Chapter 11 - THE CONTRACT CHLOE WROTE HERSELF
I wrote my own terms.
Salary.
Hours.
Healthcare.
Housing separated from employment.
No debt repayment.
No obligation to Dominic personally.
Thirty days’ notice either direction.
If I quit, Sam and I kept the apartment lease for six months at market rent.
Dominic read every page.
“You hired a lawyer.”
“Yes.”
“You could’ve used mine.”
“That would defeat the point.”
He smiled faintly.
Then signed.
No negotiation.
I narrowed my eyes.
“That easy?”
“You wanted fair.”
“Yes.”
“It’s fair.”
I almost distrusted him more for agreeing.
Then I added one handwritten clause.
EMPLOYEE SHALL NOT BE REQUIRED TO PARTICIPATE IN, FACILITATE, CONCEAL, OR ACCOUNT FOR ILLEGAL ACTIVITY.
Dominic stared.
“That is broad.”
“That is the point.”
“Laura’s books are complicated.”
“Then simplify them.”
He sighed.
Signed again.
Within six months, Laura became genuinely legitimate.
No hidden flows.
No quiet cleaning of outside cash.
Dominic separated it from the rest of his holdings.
He claimed it was because regulators were looking closer.
I knew better.
His mother’s name mattered.
So did my clause.
Then Sam started middle school.
First day, Dominic arrived with an expensive backpack.
I stared.
“No.”
Sam stared too.
“It has a laptop compartment.”
“No.”
Dominic looked offended.
“I bought a backpack.”
“You bought a backpack that costs more than our old monthly grocery bill.”
“It’s durable.”
Sam whispered:
“I kind of like it.”
Traitor.
We compromised.
Sam kept it.
Dominic was banned from buying shoes.
Life became strangely normal.
Victor entered a cooperation agreement concerning Moretti’s businesses.
He lost money.
Positions.
Prestige.
But stayed out of prison under terms I never asked to understand fully.
He entered therapy.
Dominic mocked him.
Then eventually went too.
He told no one.
Paulie told me.
Paulie cannot keep a secret unless someone’s life depends on it.
Then one evening, Dominic asked me to dinner.
“Business?”
“No.”
“Sam?”
“No.”
“What?”
“Dinner.”
I stared.
“Like a date?”
He looked uncomfortable.
Amazing.
Dominic Rossi could threaten half the city but apparently asking a woman out challenged him.
“Yes.”
I almost enjoyed making him wait.
Then:
“No.”
He blinked.
“Why?”
“Because I work for you.”
“Technically—”
“No.”
He stopped.
Good.
I continued:
“I spent my entire adult life with men who controlled whether I had money, housing, safety, or peace.”
My father accidentally.
Varga deliberately.
Moretti strategically.
Now Dominic paid my salary.
“I will not date another man while he controls my paycheck.”
Dominic sat back.
I expected argument.
Instead:
“Okay.”
That irritated me.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all?”
“What do you want? A kidnapping?”
Despite myself, I laughed.
Then he said:
“Quit.”
My smile disappeared.
“No.”
“I mean eventually.”
He corrected quickly.
“Build something else.”
“What?”
“You’re good at this.”
“At restaurant books?”
“At finding what people hope you won’t notice.”
That stayed with me.
Months later, I enrolled in night classes.
Accounting.
Compliance.
Business management.
Not because Dominic ordered.
Because for the first time, I could imagine a career beyond survival.
Then my instructor gave us a forensic-accounting assignment.
I found the fake transaction in twelve minutes.
He stared.
“Have you done this before?”
May you like
I smiled.
“Something like that.”
