The rain pelted against my thin jacket as I hurried down the darkened street. My worn sneakers splashing through puddles that soaked my already damp socks. The street lights flickered, casting eerie shadows on the crumbling apartment buildings that lined this forgotten corner of the city.

Home, or what passed for it, was still six blocks away, and my exhaustion from working double shifts at the diner weighed me down like concrete blocks tied to my ankles. Just keep moving, Ellie, I whispered to myself, clutching my purse tighter against my side. Inside was exactly 247. Not nearly enough for next month’s rent, let alone the mounting medical bills for my little brother’s asthma treatment.

Mom had been gone 3 years now, and dad, well, he might as well be, disappearing for weeks at a time on benders that left Jaime and me to fend for ourselves. The sound of tires gliding through water made me tense. In this neighborhood, no one drove slowly unless they were looking for something or someone.

I quickened my pace, eyes fixed on the cracked sidewalk, making myself small, invisible. The black car, sleek, expensive, obscenely out of place, rolled alongside me at walking speed, its engine purring like a predator, my heart hammered against my ribs. I didn’t dare look. Then the rear window slid down with an electric hum that cut through the rainfall. Miss, just one word, but it carried such weight.

Deep, commanding, accented with something I couldn’t place, not local. I kept walking, quickening my steps. Miss, you dropped something. Against my better judgment, I glanced over. The interior light was off, but I caught fragments of the man inside, the gleam of an expensive watch, the crisp edge of a tailored suit sleeve, hands that looked both elegant and dangerous. In one of those hands was my scarf, the thread bare blue one I’d had since high school.

My lucky charm. It must have fallen when I’d rushed out of the diner. I stopped, hesitating. That scarf was nothing special to anyone else. But to me, it was the last birthday gift from mom before the cancer took her. I couldn’t lose it. That’s mine, I said, my voice smaller than I intended. I know. There was something like amusement in his tone.

My driver noticed it fall from your bag a block back. I stepped closer, still maintaining distance from the car. Now I could see a little more. Sharp cheekbones, dark eyes that seemed to absorb rather than reflect light, and a mouth that rested in a natural half smile that suggested he was used to getting what he wanted. Behind him, I noticed another man, broader, with a neck like a bull and eyes that continuously scan the street, a bodyguard. The realization sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with my rain soaked clothes. Thank you. I

managed, reaching for the scarf. He held it just out of reach. You’re shivering. Get in. We’ll drive you home. No, thank you. I’m almost there. The lie came easily. Six blocks is hardly almost there in this weather with those shoes. He nodded toward my feet, and I realized he’d been watching me longer than just the past block.

How did you get in, please? It’s just a ride. But nothing was ever just anything with men like him. I’d learned that lesson waiting tables at the diner, where businessmen thought a $20 tip bought them the right to let their hands linger when I served their coffee.

A particularly strong gust of wind sent a spray of cold rain against my back, and I shuddered involuntarily. My driver will take you directly to your door. I have another engagement and won’t even be in the car. He nodded to the front where I noticed another suited man behind the wheel, eyes forward, expressionless. My teeth were chattering now, and the thought of Jaime alone in our cold apartment, probably already worried about me, made the decision for me.

Just a ride, I said, more to myself than to him. The man moved over, and as I slid in beside him, the warmth of the car’s interior enveloped me like a luxury I’d forgotten existed. The door closed with a solid thunk that spoke of engineering designed to keep the world out, or perhaps to keep someone in.

“Where, too?” he asked, and the scent of him hit me. “Expensive cologne with notes of cedar and something darker underneath, like smoke or whiskey.” I hesitated, then gave my address, immediately regretting revealing where I live to this stranger. Valentina Boulevard, he repeated, raising an eyebrow slightly. You live at 1458. The fact that he knew the building number before I’d mentioned it sent another wave of unease through me.

The apartment complex there, I said vaguely. He nodded to the driver, who pulled away from the curb smoothly. The bodyguard in the passenger seat kept his gaze forward, but I could tell he was aware of every movement I made. “I’m Aleandro,” the man said, not offering a hand to shake, which seemed strangely formal given that I was sitting in his car.

“And you are?” “Ellie,” I said, then mentally kicked myself for not using a fake name. “Ellie,” he repeated as if testing how my name felt on his tongue. short for Eleanor. Elizabeth, but no one calls me that. I’m not no one, Elizabeth. The way he said it made it sound like both a promise and a threat. I clutched my recovered scarf, running my thumb over the frayed edge. A nervous habit. Thank you for returning this.

It means a lot to me. Sentimental value. His gaze was penetrating as if he could see the history of the scarf written across my face. Yes. He nodded, not pressing for details which surprised me. Men like him, whatever like him meant, usually demanded explanations, stories, pieces of you to collect.

We rode in silence for a few blocks, the only sound the gentle swish of windshield wipers and the soft hum of the heater. I was acutely aware of how out of place I was in this car, my waitress uniform still smelling faintly of frier oil beneath my jacket, my hair escaping its ponytail and damp strands, while everything about him was immaculate, controlled. You work at S’s diner, he said suddenly. Not a question.

My eyes snapped to his. How did you? I have interest in that part of town. I noticed things. His gaze flicked to my name tag, which I’d forgotten to remove after my shift. Interests, I repeated. The words somehow ominous. The car slowed as we approached my apartment building. A six-story walk up with more condemned units than occupied ones.

Shame burned through me at having this man see where I lived, even as I reminded myself I had nothing to be ashamed of. I worked hard. I did what I had to do. Thank you for the ride, I said, hand already on the door handle. Wait. His command stopped me cold. He reached into his jacket and for one wild, paranoid moment. I thought he might pull out a gun.

Instead, he extracted a crisp business card, blank except for a phone number embossed in dark ink. My household needs staff. A maid specifically. The pay is significantly better than what you make at the diner. I stared at the card. You don’t know anything about me. I know you’re punctual.

You haven’t missed a day at Sal in the 8 months you’ve worked there. You’re discreet. You don’t gossip with the other waitresses. You’re careful with money, and you need more of it than you currently have. The accuracy of his assessment left me speechless. He’d been watching me or having me watched, and the realization should have terrified me.

Instead, I felt a strange flutter in my stomach that I refused to examine. “What kind of interest do you have exactly?” I managed to ask. The half smile returned varied. Legitimate businesses mostly import export real estate a few restaurants. But it was what he wasn’t saying that hung in the air between us. I wasn’t naive.

The bodyguard, the evasiveness, the way he carried himself like a man accustomed to power. It all pointed to something beyond legal business ventures. I don’t think triple what you make at the diner. cash weekly plus room and board if you wish. My mind raced, calculating what that would mean for Jaimes treatments for our future.

I have a brother, I said, not sure why I was even entertaining this. He’s 14. He needs me. Arrangements can be made. Alessandro’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes softened fractionally. If you accept, you start tomorrow, 9:00 a.m. I haven’t said yes. You will,” he nodded to the card still in my hand. “My driver will collect you if you call.

” I should have been offended by his presumption, but the confidence in his voice sent another inexplicable shiver through me, different from the cold this time. The rain had stopped, I realized. Outside my window, the night seemed suddenly still, as if the world was holding its breath. “I should go,” I said, pushing the door open. My brother is waiting.

Aleandro didn’t try to stop me this time. Until tomorrow, Elizabeth. I climbed out of the car, my legs unsteady. Before I closed the door, I looked back at him. This stranger who had inserted himself into my life with the casual entitlement of someone used to rearranging the world to suit his preferences.

I haven’t decided yet, I insisted. His smile deepened, revealing a glimpse of perfect teeth. Your brother’s medication costs $430 per month. Your rent is $875 or you make approximately $1200 at the diner, tips included. The math isn’t complicated. The door closed before I could respond.

And the black car glided away into the night, leaving me standing on the sidewalk, his card burning in my hand like a lottery ticket. A chance at something better or perhaps something much, much worse. Upstairs, I found Jaime asleep on the couch. his breathing slightly wheezy but stable. I tucked a blanket around him, my mind racing. How had Aleandro known about the medication costs, about my salary, my rent? The implications were terrifying.

And yet, I placed the business card on our chipped kitchen counter and stared at it for a long time, the embossed number seeming to pulse with possibility. One call could change everything. Working as a maid for a man like Aleandro would be crossing a boundary, stepping into a world I didn’t understand. But as I listened to my brother’s labored breathing, and looked around our apartment with its leaking ceiling and drafty windows, I knew what my decision would be. I’d spent 3 years since mom died keeping us afloat, making the responsible choice.

Why would tomorrow be any different? I picked up the card and slid it into my pocket, already imagining the sound of the phone call I would make in the morning. The sound of a door opening to a new life, or perhaps the sound of a trap snapping shut. Morning light filtered through our threadbear curtains as I sat on the edge of my bed.

Aleandro’s business card pinched between my fingers. I’d barely slept, my mind spinning with possibilities and warnings. The sensible part of me, the part that had kept Jaime and me alive these past years, screamed that this was dangerous.

But the desperate part, the part that watched my brother struggle for breath when his medication ran low, whispered that danger might be a price worth paying. Ellie. Jaimes voice, still rough with sleep, came from the doorway. You’re up early. I tucked the card into my pocket, forcing a smile. Big day. How are you feeling? He shrugged, lanky frame, drowning in a t-shirt he’d outgrown into. Same. What’s the big day? Might have a new job opportunity.

I kept my voice casual, though my heart hammered against my ribs. Better pay. Jaime’s eyes, so like moms, it sometimes hurt to look at them, widened with cautious hope. For real? What kind of job? Housekeeping for a wealthy family? Not exactly a lie, but not the whole truth either. I’d be making about three times what I do at the dinner. That’s awesome.

His enthusiasm dimmed as quickly as it had flared. But what’s the catch? Nobody pays triple for housekeeping. Smart kid. Too smart sometimes. It’s a demanding position. I hedged. Long hours, lots of responsibility. Jaime studied my face, reading the hesitation there. Is it safe, L? You seem weird about it. The question hung between us, waited with all the things I wasn’t saying.

I crossed the room and smoothed his perpetually messy hair, buying time. I’ll make it safe, I promised, both to him and to myself. And if it isn’t, I’ll walk away. We’ve survived worse, right? He nodded, but doubt lingered in his eyes. Just be careful. We need you. I need you. Those four words cemented my decision. I needed this job.

this opportunity precisely because Jaime needed me and I needed to be the kind of sister who could provide more than just survival. I’ll call you after the interview, I said. The decision made. Mrs. Grayson next door will check in on you. After Jaime left for school, I showered in our temperamental bathroom where the water ran either scalding or freezing with little middle ground. I dressed in my best outfit, black pants that were slightly too loose now, and a blue blouse I’d found at a thrift store.

Professional enough for an interview, I hoped. My fingers trembled as I dialed the number on the card. It rang only once before a clipped male voice answered. Yes, this is Ellie Elizabeth about the maid position. Address. No pleasantries, just business.

I gave him our address and he responded with a curt 20 minutes before hanging up. Exactly 20 minutes later, a black sedan, different from last night’s but equally imposing, idled at the curb outside our building. The driver, a stone-faced man in his 40s with a scar running along his jawline, opened the rear door without speaking. As we drove, the neighborhoods transformed gradually, buildings growing taller and cleaner, streets wider and treelined.

We eventually turned onto a private road that wound up into the hills overlooking the city, where houses became increasingly secluded, separated by manicured hedges and rod iron gates. Aleandro’s home, when we finally arrived, wasn’t the goddy mansion I’d expected. Instead, it was a modern structure of glass, stone, and steel that seemed to grow organically from the hillside. Its clean lines and muted colors exuding quiet power rather than ostentatious wealth.

The car stopped at a security checkpoint where armed men in discrete suits checked beneath the vehicle with mirrors before waving us through. My stomach tightened. What kind of man needed this level of security? And what was I walking into? The driver led me through a side entrance that opened into a gleaming kitchen where a middle-aged woman with silver streaked black hair was kneading dough on a marble countertop.

She looked up, assessing me with sharp eyes. “So, you’re the girl?” she said, wiping flour from her hands onto a pristine apron. “I’m Rosa. I manage the household.” “Ellie,” I offered, extending my hand, which she ignored. “Mr. Castelliano doesn’t usually involve himself in staffing decisions, Rosa said, her Italian accent more pronounced than Aleandro’s. So, you must be special.

The way she said the word made it sound like an accusation. I’m just here about the maid position, I clarified, heat rising to my cheeks. Rose’s expression remained skeptical. Follow me. She led me through the house, pointing out rooms and explaining duties in a rapidfire manner that suggested she expected me to fail this impromptu orientation.

The place was immaculate, minimalist, but luxurious, with artwork that looked museum worthy, and furniture that probably cost more than 5 years of my rent. “Mr. Castellano values discretion above all else,” Rosa emphasized as we climbed a sweeping staircase. What you see here, what you hear here, it stays here.

Understand? I nodded, cataloging the exits and entrances out of habit. A survival instinct from growing up in our neighborhood. The west wing is strictly off limits, she continued, gesturing toward a hallway cordoned off by an elegant wooden door. Mr. Castellano’s private quarters and office are there. You do not clean there unless specifically instructed.

You do not enter there for any reason without permission. My curiosity peaked. What was behind that door that needed such explicit protection? And these, Rosa said, stopping before a row of black suited men standing at attention in the main foyer, are part of Mr. Castiano’s security team. They are always present.

Do not speak to them unless spoken to. Do not ask questions. The men’s faces remained impassive, but I felt their eyes tracking my movements, assessing whether I was a threat. One, taller than the others with a jagged scar above his eyebrow.

Had a particular intensity to his gaze that made me want to shrink into myself. “That’s Marco,” Rosa said, following my gaze. “Head of security. He doesn’t like new people.” “I gathered that,” I murmured. “Smart girl,” a familiar voice said from behind us. I turned to find Aleandro descending the staircase, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that made him even more imposing than he’d appeared in the dimness of his car.

In daylight, I could finally see him clearly, olive skin, dark hair with the faintest silver at the temples, and eyes so deeply brown they appeared almost black, handsome in a dangerous way, like a predator designed by nature to be appealing to its prey. “Mr. Castayano,” Rosa greeted. her demeanor instantly shifting to differential. “I was just showing Elizabeth the premises.

” “And what do you think of my home, Elizabeth?” Alisandro asked, reaching the bottom step. Up close, I noticed a thin scar bisecting his left eyebrow, the only flaw in his otherwise perfect features. “It’s beautiful,” I said honestly. “But very secure,” a smile touched his lips. In my position, security is a necessity, not a luxury. He turned to Rosa.

Has she signed the paperwork? Not yet, sir. I was completing the tour first. I’ll take over from here, he said, dismissing her with a nod. Rosa hesitated fractionally before bowing her head and retreating, leaving me alone with Alessandro and his watchful security team. “Come,” he said, gesturing toward a door off the main foyer. “We should discuss terms.

” The room he led me to was clearly his office, a study lined with bookshelves and dominated by a massive desk of dark wood. Florida to ceiling windows overlooked the city below, a reminder of how far I was from my world now. Please sit, Allesandro said, indicating a leather chair across from his desk. I perched on the edge, too tense to lean back. Before we start, I need to know exactly what this job entails. Direct.

I appreciate that. He sat, regarding me with that same penetrating gaze from last night. The position is, as I described, household staff, primarily cleaning, some basic meal preparation when Rosa is unavailable, laundry, general upkeep of the main living areas, and the pay.

You mentioned triple my current salary, $3,800 monthly, plus room and board if you choose to live in medical benefits that would extend to your brother. My breath caught. The amount was staggering to me, life-changing. What’s the catch? I echoed Jaimes earlier question. Aleandro’s expression remained unreadable. The catch, as you put it, is absolute loyalty and discretion. I have business associates who visit regularly.

You will see people, hear things. None of it leaves this house. What kind of things? I pressed, needing to know what I was agreeing to. I’m a businessman with varied interests, he said, echoing his words from last night. Some of those interests operate in gray areas.

I’m not asking you to participate, merely to be selectively blind and deaf when necessary. The implication hung in the air between us. I wasn’t naive. The security, the warnings, the secrecy, all pointed to something illegal, probably dangerous. I don’t want to be involved in anything criminal, I said carefully. Aleandro leaned forward, his gaze intensifying. You already are, Elizabeth.

The moment you stepped into my car last night, you became involved. The question now is whether you’ll be involved as a well-paid, protected member of my household or as something else entirely. A chill ran down my spine. Was that a threat? His tone hadn’t changed, but something in his eyes had hardened, reminding me of the men in my neighborhood who maintained power through fear.

“I need this job,” I admitted, hating how vulnerable the words made me. “But I also need to protect my brother.” “Which is exactly why you should accept?” Aleandro slid a contract across the desk. “This position comes with my personal protection for both you and Jaime.” My head snapped up at my brother’s name.

How do you I make it my business to know everything about people who enter my life. Elizabeth Jamie Alexander Sullivan, 14 years old, severe asthma, currently in 9th grade at Lincoln High. Bright student, particularly in science and mathematics. Father, Michael Sullivan, currently serving three months in county lockup for public intoxication and disorderly conduct.

His fourth such offense. The casual recitation of our lives. details I hadn’t shared sent waves of fear and anger through me. “You’ve been investigating us. I’ve been investigating you,” he corrected. “A necessary precaution.” “That’s invasive,” I said, fingers curling into fists on my lap. “Yes.” No apology, no justification beyond that single word.

“Do you accept the position or not?” Every instinct told me to walk away, to run back to my safe, predictable life of barely scraping by. But the amount on the contract, the thought of Jaime’s medicine, of a future beyond mere survival. I accept, I said, the words feeling like both surrender and victory.

But I have conditions, Allesandre raised an eyebrow, looking almost amused. You’re hardly in a position to negotiate. I won’t live in, I stated firmly. Jaime needs me at home. I’ll work whatever hours you require, but I go home to him every night. acceptable, though inconvenient, he conceded. What else? I need to understand what I’m getting into.

Not specifics about your business, but what you expect from me, where the boundaries are. Aleandro studied me for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. You’re smarter than I anticipated. Don’t mistake desperation for stupidity, Mr. Castillano. A genuine smile curved his lips, the first I’d seen from him. Aleandro, please, if you’re going to be in my home daily, we can dispense with formalities.

He rose and came around the desk, perching on the edge directly in front of me. The proximity sent my heart racing, though whether from fear or something else, I couldn’t say. My expectations are simple, Elizabeth. Do your job well. Observe everything. Report anything unusual to me or Marco. Speak of nothing you see or hear to anyone outside these walls.

His voice dropped lower and never under any circumstances enter the West Wing without an explicit invitation. That mysterious wing again. What’s in the West Wing? My private life, he replied simply. Sign the contract, Elizabeth. Make this easy for both of us. I took the pen, he offered, hesitating only briefly before signing my name. The moment the ink dried, something shifted in the air between us.

A contract more binding than the paper we just marked. Aleandro took the contract, his fingers brushing mine deliberately. The contact sent an electric jolt up my arm that I immediately tried to dismiss. You start tomorrow, he said, sliding the contract into a drawer. 7 a.m. My driver will collect you.

I can take the bus, I offered, wanting to maintain some small independence. No, the word was final. Brooking no argument. My driver will collect you. Your safety is now my concern. Before I could process the possessive undertone in his statement, the office door opened and Marco entered, his expression tense. Sir, Bianke’s men are at the gate, unscheduled. Aleandro’s demeanor changed instantly.

all traces of warmth vanishing. Take Elizabeth to the kitchen. Rosa will finish her orientation. I should just go, I began, standing quickly. No, Alessandro said again more forcefully. You stay until I say otherwise, he turned to Marco. Make sure she remains in the kitchen with Rosa until our guests have departed. Marco nodded curtly, gesturing for me to follow him.

As I moved toward the door, Aleandro caught my wrist, his grip firm, but not painful. Remember what I said about discretion, Elizabeth. His voice was low for my ears alone. What you see today may test that commitment sooner than I anticipated. I nodded, unable to find my voice, as his thumb traced a small circle on the sensitive skin of my inner wrist. The gesture was oddly intimate, possessive in a way that made my stomach flutter despite my better judgment.

Marco led me swiftly through the house, his body positioned slightly ahead of mine as if to shield me from view. As we passed the main entrance, I glimpsed a group of men entering, expensively dressed like Aleandro, but carrying themselves with a different kind of menace.

one older with silver hair and cold eyes glanced our way, his gaze lingering on me with an interest that made my skin crawl. Eyes down, Marco muttered, steering me around a corner toward the kitchen. “You saw nothing. But I had seen something, though I didn’t yet understand what.” I had glimpsed the world Alessandro inhabited, a world of powerful men and unspoken threats, a world I had just signed myself into with a few strokes of a pen.

In the kitchen, Rosa was aggressively chopping vegetables, her knife skills speaking of years of practice. She barely looked up when Marco deposited me at the counter. Stay here, he ordered, then disappeared. First rule, Rosa said once we were alone, her knife never pausing in its rhythmic work. When certain visitors arrive, you become invisible.

You hear nothing, see nothing, know nothing. Understood? I nodded, my mouth dry. Who are they? Rose’s knife stilled. Second rule. No questions about Mr. Castiano’s associates. She pointed the knife at me. Not quite threatening, but definitely serious. He may have brought you in, girl, but make no mistake. In this house, loyalty is everything.

One misstep and she sliced through a carrot with decisive force. The message couldn’t have been clearer if she’d spelled it out. I had just stepped into a world where the rules were different, where consequences were severe, and where Aleandro Castiano’s word was absolute law.

And despite every warning bell ringing in my head, despite the glimpse of danger I’d just witnessed, a small traitorous part of me felt something dangerously like excitement stirring beneath the fear. The first week working for Alessandro passed in a blur of exhaustion and adjustment.

Each morning at precisely 7, the black sedan would appear outside our apartment, whisking me up to the hillside mansion. Each evening, I would return home bone wee but with cash in hand. Aleandro insisted on paying me daily for the first week, as if testing whether money would indeed secure my loyalty. Jaime noticed the changes immediately.

The better food in our refrigerator, the new inhaler on his nightstand. The way my shoulders gradually loosened from their perpetually tense position. This job must be pretty great, he commented one evening as we ate takeout that wasn’t from the dollar menu for once. You seem different. Different how? I asked, avoiding his perceptive gaze.

He shrugged, poking at his noodles. I don’t know. More alive maybe, but also more. He searched for the word guarded. I couldn’t deny it. The constant vigilance required at Alessandro’s home had seeped into my daily existence. I found myself scanning rooms before entering, listening for footsteps, measuring my words carefully.

Habits born of necessity in a house where secrets lurked behind every closed door. It’s just a lot to learn, I deflected. The house is enormous. Jaime accepted this with a nod, but I could tell he sensed there was more I wasn’t saying. The guilt of keeping secrets from him, the one person I’d always been honest with, sat like a stone in my stomach.

At the mansion, I quickly established a routine. Mornings were dedicated to the main living areas, dusting the library’s endless shelves, polishing silver in the formal dining room, vacuuming the plush carpets. Afternoons were for laundry and assisting Rosa in the kitchen, where she grudgingly began teaching me to prepare some of Aleandro’s preferred meals. He likes his pasta al dente.

Not too soft, she instructed, hovering over my shoulder as I stirred a pot of handmade orette. 2 minutes less than you think, and always finish it in the sauce. These small details about Aleandro, how he took his coffee, black, no sugar, which shirts he preferred, the blue ones always starched, how he ate his meals in silence, often reading, built a patchwork portrait in my mind.

I collected these fragments like treasures, though I told myself it was merely professional attentiveness. For his part, Alessandro remained an enigma. Some days he would be present in the house, moving through rooms with the quiet confidence of a man who owned not just the property but everything and everyone in it. Other days he would disappear entirely, sometimes for 48 hours or more, returning with new tension in his shoulders and sometimes with bruises he never explained. I saw him rarely and always briefly.

Our interactions limited to polite nods or the occasional question about my work. Yet I felt his presence constantly, as if the entire household oriented itself around his gravitational pole. Even when absent, his rules governed every action, every conversation. And always there was the forbidden west wing, its ornate door standing like a boundary between the world I was permitted to inhabit and the one I was not.

Sometimes passing by, I would pause, wondering what secrets lay beyond. It was during the second week that the fragile routine I’d established shattered. I was changing linens in one of the guest bedrooms when I heard raised voices from downstairs. Alessandro and someone I didn’t recognize. Their words indistinct, but their tone clearly argumentative.

Normally, I would have continued working, pretending not to notice as I’d been instructed, but something about the escalating anger in those voices drew me to the door. Moving silently down the hallway, I positioned myself at the top of the grand staircase where I could hear without being seen. “You’re being unreasonable, Castayano,” the unfamiliar voice said.

“Male with a heavier accent than Aleandro’s refined one.” Bianke’s offer is more than fair. “I’ve made my position clear,” Aleandro replied, his voice controlled, but edged with steel. “The waterfront remains mine, non-negotiable. Then perhaps we negotiate with something else. Someone else.

There was a sudden dangerous silence broken by Aleandro’s voice now dropped to a register that sent chills down my spine. Threaten me again, Veto, and you won’t leave this house breathing. You think you’re untouchable because of your father’s legacy? The other man, Veto, laughed, a harsh sound. Times change. The old alliances are dying. Even your father would have seen the wisdom in this partnership.

My father would have gutted you for your presumption,” Allesandro said so calmly. It was terrifying. “Now get out before I decide to honor his memory.” Heavy footsteps moved toward the door. Then paused. “Think carefully about your next move,” Castaniano. Bianke doesn’t take rejection well.

And he’s developing a particular interest in that little maid of yours. The pretty one with the sad eyes. What’s her name? Elizabeth? My blood turned to ice. Me. They were talking about me. If anyone, Bianke, you, or any other breathing soul, comes within 10 ft of her. Aleandro’s voice had dropped to barely more than a whisper. I will burn their entire world to the ground.

Am I understood? The possessiveness in his tone should have frightened me. Instead, it sent a confusing wave of heat through my body, a sensation I immediately tried to suppress. Perfectly, Veto replied, though his tone suggested the threat had been received as valuable information rather than a deterrent.

Give my regards to your mother. The front door opened and closed. I remained frozen at the top of the stairs, my heart hammering so loudly I was certain it would give me away. Aleandro’s protective words replayed in my mind, mingling with the clear threat this Bianke person apparently posed.

I needed to leave to grab Jaime and run somewhere these people would never find us. But where would we go? How would we live? And would running just make us easier targets? Lost in these spiraling thoughts, I didn’t notice the silence from below had stretched too long. I didn’t hear the footsteps until they were halfway up the staircase. Aleandro’s eyes locked with mine, dark with an emotion I couldn’t read.

“How much did you hear?” he asked quietly. I considered lying, but something told me he would know. Enough. Someone named Bianke wants your waterfront property. And apparently me. Aleandro’s jaw tightened. He climbed the remaining stairs until he stood before me close enough that I could smell his cologne. That now familiar scent of cedar and smoke.

“Come with me,” he said, not waiting for a response before striding down the hallway. To my shock, he led me directly to the forbidden west-wing door, producing a key from his pocket. The heavy door swung open to reveal a corridor lined with what looked like genuine Renaissance artwork.

He guided me past several closed doors to a room at the end, clearly his private study, larger and more luxurious than the office where I’d signed my contract. Floor to ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city and harbor beyond. One wall was covered entirely in security monitors showing different areas of the property.

Another held a collection of weapons, ornate daggers, and antique pistols displayed like the fine art they probably were. Aleandro gestured for me to sit on a leather sofa near the window while he poured two glasses of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. Situations have changed, he said, handing me one of the glasses. We need to adjust our arrangement. I accepted the drink, but didn’t sip it.

Who is Bianke? Aleandro studied me for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. Stephano Bianke, arrival. He controls most of the north side operations and wants to expand into the waterfront district. Operations, I repeated, the euphemism hanging between us. You’re not naive, Elizabeth. Aleandro said, settling into an armchair opposite me.

You’ve suspected from the beginning what I am, my throat tightened. Say it. I want to hear you say it. I’m the head of the Castiano family, he stated simply as if announcing he was a banker or lawyer. My father built an organization that controls much of this city’s imports, exports and entertainment venues, some legal, some not. When he died 3 years ago, I took over.

A mafia boss I was working for, living in the home of a mafia boss. The confirmation of what I’d suspected made my hand tremble slightly, liquids slloshing in my untouched glass. “And this Bianke wants what you have,” I said, trying to process the implications. “He wants the waterfront because it would give him control of the port.

And apparently, Aleandro’s eyes darkened. He’s developed an interest in you.” “Why? I’m nobody. You’re mine.” Alessandro said with such conviction it stole my breath. Then seeming to catch himself, he clarified. You work for me in my home. Bianke sees you as a way to get to me. Because you’d protect your staff, I said, not quite believing that was the whole reason. Alessandro’s lip curled slightly.

Bianke doesn’t think in terms of employer loyalty. He thinks in terms of possession and desire. He assumes you are my He paused, searching for a delicate term. Mistress, I supplied, heat rising to my cheeks. Yes, but I’m not, I said. We’ve barely spoken since I started working here. It doesn’t matter what’s true, Aleandro said, finally taking a drink from his glass.

It matters what Bianke believes, and now that he’s fixated on this idea, you’re in danger. I set my glass down with a sharp click against the side table. Then I quit. Jaime and I will leave town, go somewhere. No. The word held the same finality as it had on my first day. Running would only make you an easier target.

Bianke has connections everywhere. Without my protection, you wouldn’t make it 20 m. So what then? Frustration and fear made my voice rise. I just keep cleaning your house while some crime lord plots to kidnap me. You move in. Aleandro stated both you and Jamie here where I can protect you. The suggestion hit me like a physical blow. That’s no absolutely not. It’s not a request, Elizabeth.

Aleandro leaned forward, his expression deadly serious. You signed a contract. You accepted my protection. Now I’m telling you how that protection must work. I can’t just uproot Jaimes life because of your gangster rivalry. I stood suddenly needing to move to escape the intensity of his gaze. He has school friends.

He has asthma that could kill him without proper medication. Aleandro countered calmly. Medication you can only afford because of me. Your father will be released in 6 weeks, likely drunk and violent again. Your apartment building has had three break-ins this month alone. Each point struck like a hammer, nailing me in place with truths I couldn’t refute.

You’re manipulating me, I whispered. I’m protecting you, he corrected, rising to stand before me. There’s a difference. We stood too close. The air between us charged with tension. I noticed details I’d been trying to ignore. The way his dark lashes framed those penetrating eyes. how a muscle in his jaw twitched when he was restraining emotion.

The slight scar at the corner of his mouth that became more pronounced when he frowned. “Why?” I asked, my voice barely audible. “Why go to all this trouble for a maid?” Alisandro reached out slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The simple gesture sent electricity courarssing through me.

Because from the moment I saw you walking in the rain, trying to make yourself invisible, he said softly. I knew you were different, special. You don’t even know me, I protested weakly. I know enough. His hand lingered near my face, not quite touching. I know you sacrifice everything for your brother. I know you work until your hands bleed without complaining.

I know you notice everything around you, cataloging exits, observing patterns, reading people, skills that have kept you alive in a world that would happily see you broken. The accuracy of his assessment left me speechless. I’d spent so long trying to be invisible. Yet he had seen me completely. Move in, Elizabeth, he said again, gentler this time. Let me keep you safe.

I stepped back, needing distance to think clearly. I need to talk to Jaime first. This affects him too. Aleandro nodded, accepting this small assertion of independence. Of course, speak with him tonight. Marco will bring you both here tomorrow. And if Jaime says no, then I’ll find another way to protect you, he said simply.

But make him understand, Elizabeth. This isn’t optional. Bianke is not a man who gives up once he wants something. And you? I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it. Are you a man who gives up once you want something? Aleandro’s eyes darkened and the air between us seemed to thicken.

I’ve never wanted anything the way I want to keep you safe, he said carefully, each word measured. Make of that what you will. That night, I sat Jaime down at our small kitchen table and tried to explain the situation without revealing the full danger or Alessandro’s true identity. Mr. Castiano has offered us rooms at his house, I began, keeping my voice casual.

Full accommodation plus my salary. You’d have your own bedroom. Much nicer than here. There’s a garden, a pool. Jaime’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Why would he do that? It’s convenient for work, I lied. And he’s concerned about our situation here. Bull, Jaime said flatly. You’ve been weird ever since you started this job.

Always looking over your shoulder, checking the locks twice. Now suddenly this rich guy wants us living in his mansion. He crossed his arms. What’s really going on, Ellie? I should have known I couldn’t fool him. We’d been each other’s only constant for too long. It’s complicated, I admitted. Mr. Castellano, his business makes him some enemies. There’s been a threat, and he’s concerned about me, about us.

Jaimes eyes widened. What kind of business has enemies? the kind that makes a lot of money. I hedged. Look, I know it’s not ideal, but we’d be safer there, and you’d have everything you need, better than we could ever afford here. Is he like a drug dealer or something? Jaime pressed. No, well, it’s more complex than that, I sighed, realizing I needed to give him something closer to the truth.

He’s powerful in this city, connected. Some people call him a businessman. Others might say he’s more like a mob boss, Jaime supplied, his expression a mix of shock and something disturbingly like fascination. Holy L. You’re working for the mafia. Keep your voice down, I hissed, glancing at our thin walls. It’s not exactly something I planned, but the money is good.

And now, I swallowed hard. Now we need his protection. Jaime studied me, suddenly looking older than his 14 years. You’re scared, he observed. Like really scared. I couldn’t deny it. Yes, but I’m more scared of what happens if we don’t accept his help. My brother was silent for a long moment, processing. Then he asked the question I’d been dreading.

Is there something between you and him, this Castellano guy? No, I said quickly. Too quickly. I’m just his employee. Then why does he care what happens to us? Jaime persisted. Rich guys don’t just protect their maids without a reason. L. I didn’t have a good answer. At least not one I was ready to face myself. Aleandro’s words from earlier echoed in my mind. I’ve never wanted anything the way I want to keep you safe.

I think I said carefully. He sees something of himself in our situation. He lost his father recently too in a way. Jaime didn’t look convinced, but he nodded slowly. When would we move? Tomorrow, I said, relief flooding through me at his implicit acceptance. Pack only what’s important. Mr.

Castiano said he’ll provide everything else we need. Later, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I tried to make sense of the rapid changes engulfing my carefully controlled life. In just two weeks, I’d gone from anonymous waitress to living under the protection of a mafia boss who looked at me with an intensity that both terrified and thrilled me.

I told myself it was just gratitude, I felt, appreciation for his generosity and protection, but in the darkness of my bedroom, with only my conscience as witness, I couldn’t deny the electricity that coursed through me when he was near. the way my eyes sought him out whenever he entered a room. How I’d memorized the cadence of his footsteps on marble floors.

Whatever was happening between Aleandro Castiano and me was dangerous, far more dangerous than Bianke’s threats. Because while Bianke might want to use me to hurt Aleandro, Alessandro himself could hurt me in ways far more devastating. He could make me care.

and in the world he inhabited, the world I was now entering, caring was the most dangerous weakness of all. Our move to Alessandro’s mansion happened with military precision. Marco and two other security men arrived at 7 the next morning, efficiently loading our meager possessions into unmarked SUVs. I watched as Jaimes worn backpack and my single suitcase disappeared into vehicles worth more than everything we owned combined.

“Is that everything?” Marco asked, scanning our nearly empty apartment with barely concealed disdain. I nodded, throat tight with emotions I couldn’t name. This cramped two-bedroom had been our sanctuary after mom died, the only place that had felt truly ours, despite its leaking ceiling and temperamental heating. Leaving felt like abandoning the last physical connection to our previous life.

“Let’s go,” Marco said, not unkindly. Mr. Castelliano is waiting. The drive to the mansion passed in silence. Jaime pressed against my side in the back seat, his fingers intertwined with mine. “I could feel his nervous energy, a mixture of apprehension and poorly concealed excitement at the dramatic change in our circumstances.

“Will I still go to my school?” he asked as the city fell away beneath us, the road winding higher into the hills. “Mo answered before I could. A driver will take you. Mr. Castayano has arranged everything.” Of course, he had. Aleandro Castelliano was a man who anticipated needs before they were voiced, who solved problems with the casual efficiency of someone accustomed to absolute control.

Upon arrival, we were escorted not to the staff quarters where I’d expected us to be housed, but to a suite in the east wing, a sunny set of rooms overlooking the gardens, connected by a shared sitting area. Each bedroom had its own bathroom with fixtures that gleamed like jewelry, and closets larger than our entire apartment kitchen. These are guest rooms, I protested to Rosa, who was showing us around.

We should be in the staff area. Rosa’s expression remained neutral, but something like amusement flickered in her eyes. Mr. Castellano was very specific about your accommodations. Your things have been unpacked in your respective rooms. Our things barely made an impact in the massive closets.

My few dresses and shirts hung limply against the cedar lined walls, making the emptiness around them more pronounced. There will be additional items arriving this afternoon. Rosa continued as if reading my thoughts. Mr. Castiano has taken the liberty of ordering some necessities. We don’t need charity, I said automatically, pride rising like a shield, Rosa’s eyebrow arched. It is not charity to properly equip those under your protection, she said.

In this household, appearances matter. You will find the new items suitable for your position. And what position is that exactly? The question slipped out, sharper than I intended. Rosa studied me for a long moment. That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? She finally said cryptically. Mr. Castiano requests your presence in the library once you’ve settled in. Jaime is welcome to explore the grounds within the security perimeter of course.

Antonio will accompany him. She gestured toward a young guard standing discreetly by the door who nodded politely in Jaimes direction. Jaimes eyes lit up at the prospect of exploration. Can I see the pool? He asked eagerly. Of course, Antonio answered with a slight accent. And the media room. Mr. Castiano mentioned you might enjoy the gaming setup as Jaime disappeared with his new shadow. I felt a pang of unease.

Aleandro was already weaving his influence around my brother, creating golden threads of obligation and gratitude that would be impossible to break. I found Allesandro in the library as instructed, a two-story room with walls of leatherbound books and sliding ladders to reach the highest shelves.

He stood by one of the tall windows, a shaft of sunlight illuminating the sharp plains of his face as he read from a document in his hand. He looked up as I entered, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. Elizabeth, “You’re settled in as much as possible,” I said, remaining near the door. “The rooms are excessive.” “They’re appropriate,” he countered, setting his papers aside.

“Has Jaime found the pool yet?” Antonio is showing him around, I confirmed, then added. “You didn’t need to assign him a personal bodyguard. Everyone in this house has protection, Aleandro said simply. Antonio is trained specifically for security involving minors. He was my younger brother’s guardian for years. I blinked.

Surprised by this revelation. You have a brother? Had? Alessandro corrected, a shadow crossing his features. Mateo died 5 years ago. Car accident. I’m sorry, I said genuinely. The flash of grief in his eyes was startlingly human. Alessandro nodded once in acknowledgement, then gestured for me to sit in one of the leather armchairs positioned near an unlit fireplace.

He took the seat opposite, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped before him. “We need to discuss your role here,” he began. “I’m still the maid,” I said quickly, needing to establish some boundary, some normality in this surreal situation. “Publicly, yes,” Aleandro agreed. “You’ll continue your duties as before.

But there are complications now that you’re living here. Perceptions that need to be managed. Perceptions? Alessandro’s dark eyes held mine steadily. Bianke believes you’re important to me. That belief puts you at risk, but it also provides an opportunity. A chill ran through me as I began to understand. You want to use me as bait.

No, he said sharply, then moderated his tone. Never that. But I want to use his assumption to our advantage. Let him think what he already believes. That you’re under my personal protection because you’re special to me. Pretend to be your girlfriend, I clarified, heat rising to my cheeks. My companion, Allesandro amended. In public at certain events I need to attend.

It reinforces my position if Bianke believes I have a vulnerability, but then makes me an even bigger target. I pointed out. Aleandro’s expression hardened. “No one will touch you. I’ve doubled security around the property. You’ll never leave here without at least two guards. When we attend events, you’ll have my personal protection at all times.” And Jaime the same.

Antonio stays with him whenever he leaves the property. At school, two men will maintain surveillance without interfering with his normal activities. The thoroughess of his planning both reassured and disturbed me. You’ve thought of everything. It’s what I do, Alisandro said simply. Anticipate threats. Neutralize them before they materialize.

And what happens when this Bianke situation is resolved? I asked. The question that had been gnawing at me. Do Jaime and I just go back to our lives? Something flickered across Aleandro’s face. An emotion I couldn’t quite identify before it was gone. Let’s focus on keeping you both safe first. The future will sort itself out.

That non-answer hung between us, loaded with unspoken possibilities. There’s a charity gala tomorrow night, Aleandro continued, changing the subject. It would be an appropriate first public appearance together. Many of the city’s influential families will be there, including Bianke’s associates.

I don’t have anything to wear to something like that, I said, grasping at practical objections. Already taken care of. Rosa will help you prepare. Alessandro rose, indicating our discussion was concluding. One more thing, Elizabeth, I stood as well, acutely aware of how he towered over me, his presence filling the space between us. Yes, this arrangement, it’s for appearances only. I won’t expect anything from you that you’re not willing to give freely.

” His voice had softened, a rare gentleness in his usually controlled tone. “You have my word on that.” The sincerity in his eyes made my chest tighten. Thank you. I managed. Alessandro’s hand moved as if to touch my face, then dropped back to his side. I’ll see you at dinner, 8:00 in the main dining room. Jaime is welcome to join us, of course.

As I turned to leave, his voice stopped me at the door. Elizabeth? The blue dress? Wear the blue one tonight. I nodded, wondering how he knew which dresses would be delivered, knowing already that he would have personally selected each item, just as he controlled every other aspect of his domain. Back in my room, I found the promised deliveries had already arrived.

Racks of clothing and exactly my size, shoes arranged by color and style, even undergarments still in their tissue paper. The presumption should have offended me, but instead I found myself running my fingers over silks and cashmere I’d never dared even touch in department stores. One dress in particular caught my eye, a deep sapphire blue with a simple cut that somehow managed to appear both elegant and understated.

The blue dress he’d mentioned, I realized Allesandro had chosen this specifically for me to wear tonight. The thoughts sent a complicated shiver down my spine. Dinner that evening was a surreal experience. Jaime, already comfortable in his new surroundings, chatted animatedly about the pool, the media room, and how Antonio had promised to teach him self-defense. “Is that okay, L?” he asked between bites of the most delicious pasta I’d ever tasted.

“At says Mr. Castayano approved it.” I glanced at Aleandro, seated at the head of the massive dining table. Self-defense seems like a useful skill, I said carefully. Aleandro nodded approvingly. Antonio was a competitive boxer before joining my security team. Jaime will be in good hands.

I noticed how Jaime straightened at Allesandro’s attention, how eagerly he absorbed the approving nod. It had been so long since he’d had any male figure acknowledge him, let alone one as powerful and commanding as Aleandro. The easy way Allesandro had inserted himself into our lives, providing not just security, but also attention, approval, guidance, was perhaps the most dangerous aspect of our new arrangement.

Elizabeth will be accompanying me to the Rossy Foundation gala tomorrow evening, Aleandro announced, changing the subject. It’s likely to run late. Rosa will be available if you need anything, Jaime. My brother’s eyes darted between us. a knowing look beyond his years. Like a date, like a security precaution, I corrected quickly. Aleandrore’s lips quirked in the ghost of a smile. A necessary public appearance, he said diplomatically.

Your sister’s presence strengthens certain strategic alignments. Jaime nodded sagely, as if he understood the complexities of mafia politics. Cool. The casual acceptance of our bizarre situation made me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. Two weeks ago, we’d been scraping by in our run-down apartment.

Now, we were dining on handmade pasta in a mansion while discussing strategic appearances at charity gallas as if they were the most natural thing in the world. After dinner, I insisted on helping Rosa clear the dishes despite her protests in the kitchen, away from Alessandro’s penetrating gaze. I finally asked the question that had been burning in my mind.

Rosa, how long have you worked for the Castillano family? She measured coffee grounds into an ornate espresso machine before answering. 27 years. I served Aleandro’s father before him. And in all that time, has he ever done this before? Taken people in, protected them like this? Rosa’s efficient movements paused briefly. “No,” she said finally. “Mr.

Castiano has always been selective about who enters his inner circle. after his brother’s death and his father’s passing even more so. She gave me a sidelong glance. You and Jaime are unprecedented. The weight of that statement settled over me. Why us? Why me? Rosa turned to face me fully, her expression serious. That is a question only he can answer.

But I will tell you this, Alessandro Castiano does nothing without purpose. If he has brought you into this house, into his life, it is because he sees something in you that he values deeply. She paused, then added, “Whether that is a blessing or a curse remains to be seen.

” The next evening, I stood in my bedroom, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror. The blue dress fit as if it had been made for me, skimming my curves without clinging, the color making my pale skin glow and my eyes appear more green than hazel. My hair, usually pulled back in a practical ponytail, fell in loose waves around my shoulders.

The work of a stylist who had mysteriously appeared in my room that afternoon. A knock at my door startled me from my self assessment. “Come in,” I called, expecting Rosa with lastminute instructions. “Instead, Aleandro entered, dressed in a tuxedo that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the lean strength of his body. He stopped abruptly when he saw me, something flashing in his eyes that made my pulse quicken.

Elizabeth, he said, my name almost reverent on his lips. You look beautiful. The simple compliment shouldn’t have affected me so strongly, but I felt heat rise to my cheeks. Thank you. The dress is perfect. I knew it would be, he said, approaching slowly. In his hand was a velvet box that he extended toward me. These belong to my mother. I thought they would compliment your outfit tonight.

I opened the box with trembling fingers to find a sapphire and diamond necklace nestled against black velvet. Elegant, clearly expensive, but not ostentatiously so. I can’t accept this, I whispered. You can, Allesandro countered gently. For tonight at least, it’s important that you look the part. The part? Of course.

This was all for show. a costume for the role I was playing in his strategic game with Bianke. “Turn around,” Allesandro instructed, taking the necklace from the box, I complied, lifting my hair as he stepped behind me.

His fingers brushed the nape of my neck as he fastened the clasp, lingering perhaps a moment longer than necessary. I could feel his breath against my skin, smell that now familiar scent of cedar and smoke. There,” he said softly, his hands coming to rest lightly on my shoulders. “Perfect.” Our eyes met in the mirror’s reflection, his dark and intense, mine wide and uncertain.

For a moment, we stood frozen in that strange intimacy, his powerful presence enveloping me from behind. The weight of the jewels at my throat, a tangible reminder of the role I was assuming. “We should go,” I said finally, breaking the spell. We don’t want to be late,” Allesandro nodded, offering his arm with oldw world formality. “Remember,” he said as I placed my hand in the crook of his elbow. “Stay close to me at all times.

If we’re separated for any reason, Marco will be nearby. Don’t accept drinks from servers you don’t see, pour them. And if anyone makes you uncomfortable, anyone at all, you tell me immediately.” The detailed instructions reminded me that tonight wasn’t about charity or jewels or beautiful dresses.

It was about power and danger, and the thin line I was walking between both. I understand, I said, straightening my shoulders. I won’t let you down. Aleandro’s expression softened, his free hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from my face. That’s not what concerns me, Elizabeth. What concerns me is keeping you safe while making it clear to everyone in that room that you are under my protection.

Under your protection, I repeated, testing the words. Is that what they’ll think, or will they assume I’m just your latest conquest? A muscle ticked in Aleandro’s jaw. Let them assume what they will. Those who matter will understand. And Bianke, what will he understand? Aleandro’s eyes darkened. That to reach you, he would have to go through me.

And that is a death sentence I don’t think even he is foolish enough to risk. The casual mention of death should have horrified me. Instead, I felt a perverse sense of security in his deadly certainty, the absolute confidence that he would destroy anyone who threatened what he considered his.

And tonight, for better or worse, that included me, the charity gallow was held in the grand ballroom of the city’s oldest hotel, a gilded space with crystal chandeliers and marble columns that spoke of old money and established power. As Aleandro guided me through the entrance, his hand firm at the small of my back, I felt the weight of eyes tracking our movement. “Smile,” he murmured close to my ear.

“You’re nervous, but not afraid. You belong here by my side. I forced my lips into what I hoped was a confident smile drawing strength from his steady presence beside me. Alessandro Castayano. A silky female voice called from our right. How unexpected to see you at a charity event. We turned to face a striking woman in her 40s, impeccably dressed in crimson with calculating eyes that assessed me from head to toe in one swift glance. Sophia.

Aleandro greeted her, his tone cordial but cool. The Children’s Hospital is a worthy cause. Indeed, she agreed, her gaze still fixed on me. And who is your lovely companion? Elizabeth Sullivan, Allesandro said, his hand sliding possessively around my waist. Elizabeth, this is Sophia Bianke, Stephano’s wife.

My blood froze at the name, but I maintained my smile, extending my hand as I’d seen women do in films. “A pleasure to meet you.” Sophia took my hand briefly, her grip firm and cold. “The pleasure is mine. Allesandro rarely brings friends to these functions.” “The pause before friends loaded the word with insinuation.” “Elizabeth is important to me,” Allesandro said simply, the statement hanging in the air between them like a challenge.

Sophia’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rose slightly. How interesting. My husband will be fascinated to hear that. She smiled, the expression never reaching her eyes. Enjoy your evening. As she glided away, I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Was that some kind of test? The first of many tonight, Alisandro confirmed, guiding me deeper into the ballroom.

You did well. She’ll tell Bianke about me, I said. The reality of our situation suddenly stark. “He already knows,” Allesandre reminded me gently. “Now he knows I’m making no effort to hide you, that I’m proudly displaying you as someone significant. It reinforces the message that you’re under my protection, like placing a queen on a chessboard,” I murmured.

Aleandro’s lips curved into a genuine smile, a rare sight that transformed his severe features into something almost boyish, an apt metaphor. Though in chess, the queen is the most powerful piece. “And what am I in your game?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it, his eyes met mine, suddenly intense.

You’re not a piece in any game, Elizabeth. You’re the reason I’m playing. The charity gala stretched into the night, a kaleidoscope of glittering jewels, political maneuvering, and veiled threats disguised as pleasantries. Aleandro guided me through it all with practiced ease, his hand never leaving the small of my back, his body positioned subtly between me and any approaching strangers, especially men.

I met dozens of people whose names blurred together, all of them studying me with barely disguised curiosity. Aleandro Castellaniano with a woman, a young unknown woman wearing his mother’s jewels, was apparently unprecedented enough to cause ripples through the city’s elite circles.

“You’re doing beautifully,” Alesandro murmured as we shared a brief dance, his hand warm against mine, his movements effortlessly leading me across the floor. “Just one more hour. Is he here?” I asked quietly, careful to maintain my smile. “Biana?” Aleandro’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Yes, watching from the mezzanine. Don’t look. Of course, I immediately wanted to look, but Aleandro’s hand tightened around my waist in warning.

“Eyes on me, Elizabeth,” he commanded softly. “Always on me.” Something in his tone made my breath catch. I lifted my gaze to his, finding unexpected warmth in those dark eyes. For a moment, the pretense of our arrangement faded, and I was simply a woman in a beautiful dress, dancing with a man whose touch sent electricity through my veins. “Why me?” I whispered.

The question that had haunted me since the night he’d picked me up in the rain. “Of all the people you could have chosen,” Allesandro studied my face, something vulnerable flickering briefly in his expression. Because you look at me and see the man, not the name. Because your hands callous from work without complaint. Because you’d burn down the world to protect your brother. And I recognize that particular fire.

His voice dropped lower, meant only for me. Because in a life where everyone wants something from me, you only ever asked for honesty. The raw truth in his words stole my breath. Before I could respond, the music ended, and Aleandro smoothly guided me off the dance floor. Mr. Castayaniano, a deep voice interjected, a word, if I may.

We turned to face a silver-haired man with cold eyes I recognized immediately. The same man I’d glimped entering Aleandro’s home during my first week. Veto. Behind him loomed two men with the unmistakable build and vigilance of security. Veto. Aleandro acknowledged coolly. I wasn’t aware you were on the guest list. Last minute arrangement, Veto replied with a thin smile.

His gaze shifted to me, assessing and predatory. You must be Elizabeth. Bianke mentioned you. I felt Alessandro stiffened beside me. Elizabeth, this is Veto Moretti, an associate of Stephano Bianke. Pleasure, I managed, instinctively pressing closer to Aleandro’s side. The pleasure is mine, Veto said, his gaze lingering inappropriately.

Bianke would like to extend an invitation. Dinner at his estate for both of you. Naturally. Naturally, Allesandro echoed, his tone dangerously soft. And what prompted this sudden hospitality? Veto’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. Let’s call it a desire to clear the air. Recent misunderstandings about territorial boundaries have created unnecessary tensions.

How diplomatic of Stephano, Allesandro remarked. Tell him I’ll consider his invitation. He’s expecting an answer tonight. Veto pressed. Aleandro’s posture shifted subtly. And I sensed rather than saw Marco materialize a few feet away, alert and watchful. Then he’ll be disappointed. I don’t make decisions based on others expectations. Veto’s expression hardened. Careful, Castiano.

Even your father understood the value of compromise. My father understood the value of respect. Aleandro countered. Something Bianke consistently fails to demonstrate. The tension between the two men crackled like electricity. I remained silent, acutely aware of the dangerous undercurrents flowing beneath this seemingly civil conversation. I’ll relay your consideration, Veto finally said, backing down with visible reluctance. His gaze returned to me, lingering uncomfortably.

A pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth. I’m sure we’ll see each other again very soon. The implied threat wasn’t subtle. As Veto departed with his security detail, I released a shaky breath. We’re leaving, Aleandro decided, his voice tight with controlled anger. Now, the ride back to the mansion passed intense silence.

Alessandro spoke briefly on the phone, issuing rapid instructions in Italian that I couldn’t follow. His free hand, however, remained firmly clasped around mine, his thumb occasionally sweeping reassuring arcs across my skin. Back at the mansion, security had visibly increased. Armed men patrolled the perimeter, and Marco met us at the entrance with a grim expression.

“Everything’s secure,” he reported. “The boy is asleep. Antonio is stationed outside his room. Aleandro nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. Double the night patrols. No one enters or leaves without my direct authorization. Marco departed to implement the orders. Leaving us alone in the grand foyer.

Alessandro turned to me, his expressions softening as he reached up to gently touch the sapphire at my throat. “You should rest,” he said. “It’s been a long night.” “Is Jaime safe?” I asked the question that overrode all others. Yes, Alisandro assured me. I promise you nothing will happen to him. I nodded, believing him despite every logical reason not to.

In the short time I’d known Aleandro Castiano, I’d learned that his word, once given, was absolute. If he promised protection, he would die before breaking that vow. And what about you? I asked, the question surprising us both. Are you safe? Something shifted in his eyes. Surprise, then a warmth that made my heart stutter.

I’ve been handling men like Bianke my entire life, Elizabeth. Don’t concern yourself with my safety. Someone should, I said quietly. Everyone so busy being protected by you. Who protects Aleandro Castiano? He stared at me for a long moment, something raw and unguarded crossing his features. Then with deliberate slowness, he raised my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against my knuckles that sent heat spiraling through me.

“Good night, Elizabeth,” he said softly, releasing my hand. “We’ll talk in the morning, but morning brought chaos instead of conversation, I awoke to shouting and the sound of running feet.” Throwing on a robe, I rushed to my door just as Marco appeared in the hallway.

“Stay in your room,” he ordered, hand resting on the gun, holstered at his side. Lock the door. Do not come out until someone comes for you. What’s happening? I demanded, fear tightening my throat. Where’s Jamie? Your brother is safe, Marco assured me. Antonio took him to the panic room when the alarm sounded. Mr. Castiano is handling the situation. What situation? I pressed. Marco’s expression darkened.

Bianke’s men tried to breach the east perimeter. They’ve been neutralized, but we’re sweeping the grounds to ensure there are no others. My blood turned to ice. They came for me, didn’t they? Marco didn’t answer, which was confirmation enough. “Lock your door,” he repeated, then disappeared down the hallway.

I retreated into my room, heart hammering against my ribs. “This was my fault.” Bianke had targeted Aleandro’s home because of me, because Aleandro had publicly claimed me as someone important to him. Jaime was in danger because I’d unwittingly become a pawn in a power struggle between crime families. The reality of my situation crashed down on me like a physical weight.

This wasn’t a fairy tale where the powerful man sweeps the poor girl into a life of luxury. This was a dangerous world where people died over territory disputes and perceived disrespect. Aleandro’s protection came with a price I wasn’t sure I could pay. Living in constant fear, watching over my shoulder, wondering when the next attack would come, I began packing hastily, throwing clothes into the small suitcase I’d brought from our apartment.

We had to leave, disappear somewhere Bianke couldn’t find us, somewhere Alisandre wouldn’t have to risk his life defending us. It wasn’t fair to him, to his household, to drag them into danger because of me. I was zipping the suitcase when my bedroom door opened without warning.

Aleandro stood in the doorway, a small cut on his cheekbone, the only evidence of whatever situation he’d been handling. His eyes moved from my face to the packed suitcase, understanding dawning immediately. “You’re running,” he stated, his voice carefully neutral. “I’m protecting my brother,” I corrected, chin lifting defiantly. “And you? This? All of this is because of me. Bianke wouldn’t have attacked your home if I wasn’t here.

Aleandro stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. Bianke has wanted my territory for years. You’re not the cause, Elizabeth. You’re simply the excuse he needed to make his move. Either way, people are getting hurt because of my presence here, I insisted. Your men. My men are paid well to protect what’s mine. Aleandro interrupted, his eyes darkening. And they’re unharmed.

The same cannot be said for Bianke’s people. The implication hung in the air between us. I didn’t want to know details. Didn’t want to think about what neutralized actually meant in this context. I can’t live like this, I whispered, gesturing vaguely to encompass the mansion, the security, the constant threat.

Always waiting for the next attack, wondering who might get hurt because of me. Jaime deserves better. And where will you go? Aleandro asked quietly. Where in this city could you hide that Bianke wouldn’t find you within days? He knows your name now, Elizabeth. He knows your face. Without my protection, you wouldn’t last a week.

The brutal truth of his words hit me like a physical blow. I sank onto the edge of the bed, the fight draining from me. Then what? We just stay here forever, living behind guards and security systems. Aleandro crossed the room to kneel before me, taking my hands in his. The gesture, this powerful man on his knees, was so unexpected it momentarily silenced me.

“No,” he said softly. “Not forever. Just until tonight.” “Tonight?” I repeated, confused. Aleandro’s expression was resolute. A decision clearly made. Bianke crossed a line attacking my home. “In our world, that demands a response. A chill ran through me as I understood his meaning. “You’re going after him. I’m ending this,” he corrected.

“Tonight permanently, fear gripped me. Not for myself, but for him. That’s too dangerous. He’ll be expecting retaliation, which is precisely why it needs to happen immediately,” Aleandro explained, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. My father taught me that when an enemy shows his hand, you don’t wait for him to play the next card. You flip the table.

The casual way he discussed what would undoubtedly be a violent confrontation should have horrified me. Instead, I found myself gripping his hands tighter, as if I could physically hold him back from the danger he was walking into. “And if something happens to you,” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Marco has instructions,” Aleandro said simply. You and Jaime would be taken somewhere safe, given new identities. Enough money to start over.

That’s not what I meant, I said, surprising myself with the fierceness in my tone. I don’t care about provisions or escape plans. I care about you not getting yourself killed over this, over me. Aleandro’s eyes widened fractionally, genuine surprise crossing his features before a warm understanding replaced it.

His hand rose to cut my cheek, calloused palm gentle against my skin. You truly are extraordinary Elizabeth Sullivan, he murmured. Anyone else would be thinking of their own safety. Yet here you are, concerned for the well-being of a man most people cross the street to avoid. Maybe I just have poor self-preservation instincts, I attempted to joke, though my voice wavered. No, Aleandro said seriously.

You have exceptional preservation instincts, just not for yourself. It’s what I saw in you that first night in the rain. This fierce protective instinct that burns brighter than your fear. His perception of me, so accurate it was almost uncomfortable, left me speechless. In the silence that followed, his gaze dropped briefly to my lips. a question in his eyes that made my heart race.

Before either of us could act on the electricity humming between us, a sharp knock interrupted the moment. Aleandro rose smoothly to his feet as Marco entered. “Everything’s ready,” Marco reported. “Teams assembled downstairs. The asset confirmed Bianke’s location for tonight.” Aleandro nodded.

“I’ll be down in 5 minutes.” When Marco departed, he turned back to me. Stay with Jaime in the panic room until this is over. Antonio will be with you. Aleandro, I said, his first name still unfamiliar on my tongue. Please be careful. Something softened in his expression. Without warning, he leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead.

A gesture somehow more intimate than a proper kiss would have been. I’ll come back to you, he promised, the words carrying the weight of an oath. both of you. Then he was gone, leaving me with the ghost of his touch on my skin and a knot of fear in my stomach. The panic room was more like a luxurious bunker, a reinforced space beneath a mansion with comfortable furnishings, a fully stocked kitchen, and multiple monitors showing security feeds from around the property.

Jaime was there, curled up on a sofa with a book, looking remarkably unperturbed by the morning’s events. Hey, L. He greeted me, dogearing his page. Antonio says we’re having a lockdown drill or something. I shot Antonio a grateful look for the child appropriate explanation. Something like that. I agreed, settling beside my brother.

How are you doing with all this? Jaime shrugged with teenage nonchalants that didn’t quite mask the excitement in his eyes. It’s kind of cool, actually, like living in an action movie. His expression turned more serious. Is Mr. Castiano okay? I saw him earlier with blood on his face. I He’s fine, I assured him, hoping fervently that it was true. Just a small cut.

He’s awesome, Jaime said with sudden conviction. The way everyone listens to him, how he always seems to know exactly what to do. And did you see the car collection in the garage? Antonio showed me yesterday he has a Bugatti. L a real Bugatti. The hero worship in my brother’s voice worried me, even as I understood its source. Alessandro represented everything Jaime had never had.

Strength, confidence, the ability to protect rather than need protection. The material trappings of wealth were just bonuses compared to the security and stability Alessandro provided. “He’s been very generous to us,” I acknowledged carefully. “But Jaime, you understand that Mr. Castellano’s business, it’s complicated. not always strictly legal.

Jaime gave me a look that suggested I was stating the obvious. I know what he is, L. I’m 14, not four. He’s like The Godfather or something, something like that. I agreed, not bothering to correct the movie reference, which means his life is dangerous. This situation we’re in, it’s not normal and it’s not permanent. Why not? Jaime challenged, surprising me. We’re safer here than we’ve ever been.

You don’t have to work yourself to death at that crappy diner. I can actually breathe without worrying about running out of medicine. His voice dropped lower. And he looks at you like you’re something special. Heat rushed to my cheeks. Jamie, I’m just saying, he continued. Maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe this is where we’re supposed to be.

Before I could formulate a response to that startlingly mature perspective, the security monitors flickered. Antonio was instantly alert. moving to the control panel and tapping commands into a keyboard. What’s happening? I asked, moving to stand beside him. Unknown, Antonio replied tursly. Someone’s accessing the security system remotely. A cold nod of dread formed in my stomach.

Is it Bianke’s people? Did they hack in? Before Antonio could answer, the largest monitor cleared, revealing a video feed of what appeared to be a warehouse. In frame was Aleandro standing calmly with Marco and several other men I recognized from his security team. Facing them was an older man surrounded by his own entourage, Stephano Bianke.

I presumed finally seeing the architect of our current predicament. They’re streaming it to us. Antonio realized Mr. Castiano wants you to see. See what? I asked, but the answer unfolded on the screen before us. There was no audio, but it was clear the two men were engaged in tense negotiation. Bianke gestured emphatically, his face contorted with emotion while Aleandro maintained his characteristic composure.

Then, abruptly, Aleandro reached into his jacket. I gasped, expecting violence, but instead he withdrew what looked like documents, sliding them across a table between them. Bianke examined the papers, his expression shifting from anger to surprise to calculation. What’s happening? Jaime asked, appearing at my side.

What are those papers? I don’t know, I admitted. Antonio’s eyes remained fixed on the screen. A deal. Mr. Castayano is offering something in exchange for peace. The negotiation continued for what felt like hours, but was probably only minutes. Finally, Bianke nodded and extended his hand.

Aleandro clasped it briefly, a business-like handshake that nonetheless appeared to seal whatever agreement they’d reached. The screen went dark shortly after, leaving us staring at our own reflections in the blank monitor. “Is it over?” I asked Antonio. “We wait,” he replied simply. “We waited for three excruciatingly long hours, during which Jaime eventually fell asleep on the sofa while I paced the confines of our luxurious prison.

When the panic room door finally opened to reveal Alessandro whole, unharmed, his expression unreadable, relief hit me with such force that my knees nearly buckled. “It’s done,” he stated simply, his eyes finding mine. “You’re safe now, both of you.” “What happened?” I asked, moving toward him as if pulled by an invisible thread.

“What kind of deal did you make?” Alessandro glanced at Jaimes sleeping form, then gestured for me to follow him. In the corridor outside the panic room, he finally answered. I gave Bianke what he wanted most, access to the shipping routes through the North Harbor. In exchange, he signed a binding agreement recognizing my territory and specifically acknowledging that you and Jaime are under my permanent protection and therefore untouchable. The word permanent

caught my attention immediately. permanent. Aleandro’s expression remained carefully neutral. The agreement has no expiration date. Whether you choose to remain here or not, Bianke will never target you again. You’re free, Elizabeth. You and Jaime both. Free. The word should have filled me with relief. But instead, I felt an unexpected hollowess.

Free to what? Return to our apartment? resume our struggling existence after experiencing safety and stability. Could we really go back to constantly living on the edge? That’s a significant concession, I said, focusing on the business aspect to avoid examining my conflicted emotions. The shipping routes must be valuable. They are, Aleandro acknowledged, but not as valuable as peace.

Not as valuable as he paused, something vulnerable flickering across his features. Not as valuable as knowing you’re safe. The raw honesty in his voice made my chest tighten. You did all this, compromised your business interests, risked your life. For us, for me? Aleandro stepped closer. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

I did it for myself as much as for you, he admitted quietly. These past weeks, having you and Jaime here, it’s changed things. Changed me. How? I whispered, hardly daring to breathe. This house has been silent since Matteo died and my father passed, Allesandro said, his voice low and intimate. Just business, negotiations, strategy.

Then suddenly there’s a teenager laughing in the pool. Music coming from upstairs. Someone challenging me at dinner instead of just nodding at everything I say. His lips curved in a small smile. You brought life back into these walls. Elizabeth into me. The confession so unexpected from this powerful controlled man left me speechless.

Alessandro reached out slowly, giving me time to retreat if I wished, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Now that the immediate danger has passed,” he continued. “You have a choice to make. You and Jaime can return to your apartment with better security, of course, and my continued financial support if you’ll accept it.” “Or or,” I prompted when he hesitated. “Or you can stay,” he said simply. “Both of you.

Not as staff, not as protected assets, but as he seemed to search for the right word, as family. Family. The word echoed in my mind, loaded with meaning and possibility. Allesandro, are you asking me? I’m asking for a chance, he interrupted gently.

To see if what’s growing between us can flourish without the pressure of external threats. I’m asking if you’d consider building something here with me on your own terms. It wasn’t a declaration of love. We’d known each other too briefly for that, but it was something equally profound. An invitation to create something lasting from the unusual circumstances that had brought us together.

And Jaime? I asked, always putting my brother first. Aleandro’s expression softened. Jaime stays regardless of your decision. He’s thriving here. Antonio tells me he has natural talent for self-defense and his asthma has improved with regular medication and less stress. He paused. But I would prefer if you stayed too very much.

The sincerity in his eyes made my heart race. This dangerous man, feared by many, respected by all, was standing before me with vulnerability in his gaze, offering not just protection but partnership. I’m not cut out to be a mob wife, I warned him, a smile tugging at my lips despite the seriousness of the moment. Aleandro laughed, a genuine warm sound I’d rarely heard from him.

Fortunately, my legitimate businesses far outweigh the other ventures these days, and I’m not proposing marriage, Elizabeth. At least not yet. His eyes twinkled with unexpected mischief. I’m simply suggesting we give ourselves time to discover if that’s where this path leads. In that moment, looking up at him, this complex man who commanded power with a whisper, yet touched me with such gentleness, I realized the decision had already been made in my heart. Yes, I said simply.

Well stay. On one condition, Alessandro raised an eyebrow, waiting. No more secrets, I stated firmly. If I’m going to be part of your life, part of this world, I need to understand it. All of it. No forbidden wings, no closed doors. He considered this for a long moment, then nodded slowly. Agreed. Though some knowledge comes with its own burden.

I’m stronger than I look, I reminded him. That, Aleandro said with quiet conviction, has never been in question. His hand rose to cut my cheek, thumb tracing the line of my jaw with exquisite tenderness. This time when his gaze dropped to my lips, there was no interruption, no crisis to prevent what we both clearly wanted. “May I?” he asked.

The powerful Aleandro Castayano requesting permission with surprising humility. “In answer, I rose on tiptoe and pressed my lips to his.” The kiss began gently, exploratory, but quickly deepened as months of tension and unagnowledged attraction crystallized into this single point of connection.

His arms encircled me, strong and secure, as mine wound around his neck, drawing him closer. When we finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Aleandro rested his forehead against mine. “I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you walking in the rain,” he confessed. “Worth the wait?” I teased, feeling unexpectedly light-hearted. “Worth everything,” he replied with such sincerity it made my heart stutter.

“Every concession, every risk, worth it all.” 6 months later, Alessandro’s prediction proved true. The Castiano mansion, once cold and fortress-like, had transformed into a home. Jaime thrived in his new school, his health improving dramatically with proper care and reduced stress.

Under Antonio’s toutelage, he developed not just physical strength, but confidence that extended to every aspect of his life. Aleandro had kept his promise of transparency, gradually introducing me to both sides of his world, the legitimate businesses he was expanding, and the shadier elements he was working to legitimize or disconnect from entirely.

The process wasn’t simple or swift, but his commitment to change was evident in every decision, every negotiation. Our relationship developed naturally without the pressure of external threats. I discovered the man beneath the powerful facade, a man who read poetry late at night, who placed fresh flowers in my room each week, who taught Jaime to play chess with infinite patience.

In turn, Aleandro discovered the woman I could be when not crushed by poverty and worry. Confident, intellectually curious, unafraid to challenge him when needed. As for my father, Allesandro had arranged for him to receive treatment at a private rehabilitation facility upon his release from jail. Whether it would take remain to be seen, but the gesture itself, caring for my family simply because they were mine, spoke volumes about the man Alisandro truly was beneath his fearsome reputation.

The West Wing, once forbidden, now housed my art studio, a passion I’d abandoned after mom died, that Alisandro had encouraged me to rediscover. The sapphire necklace I’d worn to the gala now resided permanently in my jewelry box, a gift rather than alone. And each night I fell asleep in Aleandro’s arms, safe in the knowledge that some fairy tales, even dark, complicated ones involving mafia bosses and the maids who accidentally capture their hearts, could indeed find their way to a happy ending. Not through magic or miracle, but through choice.

The choice to see beyond appearances, to risk vulnerability, to believe that even the most unlikely beginnings can lead to beautiful destinations if you’re brave enough to walk the path.