Chapter Two: The Terms
696 Words
His apartment was not an apartment.
It was a statement.
Floor to ceiling windows overlooking the entire city. Furniture that was dark and expensive and looked like it had never been touched by anything ordinary. No photographs on the walls. No warmth anywhere. Just clean lines and cold beauty and the feeling that you had walked into a space that did not want you.
I stood just inside the door, arms crossed over my chest like that would protect me from anything in here.
He moved to a bar cart near the window and poured something amber into a glass. He didn't offer me any. He just turned and looked at me the way he had in the hallway like I was a puzzle he hadn't decided was worth solving yet.
"Sit," he said.
"I'd rather stand."
"That wasn't a suggestion."
I sat.
He pulled a chair from across the room, turned it backwards and straddled it, glass in hand, eyes on me. Up close he was even more unsettling. There was a small scar along his jaw, thin and pale, the kind that comes from something deliberate. His hands were large. Steady. The hands of someone who had never panicked in his life.
"Your name," he said again.
This time it didn't feel like a question.
"Aria," I said. "Aria Collins."
He nodded slowly, like he was filing it somewhere he wouldn't forget.
"Luca Valentino," he said. Not introducing himself. Reminding me. Making sure I understood exactly whose air I was breathing right now.
"I know who you are," I said quietly.
"Good. Then I don't have to explain what it means that you opened that envelope."
"It was a mistake "
"I don't deal in mistakes, Aria." He said my name like he was tasting it. Deciding something. "I deal in facts. The fact is you read a private communication belonging to my family. The fact is you now know a number that was not meant for you. The fact is " he leaned forward slightly "you are now connected to me whether you want to be or not."
My throat tightened. "What does that mean?"
He stood, set his glass down, and walked to the window. The city glittered below him like it was performing just for him.
"My family has enemies," he said. "People who watch. People who look for weaknesses." He turned to look at me over his shoulder. "For the last three months, those people have been watching me. Waiting for me to make a move. Waiting for something they can use."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"Nothing." He paused. "Until tonight." He turned fully now, and the city light behind him made him look carved from shadow. "My enemies believe I am emotionally untouchable. No family. No ties. Nothing they can threaten." His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I need them to believe otherwise."
I stared at him.
"No," I said.
"I haven't asked anything yet."
"You're about to ask me to pretend to be something to you." My heart was slamming against my ribs. "I can see it. The answer is no."
He studied me for a long moment.
"You feel unsafe right now," he said.
"Yes."
"And yet you're still sitting there making demands."
"Yes."
Something shifted. Just barely. Just for a second. Like a curtain moving in a room you thought was sealed.
"Fine," he said quietly.
I blinked. "Fine?"
"Your conditions are acceptable." He stood, buttoned the single button on his jacket, and looked at me with those bottomless eyes. "You'll move your things in tomorrow. I'll have the room prepared." He picked up his glass again and turned back to the window, dismissing me as easily as breathing. "Welcome home, Aria."
"Six months," he said. "That's all. You live here, in this apartment. You are seen with me when necessary. You say nothing, ask nothing, and stay out of my business entirely." He reached into his jacket and placed a card on the coffee table between us. A bank card. Black.
I stood on legs that weren't entirely steady, picked up the black card from the table, and walked to the door.
- Writer
