Chapter 3
“Your job is simple,” Elena explained the next morning, leading me through the mansion’s east wing. “You’ll attend private dinners, corporate events, occasionally travel for important meetings. You’ll serve, observe, and speak when spoken to.”
“So I’m a waitress with better pay.”
“You’re much more than that.” She stopped in front of a door, pulling a key from her pocket. “You’re entering Mr. Vitale’s inner circle. Very few people get that close.”
“Lucky me.”
Elena’s expression hardened. “You have no idea what you’re walking into, Miss Ki. My advice: learn the rules quickly. Keep your head down. And never, ever forget who you’re working for.”
She opened the door to reveal a bedroom that looked like it belonged in a luxury hotel. King bed. Private bathroom. A window overlooking the gardens.
“This is yours,” she said. “You’ll live here during work weeks. Weekends are your own, unless Mr. Vitale requires otherwise.”
“He expects me to live here?”
“He expects loyalty, discretion, and availability.” Elena handed me the key. “Dinner is at eight. Wear something appropriate. There will be guests.”
She left before I could argue.
The closet held clothes I definitely hadn’t packed. Elegant dresses in my exact size. Shoes that looked expensive enough to require insurance. A note lay on top.
Dress code for tonight: black. —D
I wanted to burn every piece of it.
Instead, I chose a simple black dress that didn’t make me feel like I was playing costume. I kept my makeup minimal, my hair pulled back. If I was being forced into this role, I’d do it on my terms.
At exactly 8:00 p.m., I descended the curved staircase to find the dining room transformed. Candlelight. Crystal. A table set for eight.
Dante stood near the window in a black suit, talking quietly on his phone. When he saw me, he ended the call immediately.
“Arya.” His gaze traveled over me slowly, thoroughly. “Perfect.”
“I’m not here to be perfect. I’m here because you left me no choice.”
“And yet, you’re here.” He crossed to me, stopping close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “That’s what matters.”
“Who are these guests?”
“Business associates. Dangerous people who need to believe I’m in complete control.” His hand lifted, and I froze as his fingers brushed a strand of hair from my face. “Which means you need to appear as mine.”
“I’m not yours.”
“Tonight you are.” His thumb traced my jawline, sending electricity down my spine. “They’ll test you. Push boundaries. Try to read weakness. You’ll smile. You’ll serve. And you’ll reveal nothing. Understand?”
I wanted to pull away. Slap his hand. Run.
Instead, I held his gaze and nodded once.
His smile was approving. Possessive.
“Good girl.”
The guests arrived in expensive cars and dangerous smiles.
There was Matteo Rossi—silver-haired, sharp-eyed, who watched me like a hawk studying prey. His wife, Giovanna, dripped in diamonds and boredom. A younger man named Enzo, who couldn’t stop staring at my legs. And two others whose names I didn’t catch, all radiating the same predatory energy.
I served wine. Brought out courses Elena had prepared. Stayed quiet. But I listened.
“The shipment from Marseilles is delayed,” Matteo said, cutting into his steak. “Your contact there is becoming unreliable, Dante.”
“It’s handled.”
“Is it? Because last time you said that, we lost half a million in product.”
Dante’s expression didn’t change, but the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
“Careful, Matteo. You’re a guest in my home. And you’re asking me to trust you with my money.” His voice was soft, lethal. “I’m telling you it’s handled. Unless you’d like to manage the French routes yourself.”
Matteo backed down immediately, returning to his meal.
I refilled glasses, invisible and essential all at once.
“This one’s pretty,” Enzo said suddenly, gesturing at me with his fork. “Where’d you find her?”
“She found me.” Dante’s eyes flickered to mine briefly. “And she’s off limits.”
“Possessive, Dante.” Giovanna purred. “How unlike you.”
“Protective,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”
The dinner continued. Dangerous words wrapped in polite conversation. Business I wasn’t supposed to understand. Threats disguised as compliments.
When I brought out dessert, Enzo grabbed my wrist.
“What’s your name, bella?”
“Let go,” I said quietly.
“Make me.”
Before I could react, Dante was standing—his chair scraping back with sudden violence.
“Remove your hand,” he said, voice like winter. “Or I’ll remove it for you.”
Enzo released me immediately, laughing nervously. “Jesus, Dante. I was just—”
“Disrespecting what’s mine.” Dante moved around the table with predatory grace, positioning himself between us. “Arya, go to the kitchen.”
I left before the situation could explode.
Through the door, I heard Dante’s voice. Low. Controlled. Absolutely terrifying.
Then silence. Then polite conversation resuming.
When Elena found me twenty minutes later, she looked pale.
“Mr. Vitale wants you in his study. Now.”
The study was all dark wood and leather, walls lined with books that actually looked read. Dante stood by the fireplace, tie loosened, expression unreadable.
“I’m sorry,” I said immediately. “I didn’t mean to cause—”
“You didn’t cause anything.” He crossed to me in three strides. “Enzo is a fool who forgot his place. That’s not your fault.”
“Did you hurt him?”
“I reminded him of boundaries.” His hand cupped my chin, tilting my face up. “Are you all right?”
The genuine concern in his eyes stunned me.
“I’m fine.”
“You shouldn’t have to deal with men like that.”
“Says the man who forced me into this.”
His thumb brushed my lower lip, and my breath caught.
“I’m starting to regret that decision.”
“Why?”
“Because.” He murmured, his face so close I could feel his breath. “You’re making this complicated. You were supposed to be staff. Invisible. Safe. And now—”
He stopped himself.
“Now what?” I whispered.
“Now I can’t stop thinking about you.” His confession was rough, unwilling. “About that fire in your eyes when you challenged me. About what it would feel like to—”
He stopped again, jaw tightening.
“To what?”
Instead of answering, he released me, stepping back like I’d burned him.
“Go to bed, Arya. Before I do something we’ll both regret.”
I should have left immediately. But I stood there for three heartbeats, feeling the tension crackling between us like a live wire.
“What if I wouldn’t regret it?” I heard myself say.
His eyes went dark. Dangerous.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Don’t I?”
“Arya.” My name was a warning. A plea.
May you like
I left then, heart pounding, knowing everything had just shifted.
Knowing there was no going back to invisible.
