"THE MAFIA BOSS CAME HOME TO FIND HIS MAID DRAGGING HIS MOTHER’S EMPTY WHEELCHAIR THROUGH THE ENGAGEMENT PARTY—THEN HE NOTICED THE BLOOD SOAKING THROUGH HER WHITE SLEEVE.

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the smell.

It wasn't the sharp bleach and lemon disinfectant of the servants' quarters in the basement. It was the rich, luxurious scent of sandalwood, leather, and fresh linen.

I blinked my eyes open slowly.

I was lying on a massive king-sized bed covered in dark charcoal silk sheets. The room was illuminated by the soft, warm glow of a bedside lamp. Heavy velvet curtains framed the floor-to-ceiling windows, showing the dark Chicago skyline outside.

I tried to sit up, but a sharp pinch in my left arm made me gasp.

"Don't move," a deep voice commanded softly from the shadows.

I turned my head.

Luca Moretti sat in a leather armchair beside the bed. He had taken off his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, revealing thick, muscular forearms covered in dark hair and faint silver scars. He held a crystal glass of whiskey in one hand, but he wasn't drinking. He was watching me.

Beside the bed stood a tall man in a white medical coat, packing away a small black medical bag.

"Mr. Moretti..." I stammered, my voice raspy. I tried to pull the heavy silk blanket up over my chest, suddenly realizing I was no longer wearing my torn, bloody maid's uniform. I was wearing a clean, soft white cotton button-up shirt that clearly belonged to Luca, the sleeves rolled up gently.

"Easy, Sophie," Luca said, standing up and stepping to the side of the bed. "This is Dr. Harrison, my personal physician. He just finished stitching up your arm."

"Twelve stitches, to be precise," Dr. Harrison added with a kind, reassuring smile, snapping his bag shut. "The wound was quite deep—a jagged tear from a sharp metal edge, likely the wheelchair frame—plus severe deep-tissue bruising from a heavy grip. But there's no nerve damage, thankfully. I've administered a local anesthetic and a strong antibiotic."

"Thank you, doctor," I whispered, looking down at my arm. It was neatly wrapped in clean, crisp white gauze from my wrist up to my elbow.

"I'll leave the painkillers on the nightstand," Dr. Harrison said, turning to Luca. "She needs rest, Luca. No heavy lifting for at least three weeks."

"She won't be doing any lifting ever again," Luca said firmly.

Dr. Harrison nodded, offered me a polite bow, and exited the room, closing the heavy mahogany door softly behind him.

The room fell quiet.

I sat propped up against the plush velvet headboard, my heart hammering against my ribs as I looked around the room. I realized with a jolt of panic where I was.

This was Luca’s private master suite on the top floor of the mansion—a room no member of the domestic staff was ever allowed to enter under any circumstances.

"Mr. Moretti," I stammered, trying to swing my legs over the edge of the bed. "I shouldn't be in your bed. I can go back to my room in the basement—"

"Sit down, Sophie," Luca ordered. His voice wasn't harsh, but it carried an absolute weight that made me stop instantly.

He walked over to the side of the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. The heavy silk dipped beneath his weight. He set his whiskey glass on the nightstand and looked directly into my eyes.

"You're not going back to the basement," he said quietly. "Not tonight. Not ever."

I swallowed hard, looking down at my bandaged arm resting on his soft cotton shirt. "I... I was just doing my job, sir."

"Your job was to clean rooms and serve tea, Sophie," Luca said, his voice dropping into a low, intense register. "Your job was not to take a bullet—or a beating—for my mother. You stood up to two armed men. You bled on my floor to keep Eleanor safe while my own fiancée was selling us out to Detroit."

"Mrs. Moretti has been very kind to me since I started working here," I whispered, tears welling up in my eyes. "She reminded me of my grandmother. When I saw those men touching her... I just couldn't let them take her."

Luca stared at me for a long, silent second. His gray eyes softened in a way I had never seen before. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out with his large hand and brushed a stray lock of brown hair away from my forehead.

His touch was surprisingly warm, impossibly gentle for a man whose hands ruled a criminal empire.

"You have more courage in your little finger than half the men who work for me," Luca murmured softly.

My breath hitched. My skin tingled where his fingers touched my face.

"How is your arm feeling?" he asked, withdrawing his hand slowly.

"It doesn't hurt as much now," I admitted. "The doctor's medicine helps."

"Good." Luca stood up, walking over to the fireplace mantel. He picked up a thick white envelope and walked back to the bed, setting it gently on my lap.

I looked at the envelope. "What's this?"

"Fifty thousand dollars," Luca said simply.

My jaw dropped. I stared at the envelope as if it were radioactive. "Mr. Moretti... no. I can't take this."

"It's not a gift, Sophie. It's a small token of my gratitude," Luca said, resting his hands in his pockets. "And I already had Marco look into your family background while you were asleep."

I went cold. "What?"

"I know about your younger brother, Paul," Luca continued smoothly. "I know about his knee surgery, his physical therapy bills, and the forty-six dollars in your checking account."

I looked down at the silk blanket, feeling a sudden flush of embarrassment heat my cheeks. "I didn't want anyone to know..."

"There's no shame in struggling to care for the people you love," Luca said softly, stepping closer. "Paul's medical bills have been paid in full as of twenty minutes ago. I transferred the funds directly to the clinic. And he has been enrolled in the sports rehabilitation program at Northwestern Memorial under the best orthopedic surgeons in the state."

I stared at him, my lips parting in sheer disbelief. Fresh tears spilled over my eyelashes, burning my cheeks.

"Why... why would you do that?" I choked out.

"Because you saved my mother's life," Luca said, his voice unwavering. "And in this house, when someone protects a Moretti, they become family. We take care of our own."

I buried my face in my good hand, letting out a ragged, sob of pure relief. The crushing, suffocating weight of debt that had been strangling me for months dissolved in an instant.

Luca sat back down on the edge of the bed. He reached out and gently pulled my hand away from my face, holding my small fingers in his large palm.

"No more crying, Sophie," he whispered gently. "Your life changes tonight. Starting tomorrow, you are no longer a maid in this house."

I looked up at him through my tears. "Then... what am I?"

Luca looked down at our joined hands, his thumb gently tracing the smooth skin of my wrist.

"Whatever you want to be," he said softly. "But for now... you are the woman who saved the Moretti family. And you are under my personal protection."

Before I could answer, the bedroom door opened softly.

Eleanor Moretti walked into the room, leaning lightly on a wooden cane, wearing a warm pink robe. She looked tired, but her eyes were bright and filled with joy as she saw me awake.

"Sophie, my dear," Eleanor said, walking over to the bed.

"Mrs. Moretti!" I started to shift, but Eleanor waved her hand, taking a seat in the chair Luca had vacated.

"Stay right where you are," Eleanor insisted, reaching over to take my other hand. She looked at her son, then back at me, a soft, knowing smile playing on her lips. "I see my son has already treated you like royalty, as he should."

"He paid for Paul's surgery, Mrs. Moretti..." I wept quietly. "I don't know how to thank either of you."

"You don't need to thank us, darling," Eleanor said, her voice rich with affection. "You gave me back my life. And more importantly... you showed my son what a real, honorable woman looks like."

Luca turned his head toward the window, hiding a faint flush on his neck, though he didn't let go of my hand.

"Now," Eleanor added, her eyes flashing with a spark of her old steel. "We have one small detail to finish before we can all sleep."

Luca turned back to his mother. "What detail?"

Eleanor smiled thinly. "Vanessa’s uncle from Detroit just called the house landline. He's waiting at the harbor in a yacht, expecting Vanessa to bring him my signed power of attorney documents."

Luca’s expression hardened back into cold stone.

"Is he?" Luca murmured, his gray eyes darkening.

"I think," Eleanor said, looking at her son with a dangerous smile, "it's time you went to the harbor and delivered a message from the Moretti family."