Chapter 5 - The Contract
The next morning, the agency supervisor called me before dawn with a tone of frantic, trembling disbelief. She didn't fire me. Instead, she informed me that my contract had been bought out entirely by Valenti Holdings, and my new assignment was permanent, exclusive live-in housekeeper at the Lake Forest estate.
When I tried to refuse, pointing out that working directly for the head syndicate boss was a recipe for disaster, Dominic’s chief of security, a hulking wall of muscle named Marcus, showed up at my West Side apartment with a team of movers. Within two hours, our meager belongings—including the lumpy mattress and Mr. Buttons—were loaded into a sleek black van, and Sophie and I were relocated into a gorgeous, sunlit suite on the ground floor of the mansion.
It was a golden cage, but to a mother desperate to keep her child warm and fed, it looked like heaven.
For the first few days, I tried to keep my distance. I cleaned the sprawling library, polished the silver in the formal dining room, and scrubbed the marble floors, making damn sure Sophie stayed safely tucked away in our suite with a brand-new tablet and mountains of coloring books. But Dominic Valenti was a shadow that couldn't be avoided.
He began appearing in rooms just as I finished cleaning them. He didn't bark orders; he simply watched me with those brooding, unreadable eyes. Sometimes, he would stand by the window in the hallway while Sophie sat on the rug, building towering castles out of wooden blocks. He never spoke to her directly after that first encounter in the corridor, but I caught him watching her—not with cold detachment, but with a quiet, devastating ache that he tried desperately to conceal.
On Friday evening, as I was sweeping the grand foyer, Dominic walked in out of the pouring rain, his dark hair damp, his overcoat slung over one broad shoulder. He stopped when he saw me kneeling by the base of the staircase, dusting the intricate woodwork.
"You don't have to work late on Fridays, Claire," he said, his voice softer than usual.
"I prefer to keep busy," I replied without looking up, my hands moving rhythmically with the feather duster. "Idle hands lead to overthinking."
Dominic sighed, stepping closer. The sound of his wet boots echoed on the marble. He crouched down beside me, right there on the dusty floor, invading my personal space. "You're hiding from me."
"I'm doing my job, Mr. Valenti."
"Look at me, Claire."
Reluctantly, I dropped the duster and turned my head, my eyes clashing with his. Up close, I could see the fine lines of exhaustion etched around his eyes—the scars of a life built on violence.
"Eleven years ago," Dominic spoke in a low, husky whisper, "a woman I loved betrayed me, selling our secrets to a rival syndicate. They tried to kill us both. In the chaos, she vanished, pregnant and terrified. For over a decade, I hunted for them across the country, believing they were dead." He reached out, his warm, calloused fingertips gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from my face. His touch sent a violent electric shock straight down my spine. "And then, a little girl with brown eyes and a patched-up rabbit walked up to me and asked for a papa hug."
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My breath caught in my throat. The room spun. "What... what are you saying?"
"I'm saying," Dominic whispered, his eyes shining with unshed tears, "that your mother changed her last name, hid you in the poorest neighborhood in Chicago, and swore you would never know who your father was. But DNA doesn't lie, Claire. And neither does a daughter's heart."
