Chapter 4 - The House Rules Broken
Ten minutes later, Mrs. Gable stood in the center of the master bedroom looking as though she had seen a ghost. Her eyes darted from the rumpled goose-down duvet to Victor, who was kneeling beside the chaise lounge, holding a damp, cool cloth to my burning forehead.
“Mr. Russo,” Mrs. Gable stammered, wringing her hands together so hard her knuckles turned white. “I had no idea... The girl said she was well. We don't normally allow staff to—especially not in your personal quarters—”
“She was dying on my floor, Gable,” Victor said without looking up, rinsing the cloth in a silver basin of ice water. His tone was dangerously quiet. “And you sent a sick child to deep-clean a three-thousand-square-foot suite without checking her temperature.”
“I—she needed the work, sir. She begged for the shift—”
“That’s enough.” Victor raised his gray eyes, fixing the head housekeeper with a glare that made her step back involuntarily. “When Rossi gets here, have him bring up the IV fluids from the downstairs supply. And clear out the guest suite on the second floor. She’s not sleeping in the staff quarters tonight.”
Mrs. Gable blinked rapidly, processing the fact that the most feared man in Illinois had just ordered his private physician to treat a penniless maid and upgraded her living quarters to the VIP wing.
“Yes, Mr. Russo. Right away.” She cast one last, bewildered glance at me before hurrying out of the room, closing the heavy mahogany doors behind her with a soft click.
I stared up at Victor through a haze of fever and exhaustion. The flickering light from the bathroom cast long shadows across his sharp cheekbones and the dark ink of a tattoo that peeked out from beneath the cuff of his white shirt.
“Why?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the hum of the estate’s ventilation system. “You don't even know me. I broke your rule. I slept in your bed.”
Victor paused, the cool cloth hovering just above my collarbone. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable, a complex mix of calculation and something older, heavier, that I couldn't quite place.
“Rules are designed to keep threats out, Clara,” he said slowly, his thumb lightly brushing the edge of my jawline—a touch so gentle it felt entirely alien to the man who commanded a criminal empire. “You aren't a threat. You’re just an idiot trying to kill yourself over fifty grand.”
“My brother isn't an idiot,” I flashed back with a sudden, desperate flare of pride. “He’s fifteen. He’s all I have left.”
A faint, humorless smile touched the corner of Victor’s mouth.
“I know,” he said softly. “I read the paper in your pocket.”
May you like
Before I could answer, a sharp knock echoed at the outer door, followed by the hurried footsteps of Dr. Rossi carrying a heavy leather medical bag. The storm outside battered the reinforced glass of the windows, howling against the Chicago night, but inside the sanctuary of the Russo estate, the world had shifted on its axis.
And as Dr. Rossi opened his stethoscope, I realized with a cold shiver that there was no going back.
