Chapter 20 #2
She crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, patting the space beside her. After a moment's hesitation, I join her, keeping a careful distance between us.
"Being a housekeeper doesn't make you less human," she says. Her voice is softer now. Almost gentle. "It doesn't make you less, period."
I stare at the carpet. There's a tiny stain near my left foot. Red wine, maybe. Or blood. In this house, who knows.
"You don't understand," I whisper. "Your family is... you're all..."
"Rich? Powerful? Terrifying?" She laughs, but there's no mockery in it. "Yeah. We are. But that doesn't mean everyone else is beneath us. That's not how this family works."
Isn't it? I want to ask. Because from where I'm standing, the gap between us feels like the Grand Canyon.
"To be honest," Vittoria continues, tucking one leg beneath her, "I like you more than most of the businesswomen who come through here."
I look up, startled. "What?"
"Those women." She wrinkles her nose. "All fake smiles and designer handbags and trying to impress my brothers. They don't see us as people. We're just... assets to them. Connections to acquire."
I think of the gala. The glittering dresses, the champagne, the way every guest looked through me like I was furniture.
"You're different," Vittoria says. "You actually give a shit. About Lily, obviously, but also... I've seen how you are with Nora. With my mother. Even with Nico, and trust me, nobody knows how to handle Nico."
My throat tightens. "I just... I try to be kind."
"Exactly." She reaches over and squeezes my hand. Her fingers are warm. "Never again think you deserve less because of your job. Never. That's bullshit, and I won't let you believe it."
I blink rapidly, fighting fresh tears. Jack spent years making me feel small. Worthless. Like I should be grateful anyone wanted me at all.
And here's this woman telling me I matter.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
Vittoria tilts her head. "Because someone should be."
Simple as that. No strings attached. No hidden agenda.
God, when did kindness become so confusing?
"Besides," she adds with a slight smile, "my brother clearly likes you. And Nico doesn't like anyone."
My face heats. "He doesn't—"
"Please." She rolls her eyes. "I've known him my whole life. He looks at you like you're something he wants but thinks he can't have."
I think of his thumb on my cheek. The way his voice dropped when he said my name. The almost-kiss that still burns on my lips despite never actually happening.
"It doesn't matter how he looks at me," I say quietly. "I'm not... I can't..."
I can't risk it. I can't trust again. I can't fall for a man who lives in a world of blood and bullets.
But even as I think it, part of me knows it's already too late.
Vittoria stands, smoothing down her shirt. "You don't have to figure everything out right now. Just... don't sell yourself short. Okay?"
I nod slowly. "Okay."
Vittoria slips out with a small wave, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Which is exactly where I don't want to be.
I stare at the closed door like it holds answers. It doesn't.
Does Nico really like me?
The question circles my brain like a vulture. His thumb on my cheek. The almost-kiss.
Stop it. Just stop.
I push off the bed and pace the length of the room.
Even if Nico does feel something—and that's a massive if—I work for his family. I scrub their toilets. I fold their laundry. I'm staff.
Vittoria might not care about that distinction, but she's one person. What about Pietro? What about their mother? What about the dozen other people who float through this compound?
You're the help, Kristen. You serve the food. You don't eat at the table.
Jack's voice slithers through my memory. He said that once, after I tried to join a conversation at one of his work dinners. I'd been so embarrassed I excused myself to cry in the bathroom.
My chest tightens. I hate that his words still live in my head.
But maybe he was right about this one thing. Maybe I don't belong here.
I stop by the window and press my forehead against the cool glass. Outside, the grounds stretch endlessly green.
What is my life?
I close my eyes and force myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
The bigger question lurks beneath the surface.
Do I like him?
My stomach flips. No. Absolutely not. I refuse to answer that question.
Because answering it means acknowledging the way my heart races when he enters a room. The way his rare almost-smiles make me feel like I've won something precious.
It means acknowledging that when he touched my face, I wanted to lean into his palm. Wanted to close the distance between us. Wanted to know what his lips would feel like against mine.
Damn it.
I open my eyes and glare at my reflection in the window. "You're an idiot," I whisper.
My reflection doesn't argue.
Here's the thing: my life is a disaster. A complete and total dumpster fire.
The last thing—the absolute last thing—I need right now is man drama.
Especially man drama involving a brooding, intense, emotionally constipated mafia man who probably kills people before breakfast. Or after. Or everyday.
You don't even know if he kills people, a traitorous voice whispers. You're assuming.
I turn away from the window and sink into the armchair by the fireplace. The leather creaks beneath me.
Focus, Kristen. Focus.
Lily needs stability. She needs a mother who isn't tangled up in complicated feelings for dangerous men. She needs me to keep my head down, work off this debt, and get us out of here in one piece.
That's the plan. Stick to the plan.
No kissing Nico Sartori. No thinking about kissing Nico Sartori. No replaying that almost-moment over and over until I drive myself insane.
Even if his thumb on my cheek felt like the first gentle touch I've experienced in years.
Even if the way he looked at me made me feel seen. Actually seen. Not as Jack's wife. Not as Lily's mother. Just... me.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes until I see stars.
This is so messed up.
A soft knock at the door makes me jump. My heart lodges in my throat.
"Yes?"
The door opens, and Sophia pokes her head in. Her auburn hair falls over one shoulder, and her expression is warm. Kind.
"Hey," she says. "Lily's asking for you. She wants to show you the picture she drew."
Relief floods through me. Lily. My girl. My reason for everything.
"I'll be right there."
Sophia nods and disappears.
I stand, smoothing down my shirt with shaking hands. One foot in front of the other. That's all I can do right now. Focus on Lily. Focus on work. Focus on surviving.
Everything else will have to wait.