I’ve been dying to get inside this place since I discovered it existed during my first week on the estate, but I knew nobody would answer any of my questions then. Even now they still might not, but at least I’m no longer just a stranger. They know my face.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Esma beams as she heads towards an empty booth.
Following her, I can’t shake this feeling that I’m slipping into Roan’s world by coming in here. Which doesn’t make sense—I’malreadyin his world. Since he returned two days ago, he’s all the maids talk about. And I let them. Because I need to know my enemy,notbecause I’m curious about the man himself.
The more I pick up, the clearer the picture becomes. He’s not just the ruthless heir I read about in that dossier, or the suspicious man who sized me up that first afternoon. He’s astrategist—the kind who builds clubs inside his estate and understands the value of loyalty bought with comfort and convenience. Plus, he’s probably generating serious revenue from this place. Perfect money laundering opportunity for his illegitimately obtained gains.
Very smart indeed, that Roan. Too smart for my peace of mind.
According to Esma’s enthusiastic chatter as we slide into the booth, he has several other projects in development across the sprawling estate. The property apparently has quite a bit of unused land.
Almost as soon as our butts touch the leather, a server is at our table asking for our orders. This already surpasses most Manhattan clubs where you’d need to physically approach the bar if you want service within an hour.
Esma orders a glass of red wine, and even though I’m not a fan, I order the same. I need to keep my mind sharp and my ears open, but walking into a bar after a shift and not drinking would look strange.
“They have the best red wines I’ve ever tasted,” Esma gushes as she tucks her dark hair behind her ears. “Not the cheap stuff they sell outside.”
I nod, though I don’t really believe her. I mean, how good can a fifteen-dollar glass of wine possibly be? “Tell me more about this restaurant and hotel project you mentioned,” I prompt instead, settling in for intelligence gathering.
She grins and rubs her palms together, leaning closer. “I’m so excited about it. When this club opened six months ago, the hardest-working maids were given an opportunity to apply for positions here. The ones chosen got a month's training, then were upgraded to club staff. That’s why we needed more maids after—and probably why you were hired.” She waves a hand at me, then quickly glances away, her cheeks reddening.
“It’s okay.” I smile gently.
It’s no news that I’m one of the few non-Albanians working and living on the estate. A subject of endless fascination for some of the others. They aren’t hostile—not yet anyway—but I attract a lot of attention everywhere I go. A painful reality because being the only blonde here means if I’m caught snooping, I’d be easily recognized, even from behind.
It’s why I’ve been so careful. If I’d known, I would’ve dyed my hair brown or invested in a fucking wig. Maybe I can still get a wig—slip it on whenever I want to dig around, have it throw the scent off me.
Huh, not a bad idea.
“You don’t need to feel self-conscious. You’re a good worker.” Esma pats my hand awkwardly, and I nearly exhale in relief when our server arrives with our drinks.
I pick up my wineglass and take a tentative sip. My eyes widen as the sweet taste bursts across my tongue—rich and smooth, with just enough dry finish to balance it out. Pleasantly surprised, I take another sip, slower this time, savoring it properly. "This is… really good."
Esma’s smile widens with unmistakable pride. "Of course it is. All the drinks here are imported directly from Albania. That’s why they’re superior to anything you’ll find outside."
“Really?” I examine my glass with fresh interest. I know Roan owns an import company that initially brought Albanian tea and coffee to the US market, then gradually expanded into liquor. Naturally he’d serve his own products here to maximize his profits.
The man doesn’t miss an angle.
"Why do you think the men are so devoted to this place?" Esma leans forward, her voice low but animated. "It’s not just about the convenient bar—it’s about the drinks that connect them to home, even for those who’ve never been to the motherland. Like me."
I twirl the glass stem slowly between my fingers, watchingthe dark red liquid swish and catch the warm, golden light overhead. Connection. A way for these men to bond. That makes so much more sense.
For a moment, I find myself wondering about Esma’s story. What brought her here? Was it choice or circumstance that made her take this path? How many others are like her—tied to a homeland they’ve never been to, loyal to a world they were simply born into? Are they here because it’s all they know?
Roan Përmeti, that sly dog. Capitalizing on their sense of belonging.Very Smart.
Damn it, I hate that I can’t stop admiring his intellect.
As if my thoughts summon him, the door opens… and there he is.
Electric awareness shoots down my spine while my heart lurches violently before breaking into a gallop. The wine glass nearly slips from my suddenly nerveless fingers as our gazes lock across the crowded room.
His eyes narrow slightly, but he gives me a slow nod anyway.Why? What does that mean?I quickly look away when the man next to him demands his attention.
“Did—did the heir just nod at you?” Esma asks breathlessly.
“Everyone knows he’s the one really in charge,” I answer without thinking, still a little flustered by his unexpected presence. I hate it. Hate the way my heart is acting so out of control. “Shefihas been taking it easy since his health scare.”
