Chapter One: The Glass And The Shadow
The glass beneath her fingertips was cold.
Streaked with condensation that matched the tears she’d been fighting all morning.
Lucia hummed softly, an old lullaby her mother used to sing, as she wiped circles into the massive windows overlooking the Chicago skyline.
Six months of cleaning mansions for the city’s elite.
And this penthouse still intimidated her more than any other.
“You missed a spot.”
She nearly dropped her cloth.
The voice came from behind her. Deep. Accented with something she couldn’t place. Italian maybe, but rougher around the edges.
She hadn’t heard him enter.
No one ever did.
Mr. Vincenzo Russo moved like a shadow in his own home. Appearing without warning. Disappearing just as quickly.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
She scrubbed harder at a perfectly clean section of glass.
Her reflection showed a pale face framed by unruly dark hair escaping its bun. Behind her, his silhouette loomed. Broad shoulders encased in a suit that probably cost more than her yearly rent.
“That song.”
He stepped closer.
Close enough that she could smell his cologne. Something expensive that reminded her of cedar and smoke.
“What is it?”
“Just something my mother taught me.”
She swallowed, keeping her eyes fixed on the glass.
“I can stop if it bothers you.”
“I didn’t say it bothered me.”
The three housekeepers who’d quit before her had warned her about him.
The infamous Vincenzo Russo. Thirty-two. Devastatingly handsome. Utterly ruthless.
They never specified what business he was in.
But the whispers. The armed men perpetually stationed throughout the building. The way certain visitors arrived with fear in their eyes.
That told her enough.
“Lucia.”
He said her name like he was tasting it.
“When you finish the windows, my office needs attending.”
She nodded, still not looking directly at him.
“Yes, sir.”
His shoes turned away.
Italian leather polished to a mirror shine.
Then stopped.
“The melody.”
A pause.
“It’s Sicilian.”
Before she could respond, he was gone.
Leaving nothing but the lingering scent of his cologne and the hammering of her heart against her ribs.
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