Chapter 2 - The Offer in Queens
By ten the next morning, Harper was wiping ketchup from a cracked Formica table at Murphy’s Diner in Queens when every conversation in the room died. Harper looked toward the door. Roman Moretti stood beneath a flickering Budweiser clock looking as natural as a wolf in a daycare center.
“Oh, come on,” Harper muttered.
Her boss, Eddie Murphy, nearly dropped a tray. “You know that guy?”
“Unfortunately,” Harper whispered, setting down her rag.
Roman cut through the vinyl booths with deliberate composure. Two tailored enforcers remained outside near a sleek black sedan, keeping vigil on the wet sidewalk. Roman stopped at the counter, his dark eyes locking onto Harper.
“You work two jobs,” Roman said, stating it as a fact rather than asking a question.
“I like to eat,” Harper replied, wiping her hands on her apron. “And pay rent. What are you doing here, Mr. Moretti?”
“My mother wants you to work for her.”
Harper blinked. “I’m a waitress.”
“You are a person who speaks to her without pity,” Roman countered calmly. “She wants a companion. Someone to assist her with daily activities, accompany her to functions, and keep her engaged. Three thousand a week.”
Harper choked on her breath. “Three thousand a week? That’s more than I make in two months!”
“Then it seems like a poor financial decision to refuse.” Roman reached into his coat, pulling out a heavy cream envelope and laying it on the counter. “My estate is in Long Island. You will live on the grounds. A private cottage, fully catered, private transportation. Your only responsibility is Beatrice.”
Harper looked at the envelope, then at Roman’s severe, striking features. Beneath his pristine suit lay an aura of immense danger. Everyone in New York knew the Moretti family operated in the gray shadows of city enterprise.
“Why me?” Harper asked softly. “You could hire professional interpreters. Scholars. Anyone.”
“Professional interpreters treat her like a job,” Roman said, stepping closer. His voice dropped, low and resonant. “You treated her like a human being. My mother hasn’t laughed like she did last night since my father died four years ago. I pay for results, Miss Hayes. And I protect those who take care of my family.”
Harper felt a sudden knot in her stomach. “I have a life here.”
Roman glanced around the greasy diner, his eyes lingering on the water damage in the ceiling tiles. “You have survival here, Miss Hayes. That isn't the same thing as a life.”
Harper swallowed hard. He was right. She was drowning in medical debts left behind from Owen’s final months, working eighty hours a week just to keep a roof over her head. She looked down at her red, chapped hands.
“What’s the catch?” she whispered.
“You enter my house,” Roman said softly, leaning over the counter. “You see things. You hear things. You keep your mouth shut to the outside world. My enemies are patient and cruel. If you are near my mother, you are within their line of sight.”
“Are you offering me a job or warning me?”
“Both.”
May you like
Harper reached out, her fingers touching the crisp linen envelope. “I need an advance to clear my back rent.”
Roman didn't hesitate. He pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from his inner pocket and placed it beside the letter. “Pack your bags. My car is outside.”
