Chapter 6 - A TOUCH UPON THE SILK
Claire lunged forward from her knees.
She did not think. She did not consider the boundary between master and servant, between a ruthless mafia don and an expendable housekeeper. Instinct—pure, unadulterated survival instinct—overrode every rule of the estate.
Her small, pale hand reached out into the amber light and grabbed the hem of Adrian’s left sleeve.
Her fingers bunched the expensive black silk in a tight, desperate, white-knuckled grip, pulling downward with enough force to drag the fabric against his tattooed forearm.
Adrian froze mid-dial.
In thirty-seven years of life, no domestic staff member had ever laid a hand on Adrian Moretti without an invitation. His own senior lieutenants kept a three-foot perimeter around his physical person at all times, well aware that entering his personal space without clear intent was a rapid way to find a gun barrel pressed against the center of their forehead.
Yet, as Adrian looked down at the small, trembling hand clutching his sleeve, his eyes did not flash with rage.
He saw her pale fingers, the nails bitten down to the quick, trembling so violently that the silk vibrated against his skin. He saw the sheer, unvarnished terror in her upturned face—a terror that was not directed at him, but at the device in his hand.
“Don't,” Claire whispered frantically, her voice barely louder than the hum of the heating vents. “Please… don't call anyone yet.”
Adrian slowly lowered the phone to his side, his dark wavy hair falling across his brow as he stared down at her. His gaze was heavy, expectant, and completely motionless.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn't have my security sweep the north wing right now,” Adrian said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that scraped against the marble walls.
Claire swallowed hard, her chest heaving against her black uniform, her pale blue eyes darting toward the dark service door at the end of the hallway before locking back onto his dark eyes.
She tightened her grip on his silk sleeve, pulling him an inch closer, her voice dropping into a register so hushed, so laden with dread, that it seemed to die the moment it left her lips:
“There’s something else.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed into sharp, dangerous slits. The air in the corridor seemed to drop another ten degrees.
“What something else, Claire?” Adrian demanded softly.
May you like
Claire lowered her chin, her knuckles whitening around his sleeve, her voice trembling on the edge of tears as she prepared to speak words that could either save this house or tear it apart from the foundation:
“I think someone inside this house… is planning something against you too.”
