Chapter 2 - A Maid’s Judgment|
The heavy oak door closed, leaving Vincent motionless amid the quiet hum of machines.
He had his answer. His empire was hollow, held together by fear and money, and the woman wearing a two-million-dollar diamond on her left hand was already selling his life before his body was cold.
Then the door opened again.
These footsteps were different—no expensive heels, no heavy designer shoes. Only quiet, hesitant steps and the faint squeak of cheap rubber soles. A metal cart rolled into the room with a protesting wheel.
"Sorry," a woman whispered. "I know you’re resting. Not that you have much choice."
Vincent did not recognize her raspy, exhausted voice. The scent of Camila’s perfume vanished beneath industrial bleach and lavender soap.
"All right, Mr. Costa," the woman said, splashing water into a basin. "Time for your sponge bath. Dr. Matteo says we have to keep your skin from breaking down, which is ironic, considering you own half the concrete plants in the city. You’re pretty good at breaking things down."
A warm cloth touched Vincent’s forearm. The temperature was perfect—a patient care Camila had never once shown him.
"My name is Tessa," she continued softly. "Not that you care. I got pulled from kitchen duty for overtime because my rent went up again. The landlord says it’s market forces. We both know it’s because your people bought the block."
Vincent’s thoughts stalled. A kitchen maid, one of over sixty staff members he had never bothered to look at.
"You’re a terrible man, you know," Tessa noted calmly. "My brother Leo owned that little bakery on Elm. Your guys demanded forty percent for protection and forced him out. Now he works at a car wash in Cleveland."
May you like
Her thumb brushed carefully across his cheekbone, removing a loose eyelash.
"You have everything—money, power, a museum for a house. And you’re lying here with nobody washing your face except a maid who hates your guts," she murmured. "Nobody deserves to die alone in a room full of machines."
