomed over her.

"I bury your mother like a queen. I protect you from Marco. I give you this room. I give you this life."

I paused. I let the silence build.

"In exchange you never leave. You never quit. You cook for me until the day I die.

You belong to the house. You belong to me."

"For how long?" she whispered.

"Forever."

She looked at the door. She looked at the window. She looked at her empty hands.

She had nothing. She was nothing.

I offered her dignity for her mother. I asked for her soul in return.

"Choose," I said coldly. "The pine box. Or the cage."

She closed her eyes. She took a breath. It rattled in her chest.

"Do it," she whispered. "Give her the flowers. Give her the stone. Please."

"Say it," I commanded. "Say you are mine."

She opened her eyes. They were dead.

They were defeated.

"I am yours."

"Good."

I did not reach for my phone. I reached into my pocket.

I pulled out a ring.

It was not a new ring. It was old. It was heavy gold with a ruby dark as blood. It was the Moretti family crest.

I grabbed her hand. Her fingers were cold. They were trembling.

I slid the heavy gold onto her finger. It was too big. It hung loose. It looked like a shackle.

"What is this?" she gasped. She tried to pull her hand away. I held it tight.

"Collateral," I said.

I picked up the phone on the bedside table. I dialed Giovanni.

"It is done," I said. "Call the Priest. Tell him to be here in one hour."

"A priest?" Chloe’s voice spiked with panic.

"Why a priest? You said a contract!"

I hung up the phone. I looked at her.

"A contract can be broken, Chloe. Employment can be terminated."

I pulled her closer until our faces were inches apart.

"But a sacrament is forever."

I brushed a stray tear from her cheek.

"Get dressed. The funeral is tomorrow."

I looked at the ring on her finger.

"But the wedding is tonight."