BELLA'S POV:
"Everything?" I whispered.
The man in my doorway didn't blink. "May I come in?"
Every instinct screamed no. But Mom's face flashed in my mind. Pale. Weak. Dying.
I stepped aside.
He walked past me like he owned the place. Maybe he did now. He owned Mom's debt. Did that mean he owned me too?
"Sit." He pointed to my kitchen chair.
"This is my apartment—"
"Sit. Please." He added the please like an afterthought. Like he wasn't used to asking for anything.
I sat because my legs were shaking too hard to stand.
He pulled out the other chair and sat across from me. This close, I could see details. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. A scar above his left eyebrow. And those eyes—gray and cold and somehow sad.
"My name is Dante Salvatore." He said it like I should know who that was.
I didn't.
"Okay."
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "You don't know me."
"Should I?"
"Most people do." He leaned back. "I'm the man who controls half of Chicago. I'm the man people cross the street to avoid. I'm the man who killed Marco Torelli in that alley last night."
My stomach flipped. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I need you to understand what you're dealing with. I'm not a good man, Isabella. I'm not someone you want in your life." He paused. "But I'm the only one who can save your mother."
Tears burned my eyes. I blinked them back. "What do you want?"
"I need someone invisible. Someone who can go places, hear things, and disappear. Someone desperate enough to take risks but smart enough to survive them." His eyes locked on mine. "I need you."
"I'm just a waitress—"
"You're more than that. You dropped out of nursing school with top grades. You speak Italian and Spanish. You remember faces and details. You're exactly what I need."
How did he know all that?
"What would I have to do?"
"Whatever I tell you. Attend events with me. Listen to conversations. Report back. Pretend to be someone you're not." He pulled papers from his jacket. "Three years. You work for me, live in my house, follow my orders. In exchange, your mother gets the treatment. All her bills paid. Plus a salary for you."
I stared at the papers. A contract. My name already typed at the bottom.
"And if I say no?"
"Your mother has three days before the hospital pulls the plug. I own that decision now." His voice held no emotion. Just facts. "Say yes, she lives. Say no, she dies. Simple math."
"That's not a choice. That's blackmail."
"Call it what you want. But it's the only option you have."
I wanted to scream. To throw him out. To call the police.
But he was right. Mom had three days. I had forty-seven dollars.
"I need to see her first. My mother. I need to see her before I decide."
Dante stood. "You have until tonight. Eight PM. I'll be waiting at this address." He placed a business card on the table. "After that, the offer expires."
He walked to the door, then stopped. "Isabella? Your mother is lucky to have a daughter who loves her this much. Not everyone does."
Something flickered in his eyes. Pain, maybe. Then it was gone.
The door closed behind him.
I grabbed my phone with shaking hands and called the hospital.
---
Mom was sleeping when I got there.
She looked so small in that bed. Like she was disappearing a little more each day. Her hair—once thick and dark like mine—lay thin against the pillow. Her skin stretched tight over bones.
When did she get so fragile?
I took her hand. It felt like paper.
"Bella?" Her eyes opened. Tired but still warm. Still Mom. "Baby, what are you doing here so early?"
"Just wanted to see you."
She squeezed my hand weakly. "You work too much. You need rest."
"I'm fine, Mama."
"Liar." She smiled. "You have dark circles like your Nonna used to get. Not sleeping?"
I couldn't tell her about last night. About the murder. About the man who now controlled our lives.
"Just worried about you."
"Don't worry about me. I'm tough. Like old leather." She laughed, then coughed. The sound rattled in her chest.
I grabbed the water cup and held the straw to her lips. She drank a little.
"Mama, if there was a way to make you better—really better—would you want it?"
"Of course. But miracles cost money we don't have."
"But what if we did? What if I could get you the treatment?"
Her eyes sharpened. Even sick, she was still smart. Still saw through me.
"Bella Marie Romano, what did you do?"
"Nothing yet. But I might have to do something. Something you wouldn't like."
"Then don't do it." She gripped my hand harder. "I'm old. I've lived my life. You have your whole future—"
"You're fifty-two. That's not old."
"I'm dying, baby. We both know it."
"No." Tears spilled over. I couldn't stop them. "No, you're not dying. You're getting better. You have to get better."
"Bella—"
"I can't lose you too, Mama. Papa's gone. You're all I have. You're everything."
She pulled me down, hugged me close. I sobbed into her shoulder like I was five years old again.
"Whatever you're thinking of doing, it's not worth it," she whispered. "I want you safe more than I want to live."
But I'd already decided.
I'd sign any contract. Make any deal. Become whatever Dante Salvatore needed me to be.
Because a world without Mom wasn't a world worth living in.
---
Dr. Patel found me in the hallway an hour later.
"Miss Romano, do you have a minute?"
My heart sank. Bad news always started with "do you have a minute."
"What is it?"
He pulled me into an empty room. His face looked tired. Sad.
"Your mother's latest scans came back. The cancer has spread to her liver. Without immediate treatment—the experimental kind—she has maybe a week. Possibly less."
A week.
Not three days. Not Friday.
A week.
"How much?" My voice sounded far away. "How much for the treatment?"
"Three hundred thousand. But Miss Romano, even if you had the money, there's a waiting list. It could be months before—"
"What if I could get her in immediately? Today. Right now."
Dr. Patel blinked. "That's... that would require a miracle. Or someone very powerful pulling strings."
"I might know someone."
"Then I suggest you call them. Fast." He touched my shoulder. "I'm sorry. I wish I had better news."
He left me alone in that empty room.
I pulled out Dante's business card. Stared at it.
Eight PM, he'd said. But Mom didn't have until eight PM. She had days. Hours, maybe.
My phone rang. Unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Isabella." Dante's voice. Cold. Calm. "I assume you've spoken with Dr. Patel by now."
My blood froze. "How did you—"
"I know everything about you. Including the fact that your mother's condition just got worse." A pause. "So here's my new offer. Sign the contract now, and she's in treatment by noon. Or wait until tonight, and you can bury her by next week."
"You bastard—"
"Probably. But I'm a bastard who can save her life." His voice hardened. "Clock's ticking, little bird. What's it going to be?"
Through the window, I could see Mom's room. See her lying there, dying.
"Where do I sign?"
"Good girl. A car will pick you up in ten minutes. Don't keep me waiting."
He hung up.
I walked back to Mom's room. She was sleeping again. I kissed her forehead.
"I love you, Mama. I'm going to fix this. I promise."
Ten minutes later, a black car pulled up outside the hospital.
The driver opened the door. "Miss Romano?"
I got in.
The door closed behind me like a coffin lid.
On the seat beside me sat a folder. I opened it.
A contract. Three years of my life, spelled out in legal terms I barely understood.
And underneath it, a single page. Mom's clinical trial acceptance letter.
Already approved. Already signed.
He'd known I'd say yes before I even decided.
I signed my name at the bottom. My hand didn't shake this time.
The car started moving.
My phone buzzed. A text from the same unknown number.
*Welcome to the underworld, little bird. Your mother's treatment starts in one hour. You start tonight. A dress will be delivered to your apartment. Wear it. Be ready at 7 PM. You belong to me now.*
I stared at the message.
What had I just done?