Chapter 3 - The OfferThe sedan did not take Claire back to her apartment. Instead, it crossed the river, turning into the quiet, cobblestone streets of the historic district.
It stopped outside a charming two-story brick building covered in dormant winter ivy. The windows were dark, covered in butcher paper, and a faded wooden sign hung loosely above the door: The Paper & Bean.
Claire felt the air leave her lungs.
"Gran's shop..." she whispered, her hands pressing against the glass of the car window. "How... how did you find it?"
"I told you," Roman said gently. "My men are thorough. The bank took possession of this property three years ago after your grandmother’s estate couldn't cover the back taxes. It has sat vacant ever since."
Roman stepped out of the car and opened Claire’s door. He held out his hand, and this time, Claire took it without hesitation.
He led her to the front door, pulled a heavy brass key from his pocket, and placed it into her palm.
"Go inside," Roman murmured.
Claire’s fingers trembled as she unlocked the door. The lock turned with a soft, familiar click. She pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold into the dark room.
The smell hit her instantly—old paper, dried lavender, and rich, roasted espresso beans. It was the smell of her childhood. It was the smell of safety, of love, of Margaret Dawson’s warm kitchen.
The paper on the windows had been partially peeled back, letting in shafts of pale morning sunlight. The original dark oak bookshelves were still standing along the walls, covered in a thin layer of dust. The antique brass espresso machine sat on the main counter, waiting to be polished.
Tears welled in Claire’s eyes, spilling over her eyelashes and down her cheeks. She walked slowly through the room, touching the wooden counters, running her fingers along the edge of the bookshelves.
"It’s exactly as she left it," Claire sobbed quietly, wiping her nose with her sleeve.
Roman stepped into the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with a quiet, unreadable expression.
"It belongs to the De Luca holding company now," Roman said softly. "I bought the deed from the bank two hours ago."
Claire turned around, her tears drying as a sudden, sharp caution returned to her face. "Why, Roman? What do you want from me?"
Roman walked into the room, his heavy leather shoes clicking softly against the hardwood floor. He stopped beside the main counter, resting one hand on the polished wood.
"I am a businessman, Claire," Roman said, his voice dropping into a deep, serious tone. "I do not give charity, and I do not give away real estate out of sentimentality. I am offering you a business partnership."
Claire blinked. "A partnership?"
"The De Luca Group owns fourteen commercial properties on this block," Roman explained. "This neighborhood is undergoing a revitalization project. Having a high-end, independent book-and-coffee shop on this corner increases the value of the surrounding residential properties by twelve percent. You have the knowledge, the passion, and the exact floor plans to make this business thrive."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a clean, white contract.
"I will cover fifty-one percent of the renovation costs, the inventory, and the legal fees," Roman said, laying the document on the counter. "You will own forty-nine percent of the business, with full operational control. You manage the staff, you select the books, you craft the menu. I take a minor share of the profits until my initial investment is returned, after which you have the option to buy out my share entirely."
Claire looked at the contract, then up into Roman’s intense, dark eyes.
"And what else?" she asked quietly. "What is the hidden clause?"
Roman stepped closer to her, so close she could smell the subtle scent of black pepper and cedar on his skin.
"There is no hidden clause, Claire," he said softly. "Except one. My sister, Elena, loves to read. She uses audiobooks, but she misses the atmosphere of a real bookstore. I want a private reading corner set up near the window, equipped with tactile audio stations, where she can come whenever she pleases without being judged or mocked."
Claire stared at him. Beneath the cold exterior, beneath the dark reputation of a mafia kingpin, was a man whose entire world revolved around protecting his sister.
"You really love her," Claire murmured.
"She is the only clean thing in my life," Roman replied simply. "Everything else I touch is covered in mud and blood. When I saw her yesterday, holding her cane in that cafe while those monsters laughed at her... I realized how close I came to failing her."
He looked down at Claire, his eyes softening. "You protected her when I wasn't there to do it. This isn't a bribe, Claire. It's a thank-you from a brother who owes you a debt he can never fully repay."
Claire looked down at the brass key in her hand, then at the contract resting on her grandmother's counter.
"I don't have forty-nine percent of the startup capital, Roman," she said softly. "I have fourteen hundred pounds."
"Your fourteen hundred pounds will buy the first shipment of coffee beans," Roman said, pulling a Montblanc fountain pen from his pocket and laying it beside the contract. "Your sweat and your honor will cover the rest."
Claire looked at the pen. Her heart raced, her mind screaming that aligning herself with a man like Roman De Luca was dangerous, unpredictable, and completely mad.
And yet, as she looked around the dusty, sunlight-dappled room of her grandmother's shop, she knew she had already made her choice.
She picked up the pen, flipped to the final page of the contract, and signed her name in clear, elegant cursive: Claire Dawson.
May you like
Roman took the pen back, his fingers brushing against hers, sending a sudden, intoxicating warmth rushing up her arm. He signed his name below hers—Roman De Luca—and closed the folder.
"Welcome to the family, partner," Roman murmured, a slow, breathtaking smile finally spreading across his face.
