Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Sunroom
The next morning, the mansion felt different. The silence wasn't punished anymore; it was suspended, hanging in the balance like thin glass.
I expected to be fired. I expected Rosa, the longtime housekeeper, to hand me a garbage bag for my clothes and escort me out the front gates before the sun fully cleared the Manhattan skyline.
Instead, Rosa found me in the laundry room at six in the morning, her usually stern face softened by a look of absolute bewilderment.
“The Boss wants to see you in the sunroom,” Rosa said, handing me a fresh, pressed uniform. “Now.”
“Am I leaving?” I asked, my heart sinking.
Rosa shook her head slowly, her eyes wide. “No, child. If you were leaving, he wouldn't have spent the entire night pacing his study. Go. And God protect you.”
The sunroom was a glass-walled sanctuary overlooking the sprawling back gardens, filled with exotic ferns and warm morning light. Dominic sat in a leather armchair by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a cup of black coffee untouched on the table beside him.
He looked like he hadn't slept a wink.
“Sit down, Clara,” he said without looking up.
I sat on the edge of a velvet settee across from him, keeping my hands folded neatly in my lap. “Mr. Russo, if this is about last night—file whatever disciplinary action you want, but the girls—”
“The girls spoke,” Dominic cut in, finally raising his head. His dark eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. “Maya said sing. Mia called me Daddy and pointed at my coat. For fourteen months, doctors, specialists, and high-priced therapists couldn't get a single syllable out of them. And you... you walked in here with a duster and a lullaby, and unlocked them in two weeks.”
“I didn't unlock them,” I said softly. “They just needed a safe space where nobody was asking them to be broken.”
Dominic leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his jaw tight. “In my world, Clara, safe spaces don't exist. Everything I touch turns to targets. People want to hurt me by hurting the things I love. That’s why my wife is in a grave. That’s why my daughters haven't spoken since the day she died.”
He stood up, walking slowly toward the glass wall, his broad shoulders tense under his shirt.
“I’m changing your contract,” he said, his back to me.
“My contract?”
“You’re no longer housekeeping,” Dominic turned around, his expression unreadable. “Starting today, you are the girls’ exclusive shadow. You eat where they eat, you sleep in the adjoining nursery suite, and you go nowhere without my explicit permission. Your salary is quadrupled. And if anyone—any of my capos, any of my guards, anyone at all—questions your presence, they answer to me.”
May you like
I stared at him, stunned. “You’re locking me in a golden cage with them.”
“I’m protecting what’s mine,” Dominic corrected, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly authority that brooked no argument. “And right now, Clara... you are becoming very important to what is mine.”
