Chapter 8 - THE OFFER ON THE TABLE
It was nearly midnight when Sophia’s eyes finally grew heavy.
The emotional drain of the past three days caught up with the five-year-old girl. Her tiny hand relaxed its grip on Maya’s apron, her dark curls resting heavily against Maya’s lap as she drifted off into a deep, peaceful sleep on the soft booth bench.
Maya gently pulled a spare linen napkin over Sophia’s shoulders like a blanket, smoothing her hair one last time before slowly standing up.
Dante rose alongside her.
The restaurant was almost completely empty now. The other patrons had left, the jazz music had faded into a soft instrumental hum, and Tony was quietly wiping down the bar near the front.
Dante reached into his inner suit jacket.
Maya immediately took half a step back, her practical instincts reasserting themselves. "Mr. Russo, please... I don't need money for talking to your daughter."
Dante stopped his hand. He pulled out a sleek, black leather card case, removing a single, heavy steel business card with silver raised lettering. He set it gently on the edge of the table beside Sophia’s drawing.
"That's not cash, Miss...?" Dante paused, his gray eyes searching hers.
"Bennett," Maya answered softly. "Maya Bennett."
"Miss Bennett," Dante said, his deep baritone resonant in the quiet room. "My daughter hasn't eaten or spoken since Tuesday. Two specialists told me she was in deep psychological shock. You fixed her with a purple crayon in ten minutes."
"She wasn't broken, Mr. Russo," Maya said gently, looking down at the sleeping child. "She was just lonely and scared. She needed someone to meet her where she was."
Dante looked at Maya for a long, silent moment.
"I don't forget debts, Miss Bennett," Dante stated, his voice flat with absolute certainty. "Whatever you want—whatever you need for this restaurant, for your family, or for yourself—you call that number."
Maya looked at the steel card resting on the white tablecloth. She thought of her savings account, her dream of opening a bakery, the endless sixteen-hour double shifts that were slowly wearing her down to the bone.
Then she looked back at Dante’s face—at the hard, dangerous crime boss who was looking at her as if she held the keys to his entire world.
May you like
"I don't need anything, Mr. Russo," Maya said quietly, offering him a small, polite smile. "Just make sure she eats some of that pasta tomorrow."
Dante’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. He wasn't accustomed to people refusing his offers—usually, people begged for his favor or fled from his presence. Maya Bennett was doing neither.
