1
KATIE
The late afternoon sun spills in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning every speck of dust into floating gold as I wipe down yet another antique dresser. I huff out a frustrated breath, my breathing carefully controlled through parted lips because the last thing I need is a sneezing fit to blow my cover.
God, this room is ridiculous.
One of—what, twenty?—elegant guest bedrooms that no one has actually slept in since I started this maid charade three weeks ago. Huge, church-quiet, and completely over the top, like it exists purely to impress. Then again, that’s the whole Përmeti mansion in a nutshell: three floors of unused rooms, more for show than human habitation.
The other buildings in the estate probably tell different stories—the ones where Afrim’s men live and breathe and bleed. But I haven’t been assigned to clean there yet, so there’s no way to know.
I’m bent over, smoothing out a wrinkle in an overpriced Persian rug, when the door creaks open behind me. Heavy footsteps echo into the silence, and my blood instantly goes cold.
Shit.
The other maids and I are usually left alone when we’re cleaning—Afrim and his men don’t waste their time supervising. So if it’s not them… yeah, this can’t be good.
Heart racing, I straighten to my full five-foot-five and turn around. But even before I see him, I know who it is. I’ve mostly only dealt with Afrim Përmeti since I infiltrated this place, and while the older man has his own brand of authority, he doesn’t possess the kind of magnetic presence that shifts the very air in a room just by walking in.
Only one person in this house does.
I trace long,verylong legs encased in boots and fitted dark jeans, up to a white shirt half-hidden beneath a black leather jacket molded perfectly to thick arms. A glint of gold at his neck snags my attention, and I’m seconds from squinting like a dumbass to see what it is before forcing my gaze higher.
Past reddish–brown stubble. Past a sharp, slightly crooked nose dusted with freckles I have no business finding hot. And yet—hello, mouth watering.
Since when do I have a thing for man-freckles?
Then I finally make eye contact with the intruder, and my carefully constructed composure nearly cracks under the weight of those emerald depths. My heart thuds—once, twice, doesn’t stop—my pulse going absolutely wild in my throat as his gaze arrests mine.
Roan Përmeti.
I’d seen his face in the brief tossed in my lap that night a month ago when I was given this nightmare mission. One grainy surveillance photo, all shadows and bad angles, because he isn’t exactly the social type and rarely seen at high-profile events people of his class usually attend. Even so, even blurred, he’d looked dangerous in a generic, criminal sort of way. But in person?Holy hell.
That photo hadn’t captured even a fraction of him.
Not the dark red hair pulled into a man-bun, not the fewrebellious strands curling at his temple. Not the stubble, trimmed so precisely it turns already sharp features into something almost sculpted. And definitely not the eyes—the way they seem to glow from within, lit by intelligence that makes it feel like he’s reading my thoughts, like he’s already figured out that I don’t belong here and is just waiting to see what I’ll do about it.
He’s so unfairly handsome it actually pisses me off.
I wasn’t supposed to be attracted to him. My brain knows better, my knees too, and yet every damn part of me is betraying itself. This could ruin everything if I’m not careful.
Heat creeps up my neck as I realize how not put together I look right now. My hands twitch, wanting to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, and my mind nags at me to check if I look decent at all. But none of that matters—I’m not here to look pretty. Besides, there’s nothing embarrassing about being a maid; it’s not like I’ve been caught stealing. Though technically, what I’m doing here is far worse than theft.
“Who the hell are you?” The words roll through the room, deep and rough with an edge that suggests he doesn’t ask questions twice. And somehow, my nipples actually tighten in response, which is just fantastic. Of course he has a voice that could melt panties. Because why would the universe give me any breaks?
I steady my breathing the way I was trained, wiping my hands on the apron that’s become both costume and shield. Each step he takes closer winds my nerves tighter, but I lift my chin to hold his gaze, refusing to flinch. “I’m the new maid.”
Good. Keep it simple. Don’t give him anything to work with.
He’s been away on some business trip for the entire three weeks I’ve been here, negotiating with the Albanians on Long Island now that he’s taken control from his father. I was hoping to have more time to establish my cover before dealing with him directly.
So much for that plan.
He stops advancing and runs his gaze over my body in one quick, assessing sweep. “You always clean with the door shut?”
Shit. Did I break some unspoken rule?
“I didn’t want to disturb the others,” I reply smoothly, hoping that’s enough to make him lose interest and leave me the hell alone.
