Chapter 8 - THE HOUSEKEEPER’S REWARD
Mara looked up at the grey sky where the jet had vanished, then back into Dominic’s dark, serious eyes.
“My job is finished, Mr. Vale,” Mara said softly, adjusting her scarf against the cold wind. “I promised your mother I would deliver the truth to her sons. The truth has been delivered. The family is safe.”
“The family isn't complete without you, Mara,” Dominic said, taking a step toward her.
Mara blinked, surprised by the sudden intensity in his voice.
“I was just a nurse, Dominic,” she said, stepping back slightly. “I took a job in your house under false pretenses. I lied to your security team, I picked your locks, and I broke into your father’s private vault.”
“And you kept me from being murdered five times in forty-eight hours,” Dominic added smoothly, taking another step forward until he was standing directly in front of her, blocking the cold wind with his broad shoulders. “You also happen to be the only person in this city who isn't afraid to look me in the eye and tell me when I’m being blind.”
Mara looked down at her canvas bag, a faint, self-deprecating smile appearing on her face.
“I’m not a mobster’s lieutenant, Dominic,” she said. “I’m a woman who spent ten years cleaning up other people’s messes.”
“Good,” Dominic said, reaching down and taking the heavy canvas bag from her shoulder, holding it comfortably in his own hand. “Because I’m done being a mobster. Rowan Manor is being converted into a private foundation for neglected children—named the Elena and Sophia Vale Trust.”
Mara’s eyes widened with genuine shock. “You’re turning the estate into an orphanage?”
“It was built on stolen money and blood,” Dominic said, his gray eyes reflecting a deep, clear resolve. “It’s time that ground produced something good for a change. But I need someone to run it.”
He looked at her with an intensity that made her breath hitch in her throat.
“I need someone who knows every secret room, every hidden flaw, every exhaust vent, and every scrap of history in that house,” Dominic continued softly. “I need a Chief Executive Director who doesn't panic when things fall apart.”
Mara stared at him, her lips parted slightly, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
“You’re offering me a job?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m offering you a life, Mara,” Dominic corrected gently. “A real one. Without gray uniforms, without hiding in corridors, and without having to carry your whole world in a canvas bag.”
Mara looked down at his hand holding her battered bag, then up at his face—the face of a man who had spent his life living in darkness, now standing in the open morning light, reaching out to her with complete, unreserved honesty.
She let out a slow, trembling breath, a radiant smile breaking across her face for the first time since they had met.
“What’s the salary?” Mara asked, her voice laced with a touch of dry wit.
May you like
Dominic let out a rich, booming laugh that echoed off the high steel walls of the hangar—a laugh of pure, unadulterated relief.
“Whatever you want, Miss Ellis,” Dominic said, offering her his arm. “Whatever you want.”
