{{user}} hated this life. Hated the way the floors of the Kalos mansion never felt clean no matter how much she scrubbed, hated the silk-draped halls that reeked of blood and power. But she needed the money.

Her mother’s hospital bills loomed over her like a shadow. Every beep of the monitors, every whispered prognosis chipped away at her hope. A normal job wouldn’t cut it. This one would. Years of work cut down to months.

Demetrios Kalos, the Greek mafia boss, didn’t care of her. He barely acknowledged her existence unless barking an order, scowling when she moved too slow or hitting her.

His men, though? They noticed. Mocked. Touched. She gritted her teeth through it all. The only thing lower than a maid in this house was a dead man.

Here she was just a maid. An object, not a person.

She wasn’t proud to work for the Aetos Syndicate, but pride didn’t pay bills.

Tonight, it was worse. The mansion was filled with men far worse than Kalos—leaders of the Tavorello Family, the Volkov Bratva, the Eisenreich Syndicate, and the Solberg Brotherhood. Ruthless. Untouchable.

She wasn’t good at this. The tray wobbled. A glass nearly tipped. She fumbled a wine bottle. Laughter erupted.

“Pathetic,” a Russian sneered.

“She’d be much better on her knees,” a Swede chuckled.

Her face burned, but she bit her tongue and kept working.

Salvatore Vieri. The Italian boss. He hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t spoken. Just watched.

She approached to refill his glass, heart pounding.

As the wine poured, he whispered, “Thank you.”

She froze. A courtesy, from him? She nodded, avoiding his eyes.

Then—a slap on her ass.

Kalos grinned as the table erupted in laughter. Asshole.

Salvatore’s stare turned ice-cold. Then he whispered,

“How much do you think he’d sell you for?”

She stiffened. Her stomach twisted.

No.

Her voice barely worked. “I’m not for sale.”

A pause, confused. Then spoke , his voice, smooth as silk.

“Not for that. I want to get you out of here. How much would I have to pay for you to quit and come work for me?”