Chapter 5 - The Terms of the Contract
"You lied to me," I whispered, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and terror. "This morning... you acted like nothing happened!"
"This morning, Victor Vane was standing five feet away from you," Raphael said, taking a slow, deliberate step into the tight alcove. "If Victor saw me look at you with even a fraction of what I feel, he would have investigated you by noon. By dinner, he would have used your brother as leverage against me."
I pressed my back against the cold stone wall of the stairwell. "Don't bring Micah into this!"
"I am trying to save Micah, Clara!" Raphael’s voice cracked slightly, dropping its guarded mask for a brief, raw instant.
He stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I could feel the intense heat radiating from his chest. The narrow space forced us together, his shadow engulfing me completely.
"I didn't come to your door last night because I was drunk," Raphael said softly, reaching out to gently touch the silver edges of the notebook still clutched in my hands. "I drank two shots of whiskey just to give myself the courage to walk down that hallway."
I stared up at him, my breath catching in my throat. "Why?"
"Because I am surrounded by wolves, Clara," he whispered, his gray eyes burning into mine. "My family is at war with the Moretti syndicate in Buffalo. My own lieutenants are waiting for me to show a moment of weakness so they can take my crown. I haven't trusted a single human being in seven years."
He reached out and gently traced the line of my collarbone over my maid's uniform, his touch light as a feather yet electric against my skin.
"Except you," he murmured. "The girl who sits under a yellow bulb every night, working herself to the bone to save a little boy, asking for nothing from a world that has given her so little."
"I can't be involved in your world, Raphael," I said, my voice shaking. "I have to protect Micah. If I get caught in your crossfire—"
"I am offering you a contract, Clara," Raphael interrupted firmly.
He pulled a folded parchment document from his back pocket and held it out to me.
"What is this?" I asked, looking down at the heavy bond paper.
"A formal medical sponsorship," Raphael explained. "The Orsini Charitable Trust will cover 100% of Micah’s T-cell therapy, his hospital stay, his private nursing care, and his future tuition. The funds will be transferred to St. Jude’s medical board by 5:00 PM today."
My breath hitched. "And what do you want in return?"
Raphael leaned in closer, his lips hovering inches from my ear.
"One hundred seven nights, Clara," he whispered. "Stay in this house. Be my personal assistant, my confidante, the one person who sits in my study when the doors are closed and reminds me that I am still a human being."
"And after one hundred seven nights?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
May you like
Raphael pulled back slightly, looking down into my eyes with a heavy, painful sincerity.
"After one hundred seven nights, if you still want to leave... you walk away with Micah, fully healed, and enough money to never work another day in your life."
