Chapter 3 - A PROPOSITION OF STEEL
The next morning, I woke up in a room larger than my entire apartment back on 47th Street. The bedsheets were 1000-thread-count Egyptian cotton, and the sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a manicured private garden.
For a brief second, I thought the whole night had been a surreal fever dream. But the sharp sting on my cheek reminded me of reality.
After a maid brought me fresh clothes—simple, elegant clothes that fit me perfectly—I was escorted down to the sunlit glass conservatory. Enzo was already sitting at a long marble table, sipping black coffee while reading through stack of financial reports. Across from him sat my fourteen-year-old sister, Maya, gleefully eating a tower of chocolate chip pancakes.
"Elena!" Maya squeaked, jumping up to hug me tightly. "This place is insane! They have a swimming pool indoors! And the internet speed is faster than the school library!"
I hugged her back, tears of relief pricking my eyes. "Are you okay, sweetie? Did anyone scare you?"
"Are you kidding? The driver bought me boba tea on the way here!" Maya beamed.
I smiled softly, then looked over at Enzo. He set his coffee cup down with a soft click. "Maya, why don't you let Mrs. Gable show you the private theater downstairs?"
Maya caught the hint immediately and scurried off, leaving us alone in the massive glass room.
"Sit down, Elena," Enzo said, gesturing to the chair across from him.
I sat, keeping my posture straight. "Mr. Marchetti, I can't thank you enough for protecting us. But we can't stay here forever. I need to find a new job, get our things from the apartment, and—"
"You aren't going back to that apartment," Enzo cut in smoothly. "And you aren't going back to waitressing."
"I have bills to pay," I insisted. "I have to support my sister."
"Which is why I am offering you a position," Enzo said, sliding a thick black leather folder across the table toward me.
I opened it. Inside was an employment contract for a position titled Executive Personal Assistant to the CEO of Marchetti Enterprises. The annual salary printed at the bottom made my breath catch in my throat. It was more money than I had ever dreamed of seeing in a decade.
"This... this is a mistake," I stammered. "I don't have a business degree, Mr. Marchetti. I worked shifts at a catering company and a diner."
"I don't need a degree. I have fifty ivy-league lawyers for that," Enzo said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the marble table. "I need someone with spine. Someone who doesn't fold under pressure. Someone who observed two hundred powerful people last night and didn't bow to their hypocrisy until she was forced to."
He paused, his dark eyes locking onto mine with hypnotic intensity.
"Camilla Ashford ruined your reputation in front of high society last night. If you walk away now, you remain the victim in her story. But if you work by my side, you will learn how this city really operates. You will never have to fear anyone like her again."
"And what do you get out of this?" I asked suspiciously. "Men like you don't offer charity, Mr. Marchetti."
Enzo smiled—a slow, dangerous curve of his lips that sent a strange shiver down my spine. "You're smart, Elena. I like that. What I get is a partner I can trust implicitly. In my world, everyone wants something from me: money, power, protection. Last night, when you were bleeding on that floor, you didn't ask me for a dime. You just asked if your sister was safe."
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I looked down at the contract, feeling the weight of the pen in my hand. My mind raced with the potential dangers of stepping into the shadow of Chicago's mafia king. But then I thought of Maya’s future, of the cold apartment, and of Camilla Ashford’s triumphant smile.
I picked up the pen and signed my name on the dotted line.
