Chapter 3: The Trial Arrangement
The breakroom was small, smelling faintly of old coffee grounds and commercial bleach. A single fluorescent light flickered above a scarred laminate table where I sat with Leo still slumped across my lap. He had drifted into a heavy, dreamless sleep, his thumb tucked securely into his palm.
The door pushed open, and Julian Vance stepped inside, looking entirely too large for the cramped space. He pulled out a folding metal chair and sat down opposite me, resting his forearms on the table. The tattoos on his hands seemed to pulse under the harsh overhead light.
"You have a name?" he asked, his eyes scanning my face with clinical precision.
"Elena. Elena Soto."
"Elena," he repeated, testing the word as if weighing its value. "You walked into a private dining room, insulted my associates, took my nephew, and lectured me on parenting."
"I stated a fact," I corrected softly, adjusting the collar of Leo's sweater. "You're trying to manage him like an asset on a balance sheet. He's four years old. He thinks his entire world ended because, to him, it did."
Vance went quiet. He stared at the scratched laminate between us, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the edge of the table. "His father was my older brother. When the car went into the water, David didn't make it out. Neither did his wife. Leo was in the back seat, pulled out by the state troopers before the current took the frame." He paused, his voice dropping into a register so rough it scraped. "I took him because there's no one else. I built this city's security contracts, Elena. I can protect him from every threat on the street. But I don't know how to stop him from crying in his sleep."
The confession hung in the air, heavy and unpolished. All the menace I'd felt in the dining room fractured, revealing the raw, jagged edges underneath.
"Money and guards won't stop the nightmares," I said, my tone softening despite myself.
Vance looked up, his gaze locking onto mine. "Then what will?"
"Time, patience, and someone who isn't afraid of your shadow."
He studied me for a long, agonizing moment. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, filling the silence between us.
"I need a live-in nanny," Vance said, the words clipped and deliberate. "Someone discreet. Someone who isn't intimidated by my name or my home."
May you like
"I have a job," I reminded him.
"I own this restaurant, Elena," he replied evenly. "Your resignation was accepted five minutes ago. Pack your things. My car is downstairs."
