Chapter 1 - THE WOMAN ON HIS CHEST
Victor Romano had a gun pressed against the back of Tessa Moore’s head when he realized she was asleep.
For three seconds, he did nothing.
His finger rested beside the trigger.
His body was still recovering from the gunshot wound in his shoulder, but instinct had already taken control. Anyone who had managed to enter his private study at three in the morning was either extremely brave or extremely stupid.
Then Tessa breathed softly against his chest.
Victor looked down.
The woman was not an assassin.
She was the maid who had been scrubbing his floor for the past eighteen hours.
Her cheek rested directly over his heart.
One hand was curled loosely against his shirt. Her brown hair had escaped its knot and spread across his shoulder. There was a faint streak of cleaning solution on her cheek.
She was completely unconscious.
Victor slowly lowered the gun.
He had killed men for less than what she had just done.
Yet instead of throwing her across the room, he found himself staring at her face.
She looked exhausted.
Not ordinary tired.
Exhausted in the way people looked when they had forgotten what a full night's sleep felt like.
Victor carefully shifted his injured shoulder.
Tessa immediately tightened her arm around him.
He froze.
Then something unexpected happened.
He laughed.
Once.
Quietly.
It was so unfamiliar that he almost didn't recognize the sound.
Nobody laughed around Victor Romano.
Nobody relaxed around him.
Nobody slept on him.
And yet this woman had apparently decided that the most dangerous man in Boston was a perfectly acceptable mattress.
Victor looked toward the clock.
3:47 a.m.
He should wake her.
Instead, he remained still.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
At 4:18, footsteps approached the study.
Victor's expression changed instantly.
The softness disappeared.
His hand reached for the pistol again.
The door opened.
Paulie stopped dead.
His eyes moved from Victor...
to Tessa...
then back to Victor.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Paulie looked genuinely confused.
“Boss?”
Victor lifted one finger.
Silence.
Paulie nodded immediately and closed the door.
Five minutes later, he returned with a doctor.
Dr. Harris took one look at the scene and raised an eyebrow.
“Should I ask?”
“No.”
“Is she injured?”
“No.”
“Then why is your employee sleeping on your chest?”
Victor stared at him.
“Do you enjoy having teeth?”
Dr. Harris smiled.
“Not particularly.”
He examined Victor's shoulder while Tessa slept.
The bullet had passed through cleanly. The emergency treatment had been competent, but the wound was still dangerous.
“You need rest,” Harris said.
Victor glanced down.
“So does she.”
The doctor followed his gaze.
“You know, Victor, most employers simply give their staff a day off.”
Victor said nothing.
At 5:06, Tessa finally woke.
Her eyes opened slowly.
She stared at the black shirt beneath her cheek.
Then at the arm around her waist.
Then at Victor's face.
Her entire body went rigid.
“Oh my God.”
She scrambled backward.
Victor caught her wrist before she fell from the sofa.
“Careful.”
Tessa stared at him.
“I—I’m sorry.”
“You've apologized seven times since midnight.”
“I was sleeping on you.”
“Yes.”
“I didn't mean to.”
“I know.”
She looked mortified.
“I'll quit.”
Victor raised an eyebrow.
“No.”
“But—”
“You’re not quitting.”
“Why?”
“Because you still owe me three hours of cleaning.”
She blinked.
Then realized he was joking.
It was such a strange expression on his face that she almost smiled.
Almost.
Then she remembered something.
Her eyes moved toward the floor.
The broken glass.
The blood.
The nightmare.
“You were having a nightmare,” she said quietly.
Victor's expression hardened.
“That isn't your concern.”
Tessa nodded.
“Understood.”
She stood.
Her knees nearly buckled.
Victor noticed.
“How long have you been awake?”
“Since yesterday morning.”
“Why?”
“My shift.”
“You were scheduled to finish at eleven.”
“The dining room needed cleaning.”
“Who told you to clean it?”
She hesitated.
“Mr. Bell.”
Victor's eyes narrowed.
Mr. Bell was his estate supervisor.
A man Victor had trusted for twelve years.
“Anything else?”
Tessa shook her head.
Victor watched her leave.
The door closed.
His face changed.
“Paulie.”
The door opened immediately.
“Boss?”
“Find out why Tessa Moore worked eighteen hours yesterday.”
Paulie nodded.
“And check Bell's schedule.”
Paulie paused.
“Anything specific?”
Victor looked at the closed door.
“Everything.”
That morning, Tessa returned to the staff quarters expecting humiliation.
Instead, she found a sealed envelope outside her room.
Inside was a check.
Not for overtime.
Not for one week.
It was enough to clear a significant portion of her mother's medical debt.
Tessa stared at it for nearly a minute.
Then she ran downstairs.
Victor was standing in the foyer.
“Sir.”
He turned.
She held up the envelope.
“What is this?”
“Your overtime.”
“This is more than overtime.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Victor studied her.
“Because eighteen hours is unacceptable.”
Tessa swallowed.
“I don't understand you.”
“Good.”
He walked past her.
Then stopped.
“One more thing.”
She turned.
“If anyone orders you to work beyond your contracted hours again, you come directly to me.”
“But Mr. Bell—”
“Mr. Bell works for me.”
Victor continued walking.
Tessa watched him disappear around the corner.
For the first time since accepting the job, she wondered whether she had misunderstood the man everyone called a monster.
She was about to discover something far more dangerous.
Victor had not been watching her because he was attracted to her.
He had been watching her because someone had placed her inside his house for a reason.
And by sunset, he would discover the first piece of evidence.
A hidden camera.
May you like
Mounted inside the staff corridor.
Pointed directly at Tessa's bedroom door.
