The underboss’s surrogate

Chapter Four

Aria’s POV

My mother's voice is the only thing I can hear.

"Never let anyone buy your dignity, Aria. Whatever happens. Whatever it costs. You hold on to that."

I think about her lying in that hospital bed. I think about the seven million. I think about Matteo, sixteen years old, sleeping on a couch with schoolbooks on the floor.

And I think: I have just lost the only money we had.

I will find another job. I will find something. Anything. But I will not—

Jack picks up his glass again. He does not even look at me now.

"Then find your way out."

I walk toward the door. My legs are steady. I do not know how. My hands are shaking so hard I can barely feel them, but my legs are steady, and I keep my chin up, and I do not cry.

I almost make it.

Then Signora Ricci follows me.

"Wait." She is smiling. That is the worst part. "Do you not want to know what I told him?"

I stop. I do not turn around.

"I told him you are arrogant," she says. "With nothing to offer. I told him your behavior that is how you act around men to get their favor. And I told him there are other maids who would do it willingly." She laughs. Soft. Pleased with herself. "But for you? Insulting him like that? You deserved to be taught a lesson. So I asked him to call his aunt and fire you."

I turn.

She is standing there with her arms folded, and she looks happier than I have ever seen her.

"I was fed up with you," she says. "Watching you walk around here like you were better than the rest of us. My mission is finally accomplished." She steps closer. "If you had slept with him, I would have taken a clip of it and shown it to the world. So thank your stars. Either way, you were getting fired today."

Something in my chest goes very still.

Either way.

I was going to lose this job the moment I walked in this morning.

"Run along," she says.

I look at her. Really look. Three decades in service. Three decades of scrubbing and bowing and swallowing every insult. And she used all of it all that pain to destroy a girl who had nothing.

"You are heartless," I say quietly. "One day you will look in the mirror and see what you have become. And you will hate it."

She stops smiling.

I walk out.

I walk home.

Not the bus. I cannot afford it now. The walk is long, and the sun is heavy, and by the time I reach our building my feet are bleeding inside my shoes.

Every step, I think: How stupid was I?

I could have just set the table. I could have smiled. I could have survived one more week.

But I know what would have come after that. Next week. Next month. Jack would remember. His friend would remember. Signora Ricci would remember. One day they would have called me into that room, and I would have had the same choice, except by then I would have been too tired and too broke to say no.

I said no early.

At least it saved me something.

At least it saved me me.

I reach into my pocket for my keys.

My fingers find paper.

I stop on the stairs.

I pull it out. Small. Cream. Gold letters.

Discretion Guaranteed.

I stand there in the dark stairwell with the card in my hand, and I remember the woman's eyes on me. The way she looked at me like I was something she could use. It made my skin crawl then.

Now I just feel desperate.

Maybe I can get a job. A real one. Cleaning. Cooking. Something. I will go, I will ask, and if it is wrong, I will walk out again.

I climb the stairs.

Matteo is at school. Good. The apartment is empty. I go to my room and take the card from the drawer where I hid it, and I turn it over one more time, and I look at the number, and there is nothing else. No name. No address. No company.

Just the number, and three words.

I stare at it. It is the most expensive-looking thing I have ever held.

I put it in my pocket and go.

The address is written in tiny print on the back, in gold so faint I almost missed it.

It is an office. Third floor. Glass door. No sign.

A woman sits behind a desk with hair the color of fire. She looks up.

"Can I help you?"

"I do not have an appointment."

She waits.

I hold up the card.

Her eyebrows lift. Just a little.

"One moment." She picks up the phone, murmurs something I cannot hear, and hangs up. "You may go in."

The office is white and quiet.

The woman from the street is standing by the window. She turns when I come in. Tall. Elegant. The same dress, or one just like it. The same eyes.

"Sit," she says.

I sit.

"Aria." She says my name like she has been holding it since last night. "You were fast. I did not expect you to change your mind so quickly."

"I lost my job."

"Ah." She smiles. "Then you are lucky."

I do not feel lucky.

"My name is Jasmine. I find people for other people." She sits across from me and folds her hands. "I have a client. He has paid me five million to find him a surrogate."

The word lands in the room and sits there.

I go cold.

"Is there anything else?" I ask. "Because I do not intend to sell my body."

Jasmine tips her head.

"It seems you do not understand something, Aria." She leans forward. "Do you know how many women would run to me for this? Do you know how many would beg? This man is very rich. He is not looking for a w***e. He is looking for a mother."

I say nothing.

She slides a folder across the desk.

ONE YEAR.

ONE CHILD.

WALK AWAY RICH.

NO FEELINGS. NO EXCEPTIONS.

My eyes stay on the last line.

No feelings.

That, at least, I can promise. I have nothing left in me for feelings.

"Nobody would know," I say. My voice sounds far away.

"Nobody. It is entirely private. Legally documented. You would live at his estate for one year. Medical care. Housing. Everything provided." She pauses. "And when it is finished, you would walk away with enough money to never scrub another floor in your life."

Seven million.

The number fills my whole head.

Matteo. Mama. The surgery.

I do not need to think.

I need to survive.

I read it through. Every page. Every line. My hands do not shake anymore.

Jasmine watches me the whole time, patient, like a woman watching a fish swim toward a net.

I put the pen down.

"In," I say. "I am in."

Jasmine laughs. Low and warm.

"You see?" she says. "I told you."

She picks up her phone. Dials.

It rings once.

Twice.

Third ring.

"I have gotten you a surrogate," she says. "Come to my office. We will finalize everything."

She listens for a moment.

"Tonight," she says.

Then she hangs up, and looks at me, and smiles.