Chapter 3 - THE PRIVATE OFFICE
The address on the embossed card led to an unassuming brick townhouse tucked away in a quiet, upscale residential pocket near the waterfront. There were no neon signs, no guards standing visibly on the front steps, but as Chloe stepped out of her rusted sedan, she noticed the faint, professional glint of security cameras mounted discreetly along the eaves.
She stood on the sidewalk for a long moment, smoothing down the front of her modest blue blouse and adjusting her trench coat. She could have thrown the card away. She could have quit Il Canto and skipped town. But running had never solved anything; it hadn't saved Leo, and it wouldn't save her livelihood now.
She walked up the stone steps and pressed the brass doorbell.
The door opened almost instantly, as if someone had been watching her approach through a monitor. The man standing in the doorway was the same broad-shouldered enforcer who had been sitting near the window at Table 7—the one who had almost drawn his weapon. Up close, he was towering, with a jagged scar running along his jawline and eyes that missed nothing.
“Miss Bennett,” he said, his voice a gravelly rumble. “Step inside. Mr. Costello is expecting you.”
She followed him through a pristine, modern entryway decorated with dark wood and minimalist art, leading back into a private study that overlooked a private courtyard garden.
Gabriel Costello sat behind a massive slab of grey marble that served as a desk. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket today; his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, tanned forearms etched with faint scars. He was reviewing a set of architectural blueprints, but as she entered, he looked up.
His blue-gray eyes locked onto hers with unsettling intensity.
“Close the door, Dante,” Gabriel instructed the enforcer without breaking eye contact with Chloe.
The heavy door clicked shut behind her, leaving the two of them alone in the quiet, sunlit room.
“Sit down, Miss Bennett,” Gabriel said, gesturing to a leather armchair opposite his desk.
Chloe didn't move. She kept her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “I’d rather stand, thank you. If this is about last night, I already apologized to Marco for causing a scene, and—”
“This isn't about Marco, and it certainly isn't about a scene,” Gabriel interrupted smoothly, leaning back in his leather chair and lacing his fingers together over his flat stomach. He studied her for a moment, his gaze sharp enough to cut glass. “You know ASL fluently.”
“Yes.”
“Where did you learn it?”
“My brother,” Chloe said, her voice dropping defensively. “He was deaf. I translated for him everywhere we went until he died.”
Gabriel’s expression didn't flicker, but a subtle change occurred in the heavy silence of the room. The predatory tension eased just a fraction, replaced by something heavier—curiosity, perhaps, or a lingering sense of guilt.
“My mother lost most of her hearing three years ago,” Gabriel said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet as he looked down at his desk. “After my father passed away. It was gradual at first, then all at once. She refuses hearing aids. Says they distort the sound, make everything sound like tin cans crashing together.”
“A lot of deaf people feel that way,” Chloe said softly, forgetting for a moment who she was talking to. “Hearing aids don't restore natural sound; they amplify noise. It can be exhausting.”
Gabriel looked back up, his eyes searching her face. “She misses things. She misses conversations at family dinners. She misses the grandchildren, the gossip, the jokes my brothers and I tell around the table. And because I am... occupied with other matters, I haven't been patient enough to learn how to bridge the gap.”
Chloe crossed her arms defensively. “With all due respect, Mr. Costello, you weren't just impatient last night. You were dismissive. You treated her like she was an annoyance because it took effort to include her.”
Instead of exploding—instead of slamming his fist on the desk or summoning his enforcers—Gabriel let out a slow, heavy sigh. He ran a hand over his dark hair, looking suddenly every bit of his thirty-nine years.
“You’re right,” he admitted quietly. The admission hung in the air like a physical weight. Coming from a man of his stature and reputation, it was staggering. “I was arrogant. And I didn't realize how far away from her I had drifted until she looked at you last night and smiled the way she used to smile years ago.”
Chloe blinked, taken aback by his candor. She had expected threats, intimidation, or a payoff to keep her mouth shut. She hadn't expected vulnerability.
“What do you want from me?” she asked cautiously. “If you want me to sign for you so you don't have to learn, the answer is no. I’m a waitress, Mr. Costello, not a private tutor.”
“I don't want you to be a tutor for me,” Gabriel said, standing up from his desk and walking slowly toward the large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the garden. He turned back to face her, his expression resolute. “I want to hire you.”
Chloe stared at him, bewildered. “Hire me? To do what? Serve coffee in your office?”
“No,” Gabriel said, stepping closer. “My mother’s birthday is in two weeks. We’re hosting a large family gathering at the estate—dozens of relatives, associates, people who haven't seen her in months because she’s retreated into her own silent world. She hates parties now because she feels isolated in a room full of people talking around her.”
He stopped a few feet away, looking down at Chloe with an earnestness that caught her completely off guard.
“I want you to attend as her companion, her translator, and her guest,” Gabriel said, his voice steady. “You will sit by her side, make sure she is part of every conversation, and ensure she enjoys her own home for once. And in exchange, I will pay off your entire apartment lease for the next two years, clear any debts you have, and guarantee you a management position at Il Canto when you finish college.”
Chloe’s breath hitched. The offer was staggering—life-changing, practically miraculous for someone living paycheck to paycheck with rent looming over her head. But more than the money, more than the security... she pictured Beatrice’s radiant smile when someone finally understood her hands.
“Why me?” Chloe whispered. “You could hire a professional interpreter. Someone certified, discreet, expensive.”
“Because a professional interpreter is a stranger in a suit,” Gabriel answered without hesitation. “You looked at my mother last night and saw a person, not a task. And my mother likes you. That’s currency you can't buy.”
Chloe stood in the quiet sunlight of the office, her mind racing. She had sworn off signing. She had sworn off being anyone’s bridge to the silent world. But looking at Gabriel Costello—this terrifying, powerful man who was simply trying to figure out how to love his aging mother in a language he didn't speak—she realized she was standing at a crossroads.
She took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and made her choice.
“Two years of rent,” Chloe said firmly. “And full medical coverage for my mother’s physical therapy.”
May you like
Gabriel’s lips curved into a slow, approving smile.
“Done.”
