The Mafia Boss Had Never Needed Anyone—Until He Knocked on His Maid’s Door Drunk and Broken

Arthur’s hand instantly snapped away from Clara’s shoulder, dropping to the holster hidden inside his vest. His eyes hardened into flint.

He signaled for Clara to stay down behind the large oak desk. She obeyed immediately, slipping into the deep shadow.

Arthur walked silently across the thick Persian rug to the door. He unlocked it with a quiet click and swung it open violently.

Julian stood in the hallway, his hand still raised near the handle. He looked surprised for a fraction of a second before his face smoothed into that familiar, snake-like grin.

"Arthur," Julian said smoothly, looking past him into the dimly lit library. "I saw the light under the door. Didn't realize you were working late."

"I don't need your permission to be in my own library, Julian," Arthur said, his body blocking the entrance completely. "What do you want?"

Julian tilted his head, trying to peer into the shadows behind Arthur. "Just checking on the estate security. I noticed you locked the door. That's unusual for you."

"I was making a private phone call to our contacts in Chicago," Arthur lied without a tremor in his voice. "Something you don't need to be privy to yet. Go to sleep, Julian."

Julian’s eyes flicked down to the floor inside the doorway, where Clara’s cleaning bucket and rag sat in plain view near the desk.

"Ah," Julian said softly, a dangerous light dawning in his eyes. "Waxing the floors, was she? The little maid?"

Arthur took a step forward, closing the space between them, his towering height looming over his underboss. "If you have something to say, Julian, say it."

Julian raised his hands defensively, though his smile broadened. "Nothing at all, boss. Just didn't know you were taking such a... personal interest in the house staff. Be careful, Arthur. Distractions are expensive in our business."

"Get out of my hallway," Arthur growled in a voice so low and lethal that even Julian’s smile faltered.

Julian bowed his head slightly, backed away, and disappeared down the dark corridor.

Arthur closed the door and locked it again. He let out a long breath, resting his forehead against the wood for a moment before turning back to Clara.

She stepped out from behind the desk, her face pale under the soft yellow light of the lamp.

"He knows," she whispered.

"He suspects," Arthur corrected her, walking back to her. "He thinks you're my mistress, or a distraction he can use against me. He doesn't know about the ledger."

"Which makes me a target either way," Clara said, her voice trembling slightly for the first time. "If he wants to hit you, he'll hit me first."

Arthur looked at her, a fierce, protective fire igniting in his chest—a feeling he hadn't experienced in years. He stepped close to her, taking both of her cold hands in his broad, warm palms.

"I won't let him touch you, Clara," Arthur said, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "I swear to you on my life."

Clara looked up at his handsome, rugged face, feeling the intense pull between them. They were from two entirely different worlds, bound together by a secret that could destroy them both.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Arthur," she whispered. "In your world, promises are paid for in blood."

"Then I'll pay whatever it costs," he replied, leaning down slightly, his breath warm against her cheek.

For a heartbeat, neither moved. The air between them was electric, heavy with unspoken desire and shared peril. But before their lips could meet, Arthur’s encrypted phone buzzed loudly in his pocket, shattering the moment.