Chapter 3 - The Offer I Refused
Antonio wanted me to work for Maria.
Not as a servant.
Not as a favor.
As a paid companion while I returned to school.
I refused immediately.
“You haven’t heard the salary,” he said.
“I don't care.”
We were standing outside Bellarosa after my shift.
“You need fewer restaurant hours.”
“How do you know?”
“My mother talks.”
“Your mother needs hobbies.”
“She has one.”
“What?”
“You.”
I groaned.
Antonio almost smiled.
Maria’s recovery had gone well, but her doctors wanted someone nearby during certain hours.
Antonio wanted a qualified home health professional.
Maria wanted me.
The compromise apparently involved Antonio ambushing me outside my workplace.
“You’re not qualified yet,” he said. “You wouldn’t be providing medical care. You’d keep her company, prepare lunch occasionally, make sure she remembers appointments, and call the actual nurse if necessary.”
“And you’d pay me?”
“Yes.”
“A ridiculous amount?”
His silence answered.
“No.”
“Sophie.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re Antonio Russo.”
His face hardened slightly.
“What does that mean?”
“It means your world comes with strings.”
“Name one.”
“I don’t know enough about your world to name them.”
That answer seemed to impress him more than an accusation would have.
“I won’t interfere with your school.”
“No.”
“You can study while my mother rests.”
“No.”
“You can choose your hours.”
“No.”
He exhaled.
“You’re infuriating.”
“I've heard that.”
“From whom?”
“Mostly Marco.”
I walked away.
Two days later, Maria called.
That was unfair.
She knew it.
I knew it.
Antonio definitely knew it.
“Come for tea,” she said.
“Is this an ambush?”
“Absolutely.”
I laughed.
I went anyway.
The Russo home was not what I expected.
I had imagined some gothic fortress.
Instead, Maria lived in a beautiful brownstone in Brooklyn Heights.
There was security, certainly, but there were also roses in the courtyard and framed family photographs everywhere.
Antonio appeared in several.
A serious child.
A skinny teenager.
A young man beside his father.
One photograph caught my attention.
Antonio looked about twenty-five, standing beside a beautiful dark-haired woman.
He was smiling.
Not his restrained almost-smile.
A huge, unguarded smile.
“That was Elena,” Maria said behind me.
I turned.
“His wife?”
“Fiancée.”
Something in Maria’s voice stopped me from asking more.
“She died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Fourteen years ago.”
Antonio entered the room.
His gaze went immediately to the photograph.
Then to me.
“Mama.”
“She asked.”
“I didn't.”
I quickly corrected him.
Maria shrugged.
“Tea?”
The subject disappeared.
But something about Antonio made more sense afterward.
The distance.
The control.
The way he seemed to treat affection like an unsecured door.
Maria offered me the job herself.
I said no again.
Then she offered normal wages.
Not extravagant ones.
Normal.
“You would be helping me,” she said. “And I would be helping you. That's what people do.”
I looked at Antonio.
“No secret payments?”
“No.”
“No tuition.”
“No.”
“No gifts.”
His jaw tightened.
“You negotiate like a hostage lawyer.”
“Do we have a deal?”
“Yes.”
So I began working for Maria three afternoons a week.
And everything became complicated.
I returned to nursing school.
My days started at six.
Classes.
Clinical rotations.
Maria.
Weekend shifts at Bellarosa.
I found a tiny studio apartment in Queens.
It was terrible.
I loved it.
Antonio hated it.
“This neighborhood is unsafe.”
“You say that about everywhere.”
“The lock is pathetic.”
“It works.”
“I could open it in ten seconds.”
“That is not comforting coming from you.”
The following afternoon, a locksmith appeared.
I called Antonio.
“You changed my lock.”
“I improved your lock.”
“You cannot modify my apartment.”
“I already did.”
“Antonio.”
“Sophie.”
“You are impossible.”
“So I've heard.”
“From whom?”
“You.”
I laughed despite myself.
That was the beginning.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Friendship, maybe.
Though Antonio Russo did not seem like a man who had friends.
Sometimes he returned while I was with Maria.
He would loosen his tie, sit in the kitchen, and drink espresso while Maria complained about him.
I learned Antonio cooked.
Very well.
He learned I hated mushrooms.
I learned he secretly loved old American jazz.
He learned I studied by reading notes aloud.
I learned he called Maria every morning.
He learned I cried whenever I saw elderly couples holding hands.
Neither of us mentioned these discoveries.
Then one November evening, snow began falling unexpectedly.
I was studying pharmacology at Maria’s kitchen table.
Antonio arrived after nine.
“You’re still here?”
“Exam tomorrow.”
“The trains are delayed.”
“I saw.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“I can manage.”
“Sophie.”
“Antonio.”
Maria appeared.
“If you two ever marry, I’m moving to Florida.”
I nearly dropped my pen.
Antonio went completely still.
Maria calmly walked away.
The drive home was silent for three blocks.
Then I started laughing.
Antonio looked at me.
“What?”
“Your mother.”
“She’s relentless.”
“You looked terrified.”
“I was not terrified.”
“You absolutely were.”
“Of marriage?”
“Of your mother saying it.”
Antonio became quiet.
The mood shifted.
Snow moved across the windshield.
“Elena and I were supposed to marry in October,” he said.
I stopped smiling.
“You don't have to tell me.”
“She was killed by a drunk driver.”
There was no dramatic detail.
No criminal conspiracy.
Just terrible chance.
“I’m sorry.”
“I was twenty-eight.”
He looked straight ahead.
“For years, I believed loving somebody simply gave life another way to punish you.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“It was efficient.”
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
“No.”
We reached my building.
I opened the door.
“Sophie.”
I looked back.
His expression was different.
Vulnerable.
“I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
I swallowed.
“I’m not.”
“You were the first night.”
“I thought you were reaching for a gun.”
“I was reaching for money.”
“I know that now.”
He smiled faintly.
“But I'm not afraid of you.”
That seemed to matter.
More than it should have.
I got out.
He waited until I was inside before leaving.
Three months passed.
I finished my first semester back with honors.
Maria celebrated as though I had graduated from medical school.
Antonio brought cake.
“I thought we agreed on no gifts.”
“It’s cake.”
“Cake is a gift.”
“Then don’t eat it.”
I ate two pieces.
Spring came.
And so did trouble.
Not Antonio’s trouble.
Mine.
I returned to Bellarosa for a Saturday shift and found Marco waiting in the office.
Beside him stood a man I hadn't seen in almost six years.
My father.
Daniel Bennett.
He looked older.
Thinner.
But his smile was exactly the same.
The smile that had convinced my mother to forgive him twenty times.
The smile that had promised me birthdays he never attended.
“Hey, Soph.”
My entire body went cold.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see my daughter.”
“You know where the door is.”
His smile faded.
“I heard you've got rich friends now.”
There it was.
Not daughter.
Money.
“I don't.”
“Antonio Russo?”
Marco quietly left.
My father stepped closer.
“People are talking.”
“People should find hobbies.”
“He's paying you.”
“For working.”
Daniel laughed.
“Come on, Soph.”
“What do you want?”
“Just a little help.”
“No.”
“You haven't heard—”
“No.”
His face changed.
The charming mask disappeared.
“You always were selfish.”
Something inside me cracked.
“My grandmother sold her wedding ring to pay bills while you were gambling in Atlantic City.”
“That was years ago.”
“She died asking whether you’d called.”
He looked away.
I pointed toward the door.
“Leave.”
He did.
But before leaving, he turned.
“You think people like Russo care about girls like you?”
I said nothing.
“They use people, Sophie.”
The door closed.
I told myself Daniel's words didn't matter.
But that evening, when Antonio came to collect Maria, he knew immediately something was wrong.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Sophie.”
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like you can solve everything.”
His expression changed.
“I never said I could.”
“I don't need protecting.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
That should have ended it.
Instead, tears burned behind my eyes.
I hated that.
Antonio noticed.
His voice softened.
“Who hurt you?”
And for once, the question didn't sound threatening.
It sounded concerned.
So I told him.
Everything.
When I finished, Antonio remained silent.
Then he said something I never expected.
“I won't interfere.”
I stared at him.
“Really?”
“Unless you ask me.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
That was the moment I began trusting him.
Not because Antonio Russo could solve my problems.
Because for once, he respected my right to solve them myself.
Three days later, my father disappeared from Bellarosa.
Not literally.
He simply stopped coming.
Antonio claimed he had done nothing.
Maria claimed Antonio was a terrible liar.
I never learned the whole truth.
And strangely, I didn't need to.
Because a much bigger problem was coming.
One that neither Antonio’s influence nor Maria’s matchmaking could fix.
My nursing school called me on a Tuesday afternoon.
There was a problem with my financial aid.
Unless I paid the outstanding balance within ten days, I would be removed from the program.
One semester before graduation.
Again.
May you like
And this time, I decided I would rather lose everything than let Antonio Russo rescue me.
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