Chapter 8 - The Confession in the DarkBack inside the estate, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the violence of the docks. The heavy oak doors of Vincent’s private office were locked tight.
Isabella had been sent away to the medical wing, her nerves shattered, muttering incoherently about leaving the city on the first flight out. The Moretti hitmen were secured in the basement holding cells.
In the office, the fireplace crackled, casting long, warm amber shadows across the mahogany bookshelves.
Vincent stood by the window, pouring two fingers of amber whiskey into a crystal glass. His shirt sleeves were stained with soot and a faint smear of blood—not his own. He didn't turn around when the door opened, but he knew who it was.
Maya walked in, her hands still slightly trembling, her coat damp from the rain. She stood near the desk, feeling entirely out of place among the million-dollar antiquities and syndicate ledgers.
"You disobeyed a direct order," Vincent said, his voice dangerously quiet as he turned to face her. "I told you to stay locked in this room."
"If I had stayed locked in this room, you'd currently have a bullet in your chest," Maya retorted, her chin lifting defiantly. "You're welcome, by the way."
Vincent stared at her for a long, heavy moment. The dangerous, untouchable mafia boss who made grown men weep vanished for a second, replaced by a man who looked shockingly exhausted. He walked slowly across the room, stopping just inches from her.
Up close, she could smell the rain, gunpowder, and expensive cologne on him.
"You picked up an assault rifle with no formal training, charged into a live firefight, and saved my life," Vincent said slowly, his dark eyes locked onto hers. "In my world, loyalty like that isn't rewarded with a housekeeping paycheck, Maya."
"I don't want a reward," she whispered, her breath hitching slightly as he stepped even closer. "I just want to do my job without wondering if the person standing next to me is going to betray you—or me."
Vincent reached out. For a second, Maya thought he was going to pull away or reprimand her further. Instead, his warm, calloused fingers gently brushed a stray lock of wet hair away from her forehead, his touch surprisingly tender.
"Isabella was Moretti’s leak," Vincent murmured, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "She fed them our shipping schedules in exchange for debt relief. She thought she could get rid of me, take control of the northern territory, and leave you to take the blame."
Maya’s eyes widened. "And now?"
"Now, Isabella is gone," Vincent said softly. "And the position of personal assistant... is no longer temporary."
May you like
Before Maya could answer, Vincent leaned down, capturing her lips in a sudden, intense kiss that tasted of danger, smoke, and undeniable passion. Maya gasped softly, but her hands instinctively rose, gripping the lapels of his jacket as she pulled him closer.
Outside, the storm raged on, but inside the fortress of the Castellano estate, the clumsy maid realized she wasn't running anymore. She had walked straight into the lion's den—and the lion had no intention of ever letting her leave.
