“You sent men to my house without asking me?”
Lorenzo stopped and turned slowly.
“I am a thorough man, Sophie. I needed to verify your story, and I needed to ensure my new investment wasn’t going to run away.”
“I’m not an investment,” Sophie snapped, fatigue giving way to anger. “I’m a person.”
Lorenzo stepped closer, towering over her.
“In this house, you are what I say you are. Now come inside. It’s freezing.”
Sophie followed him, fuming but helpless.
The interior of the mansion was breathtakingly cold. Marble floors, high ceilings, expensive art that looked as if it belonged in a museum. But there were no photographs, no warmth. It felt like a mausoleum for the living.
Lorenzo led her into a library that smelled of old paper and cigar smoke. A fire crackled in the hearth, the only source of warmth she had felt in hours.
“Sit,” he commanded, pointing to a leather armchair.
Sophie sat. She watched as Lorenzo walked to a mahogany desk and poured 2 glasses of amber liquid. He handed 1 to her.
“Brandy. It will help with the shock.”
Sophie took the glass but did not drink.
“So what now? Do I sign a contract in blood?”
Lorenzo chuckled, a low, dark sound. He picked up a manila folder from his desk and tossed it into her lap.
“Open it.”
Sophie opened the folder. Her breath hitched.
It was her life.
There were photographs of her walking to work, photographs of Toby at school, copies of her overdue electric bills, and a copy of her father’s death certificate from a construction accident 5 years earlier, an accident for which the company had never paid out.
“How?” Sophie looked up, horrified. “How do you have all this? We’ve known each other for 1 hour.”
“I have a team of analysts who can find the history of a ghost in 10 minutes,” Lorenzo said, leaning against the desk. “I know everything, Sophie. I know you dropped out of nursing school to take care of Toby when your father died. I know you have $42,000 in debt. I know your landlord, Mr. Russo, has been threatening to evict you by Friday.”
He took a sip of brandy, watching her over the rim of the glass.
“You are drowning, Sophie. I am the lifeboat.”
Sophie felt naked. All her secrets, her shame, and her struggles had been laid out on paper for this billionaire criminal to judge.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice cracking. “You could hire anyone. Why go to this trouble for a maid?”
Lorenzo set down his glass. He walked around the desk and stood in front of her. Reaching out, he tilted her chin up so she had to look at him.
“Because when Beatrice Vane threw that champagne, you didn’t flinch,” he said softly. “You didn’t look for an exit. You stood your ground. Loyalty like that is rare. It cannot be taught. It must be born.”
His thumb brushed her lower lip, a gesture so intimate that Sophie stopped breathing.
“I need someone I can trust with my mother’s life,” Lorenzo said. “My enemies would love to use her against me. They would hurt her to get to me. I need a guard dog, Sophie. One that looks like a lamb but bites like a wolf. I think that is you.”
He pulled back and picked up a pen. He placed a document on the table beside her.
“The contract. It outlines the salary, the benefits, and the confidentiality agreement. It also states that if you betray me, the consequences will be severe.”
Sophie looked at the paper.
It was her salvation. It was Toby’s future.
It was also the end of her freedom.
She thought of the cold apartment. She thought of Beatrice Vane laughing at her. She thought of the way Lorenzo had put his jacket around her.
She picked up the pen.
“I have 1 condition,” she said, her hand hovering over the paper.
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow.
“You are in no position to bargain, but go ahead. Amuse me.”
“I want to finish my nursing degree,” Sophie said. “Online at night, when Isabella is asleep. You pay for tuition.”
Lorenzo stared at her for a long moment. Then a genuine smile touched his lips, not the cold smirk from before, but something real. It transformed his face, making him devastatingly handsome.
“Done,” he said.
