Chapter 8
ROAN
I watch as Mia rushes away with her head ducked, her footsteps quick and unsteady, and can’t help but wonder what exactly she’s trying to outrun.
Is it the lust I couldn’t quite control while watching her sleep? The same lust that was mirrored so clearly in her eyes when she first woke up, before she registered who I am?
Or maybe she’s just trying to outrun the truth—the secrets she’s hiding.
After all, she knows I’m onto her.
My gaze drops to my hand, the one that brushed her cheek. A faint smear of dark, grainy dirt clings to my fingers. Not the fine dust that accumulates in even the cleanest houses. Not the light traces the maids pick up during their work. This is thicker, almost mud-like in consistency.
I frown, raising my fingers to examine it more closely, rubbing my thumb and index finger together to feel the texture. Gritty. Dense. Fresh.
Where the hell did she get mud on her face?
The mansion is spotless. The gardens are manicured to perfection, the paths clear and paved. There’s nowhere in her normal work areas she should have picked this up.
Unless she’s been somewhere else.
Somewhere she shouldn’t be.
That would explain the shadows under her eyes, the way she collapsed onto the lounge chaise and passed out cold. That wasn’t ordinary tiredness from a long shift. That was bone-deep exhaustion—the kind that comes from pushing your body past its limits.
My heart twists strangely in my chest, an echo of the way it had pounded while I watched her sleep.
She looked so peaceful then.
So soft and vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen her while conscious, her breathing slow and steady, her face relaxed without the careful mask she wears when she knows she’s being observed.
For one insane, maddening moment there, I almost convinced myself she really is exactly what she’s pretending to be—an overworked maid, caught up in circumstances bigger than herself, doing her best to survive.
That would make things so much easier.
If she were just a woman—just an ordinary, complicated, beautiful woman—I could give in to this attraction to her. I could pursue her without guilt, without the nagging suspicion that I’m being played.
But I know better.
My hand flexes involuntarily, muscle memory recreating the warmth of her cheek under my fingertips, the silken softness of her skin. My jaw clenches as a different kind of heat stirs low in my gut, an ache that tightens uncomfortably in my pants.
She’s trouble. Almost certainly a liar. Probably something much worse.
I shake her from my thoughts, ignoring the faint thrum of desire still lingering in my veins as I make my way to my office. Once inside, I pull up the security feeds.
I need to know where she got that mud.
Most cameras are fixed on the main house, its perimeter, and entrance, with only a few scattered around the compound—something I’ll be fixing soon. This blind spot situation is unacceptable.
I click on the footage facing the maid’s building and skip through the evening hours until I reach the moment when the last maid enters around 10 PM. Then I fast-forward, watching the silent building, waiting.
At midnight, someone slips out.
There.
I pause the clip and lean in, squinting at the hunched figure with a cap pulled so low it hides their face completely. It could be anyone—but the way the person angles themselves so none of their identifying features can be captured screams professional, and I know instinctively it’s Mia.
“Gotcha,” I murmur, resuming playback.
Her figure moves away from the lights, blending almost seamlessly with the shadows like she’s done it a hundred times before. I check the timestamp and switch to the next footage covering the path, but she doesn’t appear.
She’s good. Really fucking good.
It takes nearly thirty minutes of scanning different feeds before I pick her up again, and I watch with grudging fascination as she disappears into the woods.
No cameras cover that area—another oversight I’m now regretting—so there’s no way to know what she went in there to do or who she might have met.
I skip through more footage, needing to see if someone else joined her and when she comes back out.
Time ticks by on the screen, but nobody follows—the woods swaying in the darkness the only movement for hours.
And then, just before six this morning, she reappears, dirt clinging to her clothes, her steps heavy.
What the hell are you up to, Mia? What were you doing all night?
Finding out now isn’t possible. Not without more information.
So I make a mental note—no, a decision. Having Lorik look into who she might be isn’t going to be enough.
If she’s slipping in and out right under my nose, I need to see for myself what the hell she’s doing and who the hell she really is.
Tonight. I’ll follow her myself, if she goes out again.
Right now, though, I have business to handle.
I turn off the footage and wipe the dirt from my fingers with a handkerchief just as a knock sounds on my office door. “Come in,” I call, dropping the soiled cloth into my desk drawer.
The door swings open and Dhimiter steps in. “Just got word that our ship is pulling into shore tomorrow morning. A day early.”
“Problems?”
“None,” he says, closing the door behind him. “The customs officers know to expect us and look the other way. They’ll offload at Dock C, following the usual procedures. We won’t have any complications.”
“Good,” I say, leaning back. “I have some positive news myself. Rafael Moretti got in touch last night. He wants more firearms.”
“More money for us.” Dhimiter grins, dropping into the seat across from me.
Then he hesitates, clearly weighing his next words.
“I know you said you want to handle it alone, but I’ve been thinking…
we could reach out to your brothers-in-law to connect us with reliable architects to take over our stalled projects. ”
My lips thin, but I’ve been considering the same thing. Especially since discovering that Fabian might be actively sabotaging my expansion plans. “It’s not a bad idea,” I admit.
He raises a brow, looking surprised by how easily I agree. “Yeah?”
A faint smirk tugs at my mouth. “Yeah.”
“Perfect. Who knows, maybe once we get back on track, we can still open the restaurant by the original target date.”
I nod, but even as I think about my projects and the satisfaction of having more revenue streams, Mia slips through the cracks in my concentration.
The shadows under her eyes. The sudden, unwelcome pounding of my heart when I touched her. The heat that stole my breath when she woke up and looked at me with those guileless blue eyes.
Whatever game she’s playing, I’m going to find out.
And then I’m going to have her. One way or another.
The scent of roasted lamb pulls me from my office—our longtime chef Besart’s cooking, rich and mouthwatering, impossible to ignore. I glance at my watch as I shut down my laptop, surprised to find it’s already 7 PM.
Where did the day go?
I roll up my sleeves as I head towards the dining room, my stomach grumbling more insistently the closer I get to the source of those incredible smells.
Quiet murmurs reach me first—my father’s rough, steady voice and a softer one that tugs harshly at my insides.
Mia.
“You’re getting gaunt, girl,” Ate says, his tone gruff but oddly gentle. “Are you working yourself to the bone again? Sit down and have dinner with us. Eat properly tonight.”
There’s a brief, tense silence that makes me pause just outside the doorway, staying out of view so I can observe undetected. Mia stands at the edge, closer than I expected her to be, her fingers twisted together as she bites her lower lip.
Her hair brushes the nape of her neck, those soft golden strands framing her face, and something uncertain—almost vulnerable—flickers in her wide eyes, even as she tries to deflect with humor, “Oh no. You want everyone to think I’m trying to seduce you?”
Ate chuckles. “Everyone knows it’s only my Hana for me. For some reason, you remind me of my sweet daughter, Elira. I miss her terribly. Now sit.”
So that’s why he’s taken to her so quickly.
Mia bites her lip harder, and I can see her searching for another excuse. “I do eat well, you know? You feed us wonderfully. Besides, I don’t think the younger Mr. Permeti would approve of me sitting at dinner with the two of you.”
Ate frowns, clearly irritated. “And it’s no secret that Roan is the one in charge now, is that it?”
“Oh no, that’s not what I meant at all,” she says quickly, genuine distress coloring her voice. “I just don’t want dinner to be awkward. There might be things you and he need to discuss that you won’t be able to because of my presence.”
“Young lady, I invited you to dinner, didn’t I? It won’t be awkward.”
While they continue their back-and-forth, I pull out my phone and text Dhimiter with a mission. Then I step inside. “Oh for God’s sake, just say yes. You can’t win an argument with Ate when he’s decided something. Trust me, I’ve tried.”
Her head jerks toward me, surprise flashing across her face, followed immediately by something else—something intense and unguarded that disappears so quickly I almost think I imagined it. But I saw it, and it makes my heart pound.
What was that?
“Then it’s settled.” Ate gives me an approving smile, a warmth in his voice that’s rare these days. “Sit, Mia.”
She hesitates, her gaze flicking to me, then to the empty chair at the far end of the table—as far from both of us as she can physically get. Reluctantly, she walks towards it and lowers herself into the seat, her shoulders drawn tight.
Not so fast.
I deliberately take the seat across from her, three chairs away from Ate. He doesn’t stay put for long, shifting to sit beside her.
“Wine?” I ask, lifting the bottle and watching her face closely, cataloging every micro-expression.
Her lips part as if to accept, then press together as she reconsiders. “Just water, please.”
“Water it is.” I pour it for her, the crystal glass catching the light beautifully as I set it in front of her—close enough that her fingers brush mine when she reaches for it. A small touch, purely accidental, but it sends a spark racing through my nerve endings.
She jolts like I’ve given her an electric shock, quickly withdrawing her hand, her gaze dropping as a faint flush colors her cheeks.
Looks like I’m not imagining it.
The first course arrives, served by Besart himself. Our nosy cook raises his brow at the new addition to the dining table, clearly dying to comment, but he knows better than to say a word.
Ate digs in with his usual hearty appetite, making appreciative noises. Mia eats slowly, cautiously, her eyes flitting between her plate and the two of us like she’s waiting for a trap to spring.
The silence stretches, thick with unspoken tension, until I decide to break it during the second course.
“So, Mia,” I drag the name out as I slice into tender lamb. “Where did you work before this?”
“A small hotel,” the answer comes without hesitation, her voice steady, but her fingers tighten around her fork.
Prepared answer. She’s rehearsed this.
“You were cleaning rooms there too?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” I nod, taking a moment to chew my food. “And you moved here alone?”
“Yes.”
Monosyllabic answers. Another tell.
“Quite a leap, from a small hotel to a private estate like this.” I let the words hang, relishing the subtle way her shoulders tense, how her jaw clenches fractionally. “Better pay, I assume?”
“I needed the money.” Her voice is firmer now, more defensive, but she’s not looking at me—her gaze remains fixed on her plate, on the careful, precise movements of her fork and knife as she cuts through her meat.
I imagine she’d be pleased to slide that knife between my ribs instead. The thought makes me smile despite myself.
“Smart.” I take a sip of wine, letting the velvety taste linger on my tongue. “But I’ve always wondered... why this estate? You don’t feel uncomfortable being one of the few non-Albanians here?”
Her fork hovers for a moment. A slow, almost imperceptible breath expands her chest. “It was the first place that accepted me. And like I said, I needed the pay.”
Quick thinking, but not entirely convincing.
My father clears his throat pointedly, giving me a mild glare that clearly says back off. “Roan, enough with the interrogation. Let the girl eat in peace. The staffing company did a thorough background check on all the maids they supply to us.”
“Just getting to know her, Ate.” My gaze doesn't leave Mia’s face. “We wouldn’t want a stranger with sinister intentions under our roof, would we?”
Her gaze flicks up, meeting mine, and there’s something there—a quiet, simmering anger beneath her mask of politeness. But it’s gone in a blink, buried again.
A shame. I’d like to see what she’s like when that anger breaks free.
The rest of dinner is quiet, punctuated by Ate’s occasional attempts at small talk and Mia’s careful, measured replies, while my gaze tracks her every movement—how her lashes lower when I speak, the subtle shift of her throat when she swallows, the tiny spark of defiance that flares and dies with every question I ask.
When the plates are cleared, she stands up so quickly she nearly knocks over her water glass, murmuring a polite but hasty thank you before practically fleeing from the room.
I don’t stop her.
I don’t need to.
I lean back in my chair, swirling the last of my wine contemplatively, a satisfied smile curling my lips. I don’t even have to text Dhimiter to confirm the job is done—dinner took over an hour, and knowing my efficient friend, he completed his task within the first twenty minutes.
While we ate, Dhimiter was in her room, slipping small GPS trackers into the sides of all her shoes. The trackers are small, subtle, virtually undetectable unless you’re specifically looking for them.
So tonight, or any other night when she decides to slip out again, I’ll receive an immediate alert. And I’ll know exactly where she goes.
Checkmate, Mia.
It’s only a matter of time before I unravel all your secrets.