Chapter 2: Four Rules

The car was a black Rolls with rain streaming down the windows, and I sat in it with my arms wrapped around myself like a shield. Dante sat across from me. He hadn't touched me since the club. Somehow that was worse. "Your sister's name is Lily," he said. "Nineteen. Congenital heart defect, diagnosed at four. Your mother died eight years ago in a hit-and-run on Ninth and Carroll, and you dropped out of Juilliard nine weeks later." The blood left my face. "You investigated me." "I know everything about you." He turned his wrist, checking a watch that cost more than my childhood home. "Except one thing. And I intend to find it out slowly." "You had no right—" "I have every right." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and the space between us caught fire. "I bought your future tonight, Nora. I'd like to know what I paid for." I hated him. I hated him so much my hands shook. I also couldn't stop looking at his mouth, and that I hated more. He pulled a folded document from his coat and set it on the seat beside me. AGREEMENT OF ARRANGEMENT — MORETTI, D. / QUINN, N. "Four rules," he said. "Read them out loud." I lifted my chin. If he wanted a scared girl, he'd picked the wrong one. "One. You will live where I put you." "Yes." "Two. You will never be alone in public without my men." "Yes." "Three." My voice faltered. "You will not be touched by anyone but me." The rain roared against the roof. "Say it again," he said softly. "Go to hell." The corner of his mouth moved. Not a smile. Something more dangerous. "Rule four." "You will never lie to me." I looked up. "That's it? That's what a man like you cares about? Honesty?" "It's the only thing I've never been able to buy." He took the pen from his pocket — heavy, gold-nibbed — and held it out. I stared at it. Somewhere across the city, a machine was breathing for my little sister. I signed my name. My hand didn't shake until after. Dante took the contract back, folded it, and slid it into his coat. Then he sat back and studied me with those bottomless eyes. "You've already broken one," he said. "What? I signed it thirty seconds ago—" "Rule four." He tilted his head. "Tonight, in that room, you said you'd never seen me before." My mouth went dry. "I haven't." "Look at me, Nora." I did. And for one dizzying second, something flickered — a wet street, a boy bleeding against a wall, headlights, my own voice screaming into a phone. Then it was gone, and my head was pounding. "You're lying," I whispered. "To yourself, maybe. But you're lying." The car stopped. Dante opened the door, and the rain came in sideways, and he offered me his hand like a devil at the gates of somewhere gilded. "Welcome home," he said. "Try not to open any doors I haven't opened for you."