Shit.
I wipe my hands on a cloth, ignoring the way the other maids stare at me, and follow her out into the hallway. It’s dim out here, only the soft glow of wall lamps lighting the corridor. We walk a few feet before she stops and turns.
“You should know your place here,” she says.
I blink. “Excuse me?”
Olga whips and takes a step closer to me. It’s supposed to be intimidating. It is. “Three days ago, you were spotted in the garden with Master Marco.”
My heart thuds against my chest, but I don’t say anything.
“I’ve also heard other reports. That’s not the only time you’ve been caught talking to him. Nothing goes unnoticed here.”
I’vebeen caught talking to him?He’sthe one who talks to me.
“I only respond to him out of respect,” I finally say. “IfMasterMarco wants to talk to me, do you suggest I… refuse?”
I catch the twitch in her jaw. “Don’t try to play smart with me. I am not one for games.”
“I wasn’t?—”
She cuts me off with a raised hand. “Your job is not to catch the attention of men who are above your station. It reflects poorly on this household.”
My blood boils in anger, and I bite my tongue to hold back a retort.
“It doesn’t matter if he wanted to talk to you or not,” she continues. “It’s what it looked like. One of the Romanos entertaining himself with the help?” She sounds disgusted by the thought.
I ball my hands into fists. “I wasn’t seeking attention. I didn’t even ask to be here.”
“Sure, you didn’t, but you’re here anyway, and you must obey the rules.”
She leans in slightly. “Someone kept you alive even when you didn’t deserve it. Don’t mistake kindness for weakness.”
Kindness?I grit my teeth.
Only one person is responsible for this bullshit message.
“Francesco sent you.”
It’s not a question, yet seeing the curl on the corner of her lips makes my blood boil even hotter.
“You’re messing up the order he’s tried so hard to maintain.” She takes another step closer to me, and this time, I stare right into her soulless eyes. “Keep doing that, and you’ll be gotten rid of. Permanently.”
Olga smiles like she didn’t just threaten to kill me as she hands me a folded note. “Go to the cellar. Fetch the bottle listed and take it to the dining room before the guests arrive.”
She turns and walks away without waiting for a response.
I stand there, fists clenched around the note, heat rising in my chest. Rage and humiliation mix together until I feel like I might explode. He doesn’t even have the guts to say things to my face. He just sends his messengers to do his dirty work.
I storm away in a blind rage, and instead of heading toward the cellar, I find myself drifting toward the west wing. The only maids allowed on this side of the mansion are specially selected cleaners and personal servants to the Romano men.
It’s where the masters live, where I know he is.
Every inch of this corridor feels colder than the rest of the house. The lights here are dimmer, and the silence hums in my ears. There’s no staff chatter that I’ve grown used to. No clanging dishes or whispered gossip. Just the quiet echo of my footsteps on marble.
I tell myself this is about hearing the message straight from his mouth. If he wants to threaten me, he should do it himself.
But my coming here is more about the relentless pull I feel toward him.
