Page 49 of Claimed Through Deception

"Sleep," I whisper into the dark.

She shifts, pressing her lips softly against my collarbone. It is a tiny, unconscious movement, but the softness of it strips me bare. I stay awake for hours, stroking her hair, mapping the rhythm of her breathing, until the dawn bleeds a pale, grey light through the window panes.

When I open my eyes, the space beside me is cold.

I sit up, the muscles in my abdomen screaming in protest. The sheets are tangled. The indent of her head remains on the pillow next to mine, but she is gone.

A flash of panic spikes in my blood. I throw the duvet off and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I walk out of the bedroom and scan the suite.

Empty.

I walk into the hallway and throw open the door to her small assigned room.

The canvas bag is sitting on the floor by the closet, right where I left it. But the black maid uniform is missing from the mattress.

I run a hand over my jaw, the rough stubble scratching my palm.

She went to work.

I understand it. I hate it, but I understand it. The reality of what she chose last night is different. She needs the structure of her routine to process the shift in our dynamic. She needs to feel like she still has a job, a purpose, something concrete to hold onto while her world tilts on its axis.

I won't drag her out of the kitchen. I will give her the day.

I walk to my bathroom, turn the shower on cold, and wash the sleep from my bones. I dress in a dark suit, conceal my weapon at the small of my back, and leave the estate.

Alessio and Enzo are waiting for me at the harbor. We spend the morning tracking the fallout of the Falco ambush. The docks are bleeding money, the Irish are pushing their boundaries, and the streets are restless. I handle the logistics with a cold efficiency. I break a man’s fingers for lying about a shipment. I authorize two hits on Falco lieutenants.

You know, the normal day to day business.

But through it all, my mind remains locked on the girl in the black uniform. By one in the afternoon, my patience runs dry. I leave Alessio to supervise the cargo transfers and order my driver to take me home.

The estate is quiet when I walk through the front doors. I want to find her, so I walk down the ground-floor corridor, moving past the kitchens and heading toward the service wing.

As I approach the intersecting hallway near the laundry rooms, the sound of a sharp, muffled thud breaks the silence.

I stop walking. I step into the shadow of a large stone column, my eyes narrowing as I look down the corridor.

Livia is backed against the wall.

She holds a small, cheap wooden picture frame clutched tightly to her chest. Her knuckles are white. Her posture is rigid, and defensive.

Standing directly in front of her, blocking her path, is Gia.

"You think you’re so untouchable today, don't you?" Gia sneers in a venomous hiss. She takes a step forward, crowding Livia against the floral wallpaper. "You think you own this house?"

Livia doesn't speak. She keeps her eyes fixed on the floor, clutching the wooden frame like a shield.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, street trash," Gia snaps. She shoves Livia’s shoulder hard.

Livia’s head snaps up. Her dark eyes flash, but she bites the inside of her cheek, swallowing the retaliation. She shifts her weight, trying to step around the older maid.

"I have work to do, Gia," Livia says flatly. "Move."

"You don't give me orders," Gia snarls, sidestepping to block the escape route. "You aren't the Lady of this estate. Caterina Falco is coming back. Her crown is waiting for her. You are a distraction. A cheap, filthy distraction."

Gia’s eyes drop to the object clutched in Livia’s hands.

A cruel, vicious smirk spreads across the maid's face.