Part 5:

Ky did that, good for him. His jaw shifted, and when he answered, there was no anger in it, only contempt. Your Mr. Ky did nothing. He was halfway to the helicopter while his men did the shooting. One of them got lucky on his way out the door. His gaze held hers steady. Veto Conti runs. It’s the one thing he’s good at.

He stepped into the bathroom, ran his arm under the tap, and pushed through a cabinet, looking for something. She made herself breathe, then watched him fumble at it a moment longer. Isabella couldn’t keep it in. You need antiseptic on that. He came back to the doorway and looked at her. Now you’re worried about my health. Maid.

Her smile came out sharp and without warmth. I’m not a maid. I told you I run this house. Os lowered himself into the chair beside the bed and tipped his head back, watching her. Then come here and patch me up. She held his eyes, her face lifted, and refused to move for a few long seconds. She crossed to the bathroom, dug a medkit out of one of the low drawers, and came back with it in her hands.

She tipped her head toward the mattress, her voice clipped. On the bed. One corner of his mouth tipped up, slow and sure of itself. I’ll give you this. I like a woman who knows what she wants. She gave the kit a small shake. If you’d rather keep that arm, watch how you talk to me. He pushed up out of the chair and crossed to the bed, heavy and slow, and stretched out across it.

Remind me never to hire you. He settled back against the pillows. You’ve got far too much mouth. She came toward him with the kit, and the room felt suddenly very small. OS lay back against the pillows where he’d settled, his bareed arm resting toward her. Isabella perched on the corner of the bed, close enough to reach him, and tore open the antiseptic and a strip of gauze.

She took his arm in her hand and bent to look at the graze. It grazed me. His voice came easy, like the torn skin on his arm bored him. That’s all. She pressed the soaked cloth down onto it hard, his brow lifted. He made no sound. She kept the pressure on, harder than the wound called for. You walk into a house with five staff and six armed men in it.

What did you think this was? Some movie? You don’t think Veto Conti makes you pay for it? He turned his head toward her, and the small space left between them closed to almost nothing. This near, she could see his eyes weren’t only blue. They were dark, nearly navy, and they didn’t move off her face.

She could smell him now, warm skin and leather, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth before she could stop herself. His attention dropped to the bitten lip, then climbed back to her eyes. That mouth doesn’t match the rest of you. His voice stayed low. All that innocent face, and no manners under it at all. She didn’t look away.

And the man I work for is better, is he? His attention sharpened on her, the amusement gone out of it. The man you work for is a thief and a killer. She pressed the cloth down again, slower this time, and held his eyes while she did it. “And you’re something better than that?” Aos’s hand shot up and caught her by the wrist, the one holding the cloth to him, the one touching his skin, and held it there against him.

He drew her face down toward his. “If I were the same kind of monster, that man’s daughter wouldn’t be breathing in a room upstairs right now, and you’d be at the bottom of that cliff.” He let her go so suddenly her hand snapped back to her chest. She started to rise. His hand came down on her thigh and pressed her back down firm, leaving no room to argue.

We’re not finished talking, maid. She turned on him every bit of anger she had. He smiled. Anita, that was the name. His thumb stayed where it was on her leg. And before we’re done, you’re going to tell me how you walked out of a locked room. His voice dropped. But first, start with Isabella Ki. Her throat moved as she swallowed, his eyes narrowed.

And choose your lies carefully, Anita. Isabella’s eyes dropped to the hand still resting on her thigh. She let them stay there one second, then another until OS felt the weight of the look and drew his hand back. Tell me about Isabella Ki. He settled deeper into the pillows, his attention fixed on her.

How long have you known her? How long you’ve worked in this house? I want all of it. She bent over his arm and started winding the bandage slow and even. All of it about me or about her? His eyes narrowed and a small smile touched his mouth. Both. So she gave it to him. The truth dressed as someone else’s. Isabella Ki was never fond of her father.

She was keeping her voice level, her hands moving steadily over the cloth. Her mother died years ago. She was raised abroad, schooled abroad. She lives in London. She only comes to this island in the summers. For a moment, the words pressed against something in her chest. She was handing him her own life and calling it another woman’s, the dead mother, the empty summers, the years of being sent away.

It should have felt like armor. It didn’t. It felt like being seen through a keyhole, one piece at a time. She pushed the feeling down and kept her hands moving. Her father must care for her, though. Os stayed with her face, not the bandage. In New York, no one even knows the man has a daughter. The word caught somewhere under her ribs.

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