"I am good at two things. Murder and sex."
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Xavier Visconti expected one thing on December 3rd. And that was getting his money back from a spineless woman he had taken pity on. What he didn't expect, though, was to meet his damsel-in-distress.
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Help?
If Lydia knew one thing, it was that people lied when they offered help. She was naive in the past to believe them. Now, she had Emma to think of. She couldn't blindly trust people.
Especially people who were as dangerous as Mr Visconti. No one offered to help unless they wanted something in return. Especially not someone like him.
"I don't—I'm not even sure where I'll go yet. It'll take a long time. I don't want you to..." she trailed off.
I don't want you to know where I'll live.
It was amusing. Wherever she went, he would always know. But for the peace of her mind, she wanted to believe she had some privacy. Even if it was just an illusion.
"I can help," his tone offered no room for argument.
She wondered how it was possible for people to be so sure all the time. Would she ever be like that? She would have to; for Emma.
"Are you doing this because you think I'm involved with what my aunt is doing, sir? I'm not—"
"I know you're not involved," he interrupted, voice slightly soft yet stern. "You said you don't know where you'll be moving. You're a student. If you're moving with another person, it'll be quite difficult to find a suitable place. All you'll need to do is take care of a dog in exchange for living where I'm taking you."
She drew her lower lip in between her teeth, giving him an incredulous look.
"A dog?"
"For some bizarre reason, Cairo got a dog." Although his annoyed tone was directed at his youngest brother, Lydia couldn't help but feel her heart race. "We don't know why because he's allergic. He won't give him up but he also can't be near him. We were thinking of hiring a person to take care of it anyway. Just," he sighed as if he was frustrated, "Why don't you have a look and if you don't like it, you can search elsewhere."
Mr Visconti spoke as if she had a lot of choices. They both knew that wasn't the case. Was he being polite or was it sarcastic? Of course she had no problem with the apartment. Anything would be better than the place where she lived now. And Emma loved dogs. The offer was so good it made her head spin.
But what did he really want in return? Did it really matter? It would not make a difference where she moved; he'll be aware of her every move. If he was suspicious of her, he'd hurt her. Right? Emma would be safe. He wouldn't hurt a child.
"I'll take it," she murmured. "Thank you, Mr Visconti."
