Lily’s answer came fast, honest, ugly.
My sister is dying by inches. My grandmother is exhausted. I have no money, no future, no choices.
She stopped and drew a deep breath.
If working for you can save Sophie, I will do it. But I have conditions.
Vincent raised an eyebrow.
You are making demands of me.
I will care for your sister. I will keep her and the baby safe.
But I do not touch anything illegal. I will not help you kill anyone. I will not help you torture anyone. I am a nurse. My job is to save people, not destroy them.
The silence stretched.
Vincent stared at her, his gray eyes giving away nothing. Then he nodded.
Fine. You are a nurse. Nothing more, nothing less. I do not need you to kill anyone. I need you to keep my sister alive.
He held out his hand.
Deal.
Lily stared at that hand—the hand of a mafia boss. A hand that had probably squeezed a trigger, had probably signed death sentences for more people than she could imagine.
But it was also the hand offering her sister a chance to live, offering her grandmother relief, offering Lily herself a future.
Sophie had only six weeks. Lily had no other choice.
She took Vincent’s hand.
I agree.
His hand was warm and firm, closing around hers with just enough force to make her understand there would be no turning back. The agreement was made not with ink on paper, but with blood and trust.
Welcome to the Caruso family, Miss Morrison.
Vincent’s gray eyes caught a glint of something Lily could not read.
She had no idea what world she had just stepped into.
