“This is all for me?”
“Papa said you needed your own space.”
Marco pushed open the front door without knocking.
The interior was even more surprising. It was tastefully decorated in soft blues and creams, with comfortable furniture, modern appliances, and fresh flowers on the dining table. It was larger than my old apartment, with a spacious living room, full kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom.
“Do you like it?” Marco asked anxiously. “I helped pick the colors.”
“It’s beautiful. You did a wonderful job.”
He beamed, then proceeded to give me a tour as if he had designed the place himself. He pointed to a small panel by the door.
“There’s a button here. If you push it, security comes right away. Papa says it’s important.”
The casual mention of security was a stark reminder of the world I had just entered. A world where panic buttons were standard home features.
After Marco’s enthusiastic tour, we returned to the main house for dinner. Dante was absent, with Nicholas explaining he had been called away on business but would return the following day.
I spent the evening helping Marco with his homework, supervising his bath, which was a challenge with the cast, and reading more dinosaur stories until he fell asleep. The routine felt surprisingly natural, as if I had been doing it for years rather than hours.
Later, as I settled into my new cottage, the reality of my situation finally hit me.
I had left my old life behind to work for a man the newspapers called a criminal, caring for his son in a house protected by armed guards. I had either made the worst decision of my life or the best, and I had no idea which.
My new phone buzzed with a text message.
Nicholas tells me you’re settling in well. Marco is happy. Thank you, Ellie.
I stared at the message, trying to decipher the man behind the words. Dante Russo remained an enigma: dangerous yet protective, cold yet capable of surprising warmth where his son was concerned.
