The Maid Fixed the Mafia Boss’s Tie—Then Whispered, “Don’t Get in That Car”
PART 2
Lucian Verek stood at the window for a long time.
Arya remained near the dining table with her hands folded in front of her apron, every instinct screaming that she had made a mistake. The room felt too bright now, too exposed. Outside, Marcus stood beside the black sedan with one hand near his jacket and his eyes moving too often toward the front entrance. To most people, he looked like a loyal driver waiting for his employer. To Arya, he looked like a man counting down to betrayal.
Lucian’s reflection in the glass did not move.
Then he said quietly, “Nicholas.”
A man appeared at the doorway within seconds, as if he had been made from the walls themselves. Nicholas was Lucian’s head of security, tall, clean-shaven, and expressionless in the way men became when they had seen too much and learned to stop showing it. His eyes flicked from Lucian to Arya, then back again.
“Sir?”
“Marcus is compromised.”
Nicholas did not ask how Lucian knew. That was the difference between men who survived in Lucian’s world and men who died asking questions at the wrong time. “Do you want him taken?”
“No.” Lucian’s eyes stayed on the driveway. “I want to know who he calls when he thinks the car leaves.”
Arya’s heart beat harder.
Lucian turned from the window and looked at her. “You will remain here.”
Her fingers tightened. “With respect, sir, I would prefer to return to the kitchen.”
“I am sure you would.”
That was the problem with dangerous men. They heard the thing beneath the words.
Lucian removed his suit jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. “Nicholas, have a decoy brought to the west entrance. Same coat. Same schedule. No staff near the front hall.”
Nicholas nodded and disappeared.
Arya forced herself to breathe normally. “Mr. Verek, I should not be involved in this.”
“You involved yourself when you told me not to get into my car.”
“I warned you. That is different.”
“No,” he said. “It is not.”
His eyes stayed on her face, studying too closely. Arya could feel him noticing things she had spent months hiding: the way she kept her back away from open doors, the way she always knew where exits were, the way fear did not make her freeze but sharpened her. She had made herself invisible in his house, and now he was looking at her like she had suddenly become the most interesting object in the room.
“Where did you learn to read men like Marcus?” he asked.
Arya kept her voice steady. “I told you. I pay attention.”
Lucian’s mouth barely moved. “That is a lie.”
“It is an incomplete truth.”
“Better.”
