Max frowned, and Isabella saw the scar on his face twitch slightly. He stared at her as if trying to read her. In that instant, his gaze slipped to her shoulder, where her shirt had shifted slightly, revealing part of an old scar.
His gray eyes darkened for a moment, but he said nothing about it. Instead, he turned to Tony and the other two men. “Leave us,” he ordered, his voice allowing no argument. “All of you. I need to speak with her alone.”
Tony opened his mouth as if to object, then closed it. He nodded and led the others out, shutting the door behind them. Isabella stood there, alone with the most notorious mafia boss in New York, and wondered whether she’d just done the smartest thing or the most foolish thing of her life.
The moment the door closed, the room sank into a heavy silence. Max was still standing there, less than a step away from Isabella. His cold gray eyes fixed on her without blinking.
Isabella could smell his cologne, a blend of sandalwood mixed with something dangerous she couldn’t quite name. She held her breath, waiting, not knowing what would happen next. Then suddenly, Max turned his back and walked toward the window, standing there with his hands clasped behind him as he looked out over the garden.
“You have nerve,” he said, his voice calmer than Isabella had expected. “It has been a long time since anyone dared to speak to me that way.”
“Perhaps because no one dares to tell you the truth,” Isabella answered without hesitation.
Max turned back, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly—not quite a smile, but no longer as threatening as before. He walked to the desk, poured himself a glass of whiskey, lifted it but didn’t drink, merely turning the glass slowly in his hand.
“There is an important event in a few days,” he said, his eyes still on the glass. “The launch of my family’s new premium wine line. Everything must be perfect. Your mother is the only one who knows every corner of this house, every preference of every guest.”
He looked up at Isabella. “And now she is in the hospital. I don’t have time to find a replacement.”
Isabella understood. “So, you need me,” she said plainly.
Max set the glass down, his eyes sharpening. “I don’t need anyone, but I admit that your presence at this moment is necessary. There is a difference.”
Isabella gave a soft laugh, without any humor. “Call it whatever you like, but if you want me to stay and work the way you need, then we need to renegotiate.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Renegotiate?”
Isabella nodded and stepped closer to his desk. She knew she was playing with fire, but she had survived three years running from an abusive husband, and she wasn’t afraid anymore.
“First, I won’t wear a uniform,” she said, her voice clear and firm. “Second, I’ll work my way, as long as the results meet your standards. And third…” She paused, meeting his eyes directly. “I want double what my mother is paid.”
Max stared at her, and Isabella couldn’t read a single emotion on his stone-like face. Several seconds passed in tense silence, then he laughed—a low, rough sound filling the room. It was the first laugh Isabella had heard from him, and it startled her.
“You are bargaining with me,” he said, his voice carrying a trace of amusement. “In my own house. Over a housekeeping job.”
Isabella didn’t back down. “I’m offering fair terms for a job you’ve admitted is necessary. If you don’t agree, I can walk out that door right now.”
Max tilted his head, studying her as if she were a strange creature he’d never encountered before. Then he nodded slowly.
“Fine,” he said simply. “Double pay. No uniform. Your way. But…” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “If anything at this event is less than perfect, you will be held responsible. And I’m not a forgiving man.”
Isabella swallowed but kept her gaze steady. “I don’t need your forgiveness. I only need you to keep your word.”
Max looked at her for a long moment, then stepped back and pressed the intercom button on his desk. “Maggie,” he said into the speaker. “Take Miss… Reyes to be briefed on the work. She will replace Rosa this week.”
He paused, glancing at Isabella. “And… she doesn’t need to wear a uniform.”
Maggie’s voice came through the speaker, surprised but professional. “Yes, sir.”
Max sat down and picked up his documents as if the conversation were over. But just before Isabella turned to leave, she heard his voice behind her.
“You’re interesting, Isabella Reyes.”
She didn’t turn back. She merely smiled and walked out, her heart pounding in her chest. She had won another round. Yet deep inside, she knew the real battle was only just beginning.
Maggie led Isabella through the mansion, introducing each area in a flat, emotionless voice. The kitchen was as large as a five-star restaurant, filled with gleaming stainless steel equipment. The main living room could hold a hundred people, furnished with cream-colored leather sofas and a marble fireplace.
The banquet hall downstairs was even larger, with stone columns and a polished wooden floor so shiny it reflected like a mirror. Isabella listened and memorized everything, her mind working like a calculating machine. Three years as a nurse had taught her how to observe details, how to organize work systematically, and how to remain calm in any situation.
When Maggie handed her the list of tasks for the event, Isabella glanced through it at once and nodded. “I’ll need two more assistants to clean the banquet hall,” she told Maggie, “and the chandelier system needs to be wiped again. I can see dust in the higher corners.”
Maggie raised her eyebrows in surprise but said nothing, only nodded and made a note. All that day, Isabella worked without stopping. She reorganized the guest supply storage, checked every crystal glass for scratches, made a list of items that needed replenishing, and sent it to Maggie.
She worked swiftly and precisely, without a single complaint, without wasting a minute. The other house staff initially watched her with cautious eyes, but by the end of the day, they began to follow her directions naturally.
In his study, Max sat before his computer screen, the business documents forgotten on his desk. He was watching the security cameras, tracking Isabella’s every movement. He saw her standing in the banquet hall, directing others as they arranged tables and chairs, her face focused and serious.
He saw her bend to inspect a glass, holding it up to the light to check for smudges, then nod with satisfaction. He saw her tie back her long black hair when it kept falling into her face, and he wondered why he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met. Not fearful, not submissive, not trying to please him.
She looked at him as if he were just an ordinary man, not the mafia boss the entire city feared. That both irritated him and intrigued him. Max leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on the screen though his mind drifted into the past.
He remembered his brother Jonathan, the man who should have been sitting in this position instead of him. Jonathan was three years older, tall and commanding, born to inherit the Castellano Empire. Max, on the other hand, had only wanted to become a doctor.
He remembered sleepless nights in medical school dormitories, thick anatomy books, and dreams of saving lives instead of taking them. He had reached his final year, only a few months from graduation. Then Jonathan was shot dead before his eyes in an ambush by a rival gang.
Max still remembered his brother’s blood soaking his hands, remembered Jonathan’s final ragged breath, remembered his brother’s eyes looking at him with unspoken last words. That day, Maxwell Castellano, the medical student with dreams of healing, had died. In his place stood Don Castellano, the cold man who never forgave and never forgot.
He had avenged Jonathan, one by one, sparing no one. And he had buried his medical dream along with his brother’s coffin.
Max blinked and pulled himself back to the present. On the screen, Isabella was smiling at an older housemaid, the first smile he’d seen on her face since she arrived. That smile softened the hard lines of her features, making her look younger and gentler. Inside Max’s chest, something he’d believed dead long ago stirred awake.
He quickly turned off the screen and returned to his documents, trying to drive Isabella’s image from his mind. But the faint trace of her scent seemed to linger in his study, and he knew tonight would be a long night.
The second day passed faster than Isabella had expected. She’d grown accustomed to the rhythm of work in the mansion and was beginning to understand how everything functioned here. That morning, she was checking the wine list in the cellar when the sound of a car engine echoed in the courtyard.
Isabella didn’t pay much attention, assuming it was just an ordinary visitor, but when she went up to the main living room to inspect the crystal glasses that had just been polished, she stopped short at the sight before her. A woman was standing in the center of the room, her golden hair styled in perfect curls, her face delicately made up, her slim figure wrapped in an expensive, tight red dress.
She had her arms around Max’s neck, her bright red lips pressed close to his cheek. Max stood stiffly, his hands hanging at his sides as if he didn’t know where to place them.
“Darling,” she exclaimed in a high, sweet voice. “I missed you so much. Why haven’t you called me all week?”
Max gently removed her hands, his expression still cold as ice. “Vanessa,” he said evenly. “I’ve been busy preparing for the event.”
Vanessa pouted in feigned displeasure. “Too busy to make time for your fiancée?”
Isabella felt as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her. His fiancée. Of course, she thought bitterly. A man like Maxwell Castellano couldn’t possibly be alone.
She was about to withdraw quietly when Vanessa turned, and her cold blue eyes met Isabella’s. In an instant, that gaze swept Isabella from head to toe, from her tied-back black hair to her simple white shirt and jeans.
“Who is this?” Vanessa asked, her voice sweet but edged with a chill that made Isabella shiver.
Max looked toward Isabella, and she thought she saw something flicker in his gray eyes before it vanished. “This is Isabella Reyes,” he said calmly. “Rosa’s daughter. She’s replacing her mother at work this week.”
Vanessa raised an eyebrow, her eyes still fixed on Isabella. “Oh, the maid’s daughter,” she drawled. “I thought servants were supposed to wear uniforms. Why is she dressed as if she were a guest?”
Isabella felt anger flare in her chest, but she restrained it and offered a polite smile. “I’m not a servant, ma’am. I’m only helping my mother while she’s ill.”
Vanessa stepped closer, the sharp scent of her expensive perfume filling Isabella’s senses. She was a little taller thanks to her high heels and used it to look down at Isabella with contempt.
“Whatever you are,” Vanessa murmured so only Isabella could hear, “you should remember your place. Don’t think that because you have a pretty face, you can look at what doesn’t belong to you.”
Isabella met Vanessa’s eyes without flinching. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied calmly. “I’m here to work, not to look at anything.”
Vanessa let out a short laugh, but her eyes were cold as stone. “Good,” she said. “Keep it that way.”
Then she turned back to Max, her sweet smile returning as if the confrontation had never happened. “Darling,” she said, slipping her arm possessively around Max’s shoulder. “I want to see what you’ve prepared for the party. My father is very much looking forward to this event.”
Max nodded, but his eyes flicked once more toward Isabella before allowing Vanessa to lead him away. Isabella stood there, watching their figures disappear down the corridor. She didn’t understand why her heart ached like this, why she cared whether Maxwell Castellano had a fiancée or not.
She was only the maid’s daughter, here for a few days, and then gone. She had no right and shouldn’t have any feelings for the Mafia boss. Yet when she returned to her work, the image of Vanessa’s arm around Max’s shoulders continued to haunt her.
That afternoon, Vanessa decided to stay for dinner at the estate. She sat in the living room, sipping wine and giving orders as if she were already the mistress of the house. Isabella tried to avoid her and focus on preparations for the upcoming event, but Vanessa clearly had no intention of leaving her alone.
“You there,” Vanessa called out loudly as Isabella passed through the living room carrying a stack of tablecloths. “Come here!”
Isabella stopped, took a deep breath to steady herself, then walked over. “Yes, what do you need?” she asked politely but coolly.
Vanessa looked her up and down with open contempt. “Pour me another glass of wine,” she ordered, pushing her empty glass toward Isabella.
Isabella looked at the glass, then back at Vanessa. “There is staff in the kitchen,” she replied calmly. “I’m busy preparing for the event.”
Vanessa narrowed her eyes, her red lips pressing into a thin line. “I told you to pour me wine. Are you deaf?”
Isabella set the stack of tablecloths on a table. She went to the wine cabinet and poured a glass of red wine. She placed it in front of Vanessa, trying to remain calm though her blood was boiling.
Vanessa lifted the glass, took a sip, then suddenly flung the wine over Isabella. Red liquid splashed across her white shirt, seeping cold against her skin. Isabella stood frozen, unable to believe what had just happened.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Vanessa said in a false tone. “My hand slipped. But it’s fine. You’re used to getting dirty anyway, aren’t you? Your mother is the same, kneeling her whole life to scrub other people’s houses.”
Isabella clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She felt blood rush to her face, her ears ringing with anger. Yet she forced herself to endure, thinking of her mother, thinking of her mother’s twenty years of work here.