Chapter 2 - THE QUESTION IN THE LIBRARY
The private library of the Rossi estate was a room few staff members ever stepped inside.
Heavy mahogany shelves ran from the floor to the vaulted ceiling, packed with leather-bound volumes and antique legal texts. A low fire crackled softly in the dark stone hearth, casting warm shadows over deep leather armchairs.
Dr. Vance, the Rossi family's private physician, had finished placing four neat stitches along Skylar's cheekbone.
"It will heal cleanly, Skylar," Dr. Vance said gently, packing away his medical tape and antiseptic. "You were lucky the diamond ring didn't cut deeper into your cheek."
"Thank you, Doctor," Skylar whispered, clutching a fresh ice pack against her swollen face.
Carmela sat in the armchair beside her, holding Skylar’s other hand tightly in her lap. The older woman refused to go to her room, despite her pale complexion and visible fatigue.
"She saved me, Dominic," Carmela repeated for the third time, her voice shaking slightly. "Bianca was going to strike me. She called me a burden. She said I belonged in a home."
Dominic stood by the fireplace, a glass of amber scotch resting untouched in his hand. He hadn't poured it to drink; he was simply holding it, his fingers white around the crystal.
"Dr. Vance, please take my mother to her suite and ensure she takes her evening sedative," Dominic ordered calmly.
"No, Dominic, I want to stay—" Carmela protested.
"Mother," Dominic said, stepping forward and kissing Carmela softly on her forehead. "Rest. I am taking care of this."
Carmela looked at her son, seeing the dark resolve in his eyes, and finally nodded. She leaned down, squeezing Skylar's shoulder gently. "Thank you, sweetheart. I will see you in the morning."
Once the doctor and Carmela left the room, the library fell into a profound, suffocating silence.
Skylar sat frozen in the massive leather chair. She felt ridiculously out of place, her oversized green maid’s uniform stained with red wine and blood, her unstyled brown hair falling around her face in damp strands.
Dominic walked over and sat down in the chair opposite her. He set his glass on the side table.
He looked at her. Really looked at her.
For eleven months, Dominic had seen her around the house—a background figure, the clumsy maid who broke teacups and tripped over rugs. He had heard the staff jokes about "Penny." He had ignored them because he had a multi-billion-dollar empire to run.
Now, he realized how blind he had been.
"Why did you do it?" Dominic asked softly.
Skylar looked down at her lap, her fingers knotting together. "I... I saw her hand go up, sir. I didn't think. I just reacted."
"You took a hit meant for my mother," Dominic said, his eyes scanning the thick purple bruise forming on her cheek. "You knew Bianca was going to be my wife. You knew she could have had you fired on the spot. Yet you threw yourself in front of her."
"Mrs. Rossi has been kind to me," Skylar said simply, her voice dropping to a whisper. "In a place where not many people are. I couldn't watch someone hurt her."
Dominic leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together. "The staff call you Penny."
Skylar flinched slightly, a flash of pain crossing her eyes before she masked it. "Yes, sir."
"They mock you because you're clumsy."
"I know, sir. I'm aware I don't fit the standards of your house." Skylar swallowed hard, preparing herself for the inevitable. "If you want to fire me because of the disruption tonight, I understand. I'll pack my things."
Dominic didn't answer right away. He watched her carefully—the humble honesty in her eyes, the absence of any malice or greed, the fierce protection she had shown toward an old, vulnerable woman.
Then, Dominic spoke the words that made the entire room feel as though it had shifted on its axis.
"How much do you owe for your father's medical bills?"
Skylar blinked, stunned. "What?"
"Your father," Dominic repeated, his tone calm and deliberate. "He has stage-three renal failure. He is undergoing experimental dialysis at Albany General. His insurance refused to cover the clinical trials, leaving you with one hundred and eighty-four thousand dollars in outstanding debt."
Skylar stared at him, her lips parting in utter shock. "How... how do you know that?"
"I know everything that happens under my roof, Skylar," Dominic said quietly. "I know you work eighteen-hour shifts. I know you skip meals in the breakroom to save money. And I know you stood between my mother and a dangerous woman while receiving nothing in return."
Dominic stood up and walked toward his desk. He opened a drawer, pulled out a black leather folder, and set it on the coffee table in front of her.
"What is this?" Skylar asked trembling.
"As of five minutes ago, your father's medical debt has been paid in full," Dominic said smoothly. "And a trust fund has been established to cover all his future treatments, care, and housing."
Skylar felt the breath leave her body. Her chest tightened so hard she thought she might faint. "Mr. Rossi... no... I can't accept that. That's almost two hundred thousand dollars—"
"It's a fraction of what my mother's safety is worth to me," Dominic cut her off. "But that is not all."
He leaned forward, placing both hands on the arms of her chair, trapping her gently with his intense, dark gaze.
"Starting tomorrow, you are no longer a maid in this house," Dominic stated.
"Sir?"
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"You are moving into the east wing guest suite," Dominic said, his voice ringing with absolute, unyielding authority. "You will be my mother's official personal companion. You will receive a salary of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year. And anyone in this house—staff or family—who speaks to you with anything less than absolute respect will be terminated immediately."
Skylar stared at the powerful Mafia boss, her mind reeling in absolute disbelief.
