Chapter 9 - The New Director
Aleandro turned toward the long windows overlooking the dark timberland of his estate.
"Gabriel’s position is vacant," Aleandro said. "Director of House Security and Domestic Logistics."
Hannah blinked, stunned. "Mr. Vitali... I’m a cleaner. I don't know how to run a security detail. I don't carry a gun. I don't know tactical maneuvers."
"I have forty men with military training who can shoot a target at five hundred yards, Hannah," Aleandro said, turning back to face her. "I don't need another man with a gun. Gabriel had twenty years of tactical training, and he didn't see a four-inch cable running under my kitchen because his head was filled with greed."
He walked over to his desk, picked up a thin grey tablet, and handed it to her.
"I need someone who notices the temperature of the floor," Aleandro said, pointing to the screen. "I need someone who notices when a dog changes his breathing pattern. I need someone who notices when dust hasn't been disturbed on an iron ladder. I need someone who looks at this house not as a fortress of power, but as a system that must be kept clean."
Hannah looked down at the tablet screen. Displayed on the display was a live digital schematic of the entire Blackwood Ridge property—every camera feed, every door sensor, every thermal array, and every financial ledger for the domestic payroll.
At the top of the screen, listed in clear, bold black lettering, was her new title:
DIRECTOR OF INTERNAL COMPLIANCE AND DOMESTIC SECURITY: HANNAH COLLINS.
"The salary is three hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year," Aleandro said, his voice entirely businesslike. "You will have a private office on the ground floor. You will report directly to me, and only to me. No capo, no security officer, no attorney in my organization will have the power to override your domestic decisions."
Hannah sat in the silence of the library, the warmth of the fire pressing against her skin, the weight of the silver tablet resting in her lap.
She thought about the long, dark years after her husband’s death—the endless double shifts, the cold buses at midnight, the aching knees from scrubbing grease off restaurant kitchen tiles, the terrifying monthly struggle to cover Lily’s asthma medication and rent.
She looked at the small brass key on the table—the key to a future where her daughter would never have to worry about a cold apartment or a missed meal again.
Then she looked at Aleandro Vitali.
He was a dangerous man—a man who ruled an underworld empire with a hand of iron and a mind of ice. But standing in this room, watching her with a quiet, absolute respect that no employer had ever offered her in her entire life, she realized something else.
He was a man who kept his promises.
"On one condition," Hannah said, setting the tablet down on her knee.
Aleandro raised an eyebrow. "A condition? Name it."
"The dog stays with me," Hannah said, pointing toward the heavy mahogany door where Maximus was currently lying asleep across the threshold, his dark chest rising and falling rhythmically. "He doesn't sleep in the security kennels down by the garage anymore. He sleeps in the house. Near the kitchen."
For the first time since she had met him eleven weeks ago, a true, genuine smile broke across Aleandro Vitali’s face—a warmth that completely transformed his dark, intimidating features.
May you like
"Agreed," Aleandro said, reaching out his hand to her. "Maximus is yours."
Hannah took his hand. His grip was warm, dry, and firm—a seal placed upon a contract that would rewrite both of their lives.
