Chapter 2: The Offer
1317 Words
The rain had stopped by morning, but the air still clung to me like fingers.
I barely slept, jolting awake every time a car passed outside or a floorboard creaked. Each time, I half-expected to find Matteo standing in the shadows of my room, waiting.
Instead, the shadows were empty.
My thoughts weren’t.
I spent the morning at the bakery one last time. The auction men were already there, measuring the ovens, noting down numbers on clipboards. My father’s handwriting was still on the chalkboard menu. Cinnamon rolls: $2.50. Croissants: $2.
It hit me then… I was erasing a life. Not just his, but mine too.
By noon, I couldn’t stand the silence anymore. I needed noise. People. Somewhere public, where Matteo wouldn’t dare show up.
The café on Fifth Avenue was my safe place. Busy enough to hide in, quiet enough to think.
I’d just settled into a corner booth, cradling a mug of coffee I couldn’t really afford, when the door chimed.
And there he was.
Matteo Cruz, dry this time, in a charcoal suit that fit him like it was sewn straight onto his body. His gaze swept the café, and when it landed on me, it was like a spotlight cutting through the room.
My fingers tightened on the mug.
He walked over, unhurried, like there was no version of this world where I’d tell him to leave. When he reached my table, he didn’t ask if he could sit, he slid in across from me, taking up too much space, his knee brushing mine under the table.
My heart jumped. I told myself it was fear.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, voice low enough that only I could hear it.
“I wasn’t aware I had to schedule meetings with my debt collector.” I tried to sound steady, but my hands betrayed me, curling tight around the mug to hide the tremor.
His mouth twitched like he almost appreciated the bite in my tone. “We could talk about the money, Isla… but we both know you don’t have it.”
I glared at him, forcing myself not to look away. “Then why are you here? Just to watch me squirm?”
“Because I have an alternative.”
The way he said it made my skin prickle. “An alternative,” I repeated slowly. “Like what? You take half? You walk away?”
“Not exactly.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, and for a moment, the café noise faded around us. “I’ll clear your debt completely. No interest. No deadlines. In return…”
The pause stretched, deliberate. His eyes locked on mine like he could pin me in place.
“Marry me.”
I blinked at him. Then I laughed — a sharp, startled sound that drew a glance from the barista. “Is this your idea of a joke?”
“I don’t joke about business,” Matteo said evenly.
“Business?” My voice pitched higher. “Marriage is business to you?”
“In my world, everything is business.” He took a sip of the coffee the waitress had just set in front of him without asking what he wanted. She didn’t even look at him when she left like she’d seen him before. Like she knew better.
“This is insane,” I said, shaking my head.
“It’s practical,” he countered. “You need protection. I need…” He stopped, studying me for a beat. “…a wife.”
That last part unsettled me more than I wanted to admit. “You could have anyone. Why me?”
His gaze flickered, the first sign of something uncalculated. “Because I don’t trust anyone. And you… you have reasons to hate me. That makes you predictable.”
“That’s twisted.”
“It’s honest.”
He said it like it was the same thing.
I shoved my chair back. “This conversation is over.”
His hand shot out, catching mine before I could stand. The contact was brief but electric, heat flaring where his fingers closed over mine.
“Think carefully, Isla,” he said, voice low. “You’ve got forty-seven hours now. If you say no, I collect in other ways.”
The way he said “collect” made my pulse spike and not just with fear.
I yanked my hand free and walked out before he could see the confusion on my face.
The afternoon passed in a blur. I tried to focus on packing up the last of my things from the bakery, but Matteo’s voice kept replaying in my head. Marry me.
Every time I thought of it, my chest tightened, not just from the absurdity of it, but from the part of me that wondered what he wasn’t saying.
That night, I found the note.
It was folded neatly inside my coat pocket, the one I’d worn to the café. Two words, written in dark ink: They’re watching.
I didn’t sleep.
The next day, I went to the library to use the public computer — mine was long dead, another casualty of unpaid bills. I typed in his name: Matteo Cruz.
The search results were a strange mix news articles about mafia raids, grainy photos of him leaving court, a charity gala where he stood beside a senator’s wife. No convictions. No clear ties to any crimes. But enough shadows in the corners to make the hair on my arms stand up.
And then I found it… a single mention in a police report from three years ago. My sister’s name. Mia Vance. Listed as a “civilian casualty” during an “unrelated incident” involving known associates of Matteo Cruz.
My throat closed.
The file didn’t say much else, but it was enough to confirm what the whispers had hinted at all along.
Mia’s death hadn’t been an accident.
By the time I left the library, the sun was setting, casting the streets in long gold shadows. I took the long way home, watching every reflection in every shop window, certain someone was following me.
When I reached my building, Matteo was leaning against the brick wall outside, like he’d been waiting all day.
“Still thinking about my offer?” he asked casually.
“I’m thinking about why my sister’s name is in a police file with yours,” I snapped.
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t deny it. “Then you already know the answer to the question you’ve been avoiding.”
“What question?”
“Whether you can trust me.”
“I can’t,” I said flatly.
He stepped closer, his presence swallowing the narrow space between us. “Then marry me. That way, you’ll see everything I do. You’ll know every move I make. And if you still hate me after…” His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth before snapping back up. “…you can walk away.”
“Debt-free?” I challenged.
His smile was small and sharp. “Debt-free. And alive.”
The way he said “alive” made my stomach drop.
“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t really about my debt?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he brushed past me, his shoulder grazing mine as he whispered, “Forty-six hours, Isla.”
That night, I sat on my bed, staring at the ring box he’d left on my kitchen counter without me noticing.
Inside was a diamond. Not small, not gaudy, just… perfect.
The sight of it made my pulse quicken in a way I didn’t want to examine too closely.
I told myself I wouldn’t say yes. But the truth was, saying no felt like signing my own death warrant.
And somewhere in the chaos of fear, anger, and grief… there was something else I couldn’t shake.
Curiosity.
- Writer
