CHAPTER 3

SERENIA POV

The study looked more like a courtroom than an office. It was lined with dark mahogany bookshelves, a massive leather desk sitting right in the center. Matteo Alcantara walked over and took a seat behind it, his presence immediately filling the room.

Leo was still attached to his left leg, his sobbing now reduced to a wet, repetitive hiccup.

I didn't wait to be asked to sit. My shoes were still damp, and my feet were starting to ache, so I pulled out one of the heavy leather chairs opposite him and sat down. I rested my hands on my knees, looking directly at him.

Matteo leaned back, weaving his long fingers together. The ink on his hands caught the dim light of the desk lamp. He looked at me the way a scientist might look at a strange new insect.

"You have a lot of nerve, Serenia," he said, his voice smooth but laced with a cold, underlying threat. "You walk into my home soaked in rain, carrying a box of garbage and a basket of cats, demanding ten thousand dollars."

"It's not garbage. It's my life," I corrected him, tilting my head. "And your ad promised ten thousand dollars. I'm just holding you to your word."

"Do you even know who I am?" Matteo leaned forward, his eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare. The air in the room grew noticeably heavier. "People pray to never cross my path. One phone call from me can make your entire existence disappear."

I stared at him for a second. He was trying to terrify me. Under normal circumstances, a giant, heavily tattooed man threatening me in a locked mansion would have had me running for the hills. But today was not a normal day.

"Sir, my landlord just kicked me out into a thunderstorm," I said, my tone completely deadpan. "My ex-boyfriend is currently wearing my favorite grey hoodie while cheating on me with a girl I don't know, and he stole my N*****x password. I have exactly five dollars left to my name."

I leaned forward too, matching his posture.

"You don't scare me. Your four-year-old nephew scares me way more. Now, why is the tiny human weapon crying?"

Matteo blinked. For a fraction of a second, the terrifying criminal facade cracked, revealing a man who was just profoundly confused by my lack of fear.

"He's crying because he wants chocolate for lunch," Matteo muttered, rubbing his temples again. "And because he refuses to listen to a single word I say."

"Well, yeah. He's four," I said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You can't negotiate with a toddler using threats, Mr. Alcantara. They don't care about your reputation."

From down by the floor, Leo let out another angry whine. He finally let go of Matteo’s leg, his small eyes scanning the desk. His hands scrambled over the mahogany surface until they wrapped around a heavy, solid silver paperweight.

Before either of us could react, Leo raised his arm and hurled the metal object directly at my forehead.

"Leo, no!" Matteo barked, his hand shooting out to stop the kid, but it was too late. The paperweight was already sailing through the air.

I didn't even flinch. Thanks to years of dodging flying objects from my clumsy ex and quick reflexes from working odd retail jobs, my hand flew up instinctively.

Smack.

My fingers wrapped around the silver paperweight, catching it perfectly mid-air, just inches away from my nose.

The room went completely silent.

Matteo froze, his hand still extended in the air. The two bodyguards standing by the door let out a sharp, synchronized gasp, their eyes practically popping out of their heads.

Leo stopped crying instantly. His mouth fell open into a tiny 'O' shape, his wet eyes staring at my hand in absolute shock. He had never seen anyone catch his ammunition before.

I slowly lowered my hand and placed the heavy paperweight gently back onto the desk. I looked down at the little boy and gave him a calm, unimpressed look.

"Nice throw," I said casually. "But your form is a little off. You're throwing with your elbow, not your shoulder."

Leo just stared at me, his hiccups completely vanishing. He took a small step back, hiding slightly behind Matteo's chair, but his eyes never left my face. He looked fascinated.

Matteo slowly lowered his hand, his gaze shifting from the silver paperweight on the desk back up to me. The exhausted, irritated look on his face was completely gone, replaced by a sudden, intense curiosity.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Matteo asked, his voice low.

"Practice," I said, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms. "So, are we going to keep talking about how dangerous you are, or are we going to talk about my salary?"

Matteo didn't answer right away. He kept his eyes locked on mine, evaluating me. The silence stretched between us, slow and heavy, but for the first time since I entered the mansion, I felt like I had the upper hand.

He leaned over and tapped a button on his desk intercom.

"Bring a fresh pot of coffee," Matteo ordered. "And a towel."

He turned his attention back to me, a slow, calculated smile spreading across his sharp face.

"Alright, Serenia," he said. "Let's see what else you can do."