"Six days after I started working for the most feared mafia boss in Westchester County, I broke his strictest rules by turning a feather duster into a microphone and belting out a song at the top of my lungs. Dominic Vale came home hours early, caught me mid-performance, and instead of killing me, a corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. But before I could process what was happening, his phone rang, his expression turned deadly, and he whispered, 'Marcus. Lock the doors.'"

I paced the length of the carpeted suite, my mind racing through a dozen worst-case scenarios. Had a rival family launched an attack? Was Dominic’s logistics empire crumbling? Or—most terrifying of all—was he currently reviewing my employment application and calculating how to dispose of an overly enthusiastic cleaning lady who sang pop anthems to marble statues?

A soft knock sounded at my door.

I froze, staring at the brass handle.

“Maya?” Marcus’s voice rumbled through the wood. “You can come out now.”

I pulled the door open immediately. Marcus stood in the hallway, looking completely unbothered, though his right hand rested casually near the concealed holster beneath his suit jacket. There was a smear of dark grease on his white shirt cuff, but otherwise, he looked like a man who had just finished checking his morning emails.

“Is everything...?” I started, gesturing vaguely downstairs.

“Handled,” Marcus said smoothly, turning to walk down the hall. “The boss wants to see you in his study. Now.”

My stomach dropped into my shoes. “In his study? Marcus, look, if this is about the feather duster incident, I already apologized. I promised never to touch the Greek philosopher again—what’s his name, Epictetus? Marcus, please, my mother’s insurance relies on this paycheck—”

Marcus stopped and turned around, offering me a rare, genuine grin. “Relax, kid. If the boss wanted you gone, you’d have been in a car ten minutes ago. Just go in there, answer his questions, and for God’s sake, don’t start singing.”

He gestured toward the double mahogany doors of Dominic’s private office at the end of the hall.

I swallowed hard, smoothed down my burgundy skirt, and marched down the corridor as if I were walking toward my own execution. I raised my hand and tapped twice on the heavy wood.

“Come in,” Dominic’s voice called from within.

I pushed the door open.

The study was massive, dominated by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a heavy mahogany desk covered in leather-bound ledgers and secure monitors, and a dark leather sofa. A wood-burning fireplace crackled softly in the corner, casting warm, flickering light across the room.

Dominic was standing by the window, looking out over the manicured lawns where twilight was beginning to settle. He had removed his tie, and the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt were unbuttoned, revealing the strong, corded column of his throat.

He didn’t turn around immediately.

“Close the door, Maya,” he said quietly.

I did as I was told, the heavy click of the latch sounding entirely too final. I stood rigidly by the entrance, keeping my hands neatly folded in front of me.

Dominic finally turned. His gray-flecked dark eyes studied me with an intensity that made my skin tingle.

“Are you always that loud when you clean?” he asked, his tone dry, though there was a strange, unreadable warmth lingering in his gaze.

“Only when I think I’m entirely alone, Mr. Vale,” I replied, keeping my voice as steady as possible. “It’s a coping mechanism. Silence tends to make my brain overthink.”

“What were you singing?”

I blinked, genuinely caught off guard. “Pardon?”

“The song,” Dominic said, stepping away from the window and walking slowly toward his desk. “The one you were belting out at Epictetus. Your voice was... surprisingly good. Though your choice of choreography was somewhat erratic.”

Heat surged into my face for the second time that day. “It was an ’80s power ballad, sir. And the choreography is mandatory if you want to properly dust a nine-foot statue.”

A low, deep rumble vibrated in Dominic’s chest. For a split second, that elusive, terrifying corner of his mouth twitched upward again.

“Mandatory,” he repeated softly.

“Yes, sir.” I took a deep breath, deciding it was better to address the elephant in the room—or rather, the armed men who had just tried to breach his gates. “Mr. Vale... was that an attack earlier? Should I be worried about my safety? Or the estate’s safety?”

Dominic’s amusement vanished instantly, replaced by that cold, untouchable wall of authority. He sat down in his leather desk chair, resting his forearms on the polished wood.

“That,” Dominic said flatly, “was a message from someone who thinks my absence of a response to a previous insult meant weakness. They were mistaken.”

“Did Marcus...?”

“Marcus handled it,” Dominic interrupted, his gaze locking onto mine with hypnotic precision. “And you handled staying in your suite without panicking. Most people would have tried to look out the window or call the police. You stayed put.”

“I’m self-preserving, Mr. Vale. I know what side my bread is buttered on—and it’s heavily buttered by your payroll department.”

Dominic stared at me for a long, silent moment. Then, slowly, he picked up a thick manila folder from his desk and slid it across the surface toward me.

“What is this?” I asked, stepping closer and looking down at the label.

“An updated contract,” Dominic said smoothly. “Effective tomorrow, your title changes from housekeeper to executive assistant. Your salary doubles, your housing stipend increases, and your primary responsibility will be managing my daily schedule, coordinating my meetings, and ensuring the estate runs according to my specifications.”

I stared at the folder, utterly paralyzed. “Executive assistant? Mr. Vale, I don’t have an MBA. My degree is in art history. I spend my mornings polishing silver!”

“You also spent twelve minutes analyzing my supply chain ledgers last Tuesday when you thought I wasn’t listening, and you correctly pointed out that our catering vendor was overcharging us by fifteen percent,” Dominic reminded me, his eyes gleaming with sharp intelligence. “You miss nothing, Maya. You blend into the background when you want to, and you command a room when you think nobody is watching.”