Chapter 2 - The Contract of Convenience
The word hung in the air like smoke from a discharged gun. Mama.
Matteo DeLuca did not move. The amber liquid of his twenty-five-year-old scotch seeped into the grout of the white marble, but his gaze remained fixed entirely on the girl in the gray uniform. Her shoulders were tense, her small hands hovering over Leo’s back as if she were afraid that holding him too tightly might break a spell—or break a law.
"What did you say?" Matteo’s voice was a low, dangerous gravel that usually made captains in the syndicate drop their eyes.
Camryn looked up, her pulse hammering against her throat. She didn't look at the shattered glass or the expensive tailored suit. She looked at the man’s eyes—dark, hollowed by a specific brand of sleeplessness she recognized all too well from the oncology wards. "He didn't mean it literally, sir," she whispered, her voice steady despite the tremor in her knees. "He’s just lonely. And he’s tired of people being afraid of him."
Leo didn't let go. His small fingers, sticky from breakfast, were dug firmly into the cheap cotton of her collar. He let out a ragged, trembling sigh, his tiny chest expanding against hers, and closed his eyes. For the first time in twenty-four months, the boy was silent without being sedated.
Mrs. Bellini, the house manager, appeared at the edge of the room, her face pale. She looked from the shattered glass to the maid, then to the Don. "Sir?"
Matteo raised a single, scarred hand. The room fell into absolute stillness again. He stepped over the puddle of liquor, his handmade leather shoes clicking against the stone until he stood directly over them. He was a massive man, broad-shouldered and carrying the scent of cedar, tobacco, and cold iron.
He looked down at Camryn. "What is your name?"
"Camryn, sir. Camryn Jenkins."
"You are not on the nanny registry, Camryn."
"I’m with the cleaning service. Pristine Heights. I was just assigned the baseboards today."
Matteo leaned down, his shadow completely swallowing her. He reached out, his thick fingers surprisingly gentle as he touched Leo’s dark curls. The boy didn't flinch. He didn't bite. He merely dug deeper into Camryn’s shoulder.
"The agency is paid three thousand a week to send me the best child specialists in the tri-state area," Matteo said, his eyes drilling into hers. "They send me women with degrees from Columbia and certifications from Switzerland. My son throws bricks at them. You come here with a bucket of vinegar and water, and he calls you his mother."
"Children don't care about degrees, Mr. Deluca," Camryn said, her defense mechanism kicking in—the raw honesty of someone who had nothing left to lose. "They know when someone is looking at them like a paycheck or a problem. He’s neither. He’s just a little boy whose world ended, and everybody is treating him like he’s a bomb about to go off."
A small, sharp smirk touched the corner of Matteo’s lips, though his eyes remained dead. "He is a bomb, Miss Jenkins. And you just cut the wire." He straightened up, adjusting the cuffs of his Brioni jacket. "Mrs. Bellini."
"Yes, Mr. DeLuca?"
"Call the cleaning agency. Buy out her contract. Whatever the penalty is, triple it. Then call my attorney. We are drawing up a new employment agreement."
Camryn scrambled to her feet, careful to keep Leo balanced against her hip. The toddler wrapped his legs around her waist like a koala, refusing to loosen his grip. "Wait—sir, I can't. I have a schedule. I have other clients—"
"You have one client," Matteo interrupted, his voice leaving no room for negotiation. "You will live here. You will care for my son. You will receive twenty thousand dollars a week."
Camryn froze. The number hit her like a physical blow. Twenty thousand a week. In one month, her mother’s experimental treatments would be completely paid for. In three months, they would be free of the debt that had kept them drowning for three years.
"And if I say no?" she asked, her voice dropping.
Matteo looked at her, his expression unreadable. "I am a reasonable man, Miss Jenkins, despite what you may have read in the tabloids. If you say no, you walk out that door with a check for your time today. But look at my son."
Camryn looked down at the little boy. Leo had opened his eyes. They were wide, wet, and filled with a desperate, terrifying terror that she would drop him. It was the same look her mother gave her every time the doctors entered the room with a clipboard.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and looked back at the king of the New York underworld. "I need a clause in the contract," she said.
"Name it."
"No guns around the boy. And you don't get to shout at him. If you're angry, you talk to me."
May you like
The security guards in the hall held their breath. Nobody set conditions for Matteo DeLuca.
Matteo stared at her for five long seconds. Then, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a gold fountain pen, and handed it to Mrs. Bellini. "Write it down," he commanded. "She stays."
