The Dying Crime Boss Asked the Maid to Hold Him Once, but She Looked at the Wall Instead

Ten minutes felt like ten hours.

The rain continued to hammer against the glass, and the grand mansion fell into an unnerving silence. The usual hum of the central heating system felt heavy, carrying the lingering scent of synthetic cedar and damp plaster.

Luca pulled himself out of the bed. His legs shook beneath his gray silk pajamas, but he refused Mara’s hand when she reached out to steady him.

“I can stand,” he gritted out through clenched teeth, leaning heavily against the dark mahogany bedpost until his breathing stabilized. “Where is the cleanest air in this house?”

Mara watched him with a critical eye. “The east conservatory. The glass walls were resealed last spring, the windows actually open, and there are no carpets or upholstered drapes to hold dampness.”

“Then that’s where we go.”

“Mr. Varelli, you can barely walk five feet—”

“Then you’ll have to let me lean on you after all,” he said, looking at her with a stark, serious expression.

Mara hesitated for a second before stepping under his left arm. The heat radiating off his body was intense, and despite his wasted frame, his broad shoulders carried an imposing weight. She wrapped her arm around his waist, feeling the tight contraction of his muscles as he forced his feet to move forward across the hardwood floor.

They moved slowly out of the master suite, stepping into the dim, carpeted corridor of the second floor.

The house felt empty. Too empty.

As they reached the top of the grand marble staircase, the heavy oak front doors below swung open with a bang.

A tall, heavy-set man in a black trench coat stepped into the foyer, water dripping from his shoulders onto the polished stone floor. It was Matteo—Luca’s long-time head of security, a man whose face looked as though it had been carved out of rough granite. Behind him were two younger men with hands tucked suspiciously inside their dark jackets.

Matteo looked up the staircase, his eyes locking onto Luca leaning heavily against Mara.

“Boss?” Matteo called out, his brow furrowing as he hurried up the stairs two at a time. “Mrs. Vale called the office. She said you had a medical emergency and were delusional.”

“Where is Evelyn?” Luca asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“She was pulling out of the driveway in her sedan when we pulled up,” Matteo said, reaching the landing and taking Luca’s weight from Mara’s shoulders with practiced ease. “She said she was going to fetch Dr. Evans from his clinic.”

“She isn’t fetching him,” Mara said quietly from the side. “She’s running.”

Matteo’s sharp eyes flicked to Mara, full of suspicion. “Who is she?”

“She’s the reason I’m still breathing,” Luca growled. “Matteo, lock down the estate. Nobody enters through the gates. If Dr. Evans or Evelyn Vale returns, put them in the basement study and take their phones. Do not let them leave.”

Matteo didn't ask questions. He bowed his head slightly. “Understood, boss. Where are we putting you?”

“The east conservatory,” Luca ordered.

Five minutes later, Luca was settled into a rattan armchair in the glass-walled conservatory at the end of the east wing. Mara had already thrown open three of the narrow transom windows, letting the cold, crisp November night air sweep through the room, clearing away the stale, perfumed air of the main house.

Luca leaned back, taking a deep, ragged breath. He winced as his lungs expanded, but for the first time in months, his chest didn't rattle with that dark, hollow sound.

“It stings,” he murmured, watching the rain strike the glass roof above them.

“That’s what fresh oxygen feels like when your lungs are full of mold spores,” Mara said, setting a heavy woolen blanket over his lap. She pulled a small thermos from her apron pocket and poured a cup of plain, hot water she had boiled in the conservatory’s small pantry. “Drink this. Slowly.”

Luca took the cup, his long fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic. He looked up at her through the shadows of the room.

“You’re an unusual maid, Mara Collins.”

“I’m an unemployed maid,” she corrected, stepping back toward the door. “Now that Mrs. Vale has fled, the house will be in chaos tomorrow morning. I should pack my things from the staff quarters.”

“You aren't leaving.”

Mara paused, her gray-blue eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

“Evelyn Vale knows you were the one who exposed the room,” Luca said softly, setting the cup on the small table beside him. “Dr. Evans knows it too. If they were paid by someone inside my organization to slowly poison me, you are now a witness who disrupted a million-dollar assassination plot.”

Mara’s stomach dropped. “I don't know any names. I don't know anything about your business.”

“In my world, Mara, people don't wait to find out how much a witness knows,” Luca said, his voice dropping into that chillingly pragmatic tone. “They simply eliminate the variable.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his heavy gold signet ring, tossing it lightly onto the small table beside her.

“That ring gives you access to my private accounts and my security detail,” Luca said. “As long as you are in this house, my men will protect you with their lives. If you walk out those gates tonight, I cannot guarantee you’ll make it to the train station.”

Mara stared at the heavy gold ring glittering under the dim moonlight spilling through the glass ceiling.

She had wanted to stay away from him. She had wanted to keep her hands clean, do her job, take her small paycheck, and build a quiet life away from the ghosts of her past.

Instead, she was locked in a glass house with a Chicago crime boss who was fighting for his life against unseen enemies.

“You’re holding me hostage,” she said softly.