Chapter 3 - The Offer on the Table
Ava felt a cold spark of adrenaline shoot down her spine, but her facial muscles remained completely relaxed—a skill forged through years of high-stress undercover simulations.
"He asked if I was staying, Mr. Russo," Ava corrected gently, adjusting her posture slightly. "Deaf children often measure time in terms of presence. When they ask about time, they are usually asking if the person who understands them is about to leave."
Dominic held her eyes for a moment longer. The tension in his jaw softened by a fraction of a millimeter. He set his wine glass back onto the white linen with a soft, dull thud.
"His mother died three years ago," Dominic said calmly, as if stating an economic fact. "Since then, he has had five tutors. Three were afraid of my house. Two were afraid of my son. None of them stayed longer than a month."
"Teaching a deaf child requires patience, sir, not authority," Ava said softly, keeping her eyes fixed on Dominic’s face. "If they feel your frustration, they shut down."
Eli watched the exchange between them, his small hands playing with the edge of his navy blazer. He could not hear the words, but he was reading the rhythm of their breathing, the tension in their shoulders, the way his father’s hand rested on the table.
"You work sixty hours a week here?" Dominic asked, gesturing to her apron.
"Forty at Lavella, twenty at a bakery on 4th Street," Ava answered, relying on her pre-established legend. "Rent in Queens is not forgiving."
Dominic reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a sleek leather card case. He extracted a heavy, cream-colored card with gold embossed lettering and slid it across the white tablecloth.
"I am offering you a position," Dominic said flatly. "Private companion and language instructor for Eli. You will live at the estate in Westchester. You will be paid three thousand dollars a week."
Ava stared at the gold-lettered card. Three thousand dollars a week—over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year. It was more than double her official FBI salary. More importantly, it was an immediate, unhindered backstage pass into the central nerve center of the Russo crime family: Dominic’s private estate in Westchester, a location federal surveillance had failed to penetrate for over a decade.
She forced herself to look hesitant, letting a slight frown wrinkle her brow.
"Mr. Russo... I am a waitress," Ava said carefully. "I don't have a formal degree in deaf education. I only know what I learned with my brother."
"I don't care about degrees," Dominic said, his dark eyes narrowing into steel slits. "Degrees buy credentials. Money buys obedience. I want someone my son does not shrink away from. Look at him."
Ava turned her head.
Eli was staring at her, his fingers holding his small napkin, his face filled with an silent, desperate plea. He signed one word, so tiny that only someone looking directly at his hands would catch it.
Please.
Ava felt a genuine pang of compassion cut through her cold professional training. This child was trapped in a golden cage, surrounded by armed bodyguards and silent stone walls, completely isolated from human connection.
"I would need to give two weeks' notice to Gerald," Ava said slowly, playing the part of a cautious, working-class woman.
"Gerald has already been compensated for your departure," Dominic said smoothly, signaling to a large man in a dark coat standing near the door. "Your shift ended two minutes ago, Miss Collins. Pack your locker. My driver will take you home to gather your clothes."
Ava blinked, playing along with the shock. "Tonight?"
May you like
"I do not like waiting," Dominic said, standing up from the table and smoothing the front of his bespoke jacket. He reached down, offering his hand to his son. Eli took it immediately, standing up quietly beside his father.
Dominic looked at Ava, his expression completely unreadable. "Welcome to the family, Miss Collins."
