THE THIEF IN HIS ROOM

CHAPTER TWO

ROSARIE'S POV

I woke with the same thought already burning behind my eyes.

How the fuck do I lose my virginity in a place this overprotective?

It had lived in me all night. It was there when I opened my eyes, when I pulled on the same faded uniform, when I walked the long corridor toward the kitchens. By the time my hands closed around the mop handle it had hardened into something sharper than desperation.

Everyone already knew.

By breakfast the entire Russo mansion knew that Rosarie Darling had been promised to Angelo Russo. That single fact had wrapped itself around me like invisible chains. Guards who used to throw me lazy smiles now looked through me. Younger staff who once teased me about my humming suddenly found reasons to be elsewhere.

A kitchen boy had been halfway through asking if I wanted coffee when another man leaned in and whispered something low. The boy’s face was drained of color. He stepped back, muttered an apology that never quite formed, and fled.

I stood there with the mop dripping onto marble and felt something cold settle in my chest.

What did they think Angelo would do? Kill a man for offering me coffee?

Then again.

Probably.

I dragged the mop harder than necessary and hummed under my breath, louder than usual, because silence made the walls feel closer. If I couldn’t find a man inside these walls, I would find one outside them. Somewhere no one knew my name. Somewhere the weight of the Russo family didn’t press against my spine every time I breathed.

I was still mapping that impossible escape when Livia found me scrubbing the kitchen table like it had personally offended me.

She leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, watching me with that quiet knowing look of hers. “You’re humming.”

“I always hum.” I countered not looking at her as I busied myself.

“You hum when you’re angry.” She argued, sighing and dropped her arms.

“I’m not angry.” I muttered even as the anger bubbled in me.

She stepped closer. “I heard about the marriage.”

Of course she had. Everyone had.

I kept my eyes on the wet cloth. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re making it feel like a funeral.”

“Isn’t it?”

A short, bitter laugh escaped me. “Maybe.”

She pulled out a chair and sat, voice softer. “You really don’t want to marry him?”

“Livia, I don’t even know the man.” I said softly, slowing my pace.

“That never stopped anyone around here.” She replied and just as I was about to say something, people came inside.

Two more maids drifted in, drawn by the scent of fresh gossip more than breakfast. One of them smiled too brightly, eyes already sparkling with envy.

“Rosarie, you’re so lucky.”

I stopped scrubbing. The cloth stilled in my hand.

“Say that again.” I ordered.

“You’re marrying into the Russo family. Money. Power. Status. You’ll be untouchable. So many opportunities.” She said giddily with hands outstretched.

I looked at her, and something sharp and tired rose in my throat. “And the possibility of becoming one of Angelo Russo’s missing wives.”

Her smile vanished. Livia choked on a laugh. Another maid snorted into her hand.

“Don’t listen to her,” Livia said quickly. “She’s always dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic. I’m realistic.” I argued, clacking my tongue.

Marta, a much older maid, entered just in time to hear the last of it. She set a tray down with more force than necessary.

“You girls should be grateful for the lives you’re given.”

I lifted my head. “Would you have been grateful if someone told you at twenty-four that your marriage had already been decided?”

She straightened, chin high. “In our time, women didn’t complain so much.”

“In your time, women probably didn’t have access to sarcasm.” I hit back at her and her narrow lips showed her disapproval for my comment.

Livia burst out laughing. Marta’s eyes narrowed.

“Your mouth will put you in trouble one day.” She said,

“It already has.” I threw back.

The kitchen filled with the kind of laughter that felt almost like freedom. Then one of the younger maids leaned in, voice dropping.

“Speaking of trouble… has anyone heard about the new club downtown? The one with the masks.”

My hands stilled.

“What’s special about wearing a mask?” Livia asked, already curious.

“You can be whoever you want. No real names. You go in masked, drink, dance, meet whoever you want. People say you can find almost anything you’re looking for there.”

Almost anything.

The words landed somewhere deep and hungry inside me.

I kept my voice carefully indifferent. “What kind of things?”

She shrugged, eyes gleaming. “Whatever people are willing to pay for.”

My pulse kicked hard against my ribs. “What’s it called?”

“The Eyes. Not exactly original, but who cares.”

She gave the address. I memorized every word the way I used to memorize poetry, the way I used to memorize exit routes when my stepfather’s temper turned black.

Finally.

A place where I could make one decision that belonged only to me.

Marta’s disapproving voice cut through the moment. “That’s no place for respectable women.”

I kept my head lowered over the table, heart racing. “Good thing I’m not feeling particularly respectable lately.”

Livia kicked my ankle under the table. I grinned despite the sudden tightness in my chest.

Marta sighed and pointed toward the corridor. “Enough. Rosarie, go clean the future Don’s room. It hasn’t been touched in hours.”

The grin died.

Kyliano Russo.

Even the name seemed to lower the temperature of the room. I picked up my bucket without another word. I was almost at the door when the younger maid added, almost as an afterthought, “It’s expensive, though. Five thousand dollars.”

The words hit like a physical blow.

Five thousand.

I didn’t have five hundred dollars to waste and we’re talking thousands?

My brilliant, desperate plan collapsed in a single breath.

I forced a smile that felt like it might crack. “Wonderful.”

Then I left before anyone could see the hope drain out of my face.

Kyliano Russo’s room sat at the end of a quieter corridor, the kind of silence that felt deliberate. I had never been inside. I knocked once. Nothing. Knocked again. Still nothing. I pushed the door open carefully. The room looked exactly the way I imagined he would live. Dark wood. Black furniture. Clean lines. Nothing soft. Nothing sentimental. Even the bed looked too perfectly made to belong to someone who actually slept in it.

I set the bucket down and got to work, moving fast, trying not to think about the money I didn’t have or the life already waiting for me like a closed door.

Dusting. Wiping. Straightening. Changing the sheets.

I was under the edge of the bed when my hand struck something solid.

A leather bag. I pulled it out and opened it and the air left my lungs. Money. Stacks of it, actually.

I looked at the door and back at the cash. My heart was suddenly too loud in my ears.

Five thousand. Maybe more.

The address of the club sat ready in my mind like a loaded gun.

“This is a terrible idea,” I whispered to the empty room.

I stared at the money. I imagined the life I was supposed to accept without protest but then I recalled the version of myself that had never once been allowed to choose.

My fingers moved before my conscience could catch up.

One bundle. Then another. Then another. Tucked carefully beneath the oversized apron. My pulse hammered so hard I was certain someone would hear it through the walls.

I shoved the rest back under the bed, straightened the mattress, pulled the sheets into place, bent to tuck the final corner—

And a voice spoke behind me.

“I thought I made myself very clear.”

The voice was deep, quiet and close enough that I felt the words more than heard them.

“I ordered everyone never to step foot in this room. What the fuck are you doing here?”

I turned slowly.

Kyliano Russo stood ten feet away. I had seen him from a distance before. That had not prepared me for the reality of him standing in the same room, blue eyes cold and assessing, the kind of stillness that felt more dangerous than raised voices.

He wasn’t shouting. He wasn’t even particularly angry. He simply watched me, and somehow that was worse. His gaze moved from my face to the mop to the bucket, then settled on my apron.

He knows.

I instinctively pressed the fabric closed against my body.

One eyebrow lifted. “Interesting.”

“What?” I moved backward before he grabbed me.

“You’re holding your apron like there’s a bomb underneath it.”

“There isn’t.”

He took one slow step forward. I took one back. My hip hit the edge of the bed.He stopped. The silence between us stretched, heavy and sharp.

“Why are you in my room?”

“I was ordered to clean it.”

“By whom?”

“Marta.” I replied, my throat already dry like parchment.

His jaw shifted, the smallest movement. “Does Marta usually send maids into rooms they’ve been forbidden to enter?”

His eyes dropped to my apron again. I tightened my grip. He noticed. Of course he noticed.

Something flickered across his face. Recognition. Cold and certain.

My heart stopped. “I should go.”

I reached for the bucket. His voice stopped me cold.

“Rosarie.”

I froze.

He hadn’t moved. Still standing exactly where he’d been, watching me with those unreadable blue eyes.

“Next time you enter my room without permission…”

He let the sentence hang, unfinished and far more threatening because of it.

I nodded too quickly. “Yes, Future Don.”

Something almost like amusement touched his expression. Or maybe I imagined it. I had to have imagined it.

“I didn’t say you could leave.”

My stomach dropped.

Before whatever courage I had left could abandon me completely, I bowed my head.

“I’m sorry.”

And I ran.

I didn’t stop until I reached the staff quarters, slammed the door, locked it, and leaned against it with my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. Then I looked down at my apron. The money was still there.

A shaky, almost feral smile spread across my face.

Worth it.

That evening I dressed like my life depended on it. My wardrobe offered almost nothing. My stepfather and brothers had pawned nearly everything of value over the years. The last of my Pandora jewelry had disappeared weeks ago. I had one decent dress left—black, short, a little too tight around the waist. It was mine, and that was enough.

I pulled it on and stared at myself in the mirror. Attempted eyeliner and failed.I Used too much foundation. The lipstick somehow looked worse. I wiped most of it off and started again, hands slightly unsteady.

After finishing, I looked at myself and heaved a sigh of relief. At least I don't look like a masquerade.

Then I put on the mask. Suddenly I didn’t look like a maid. I didn’t look like the girl who scrubbed floors and kept her head down. I looked like a stranger. Someone who could walk into a room and decide what happened next.

I slipped the stolen money into my bag and left before I could talk myself out of it.

The club was unlike anywhere I had ever been. Dark lights. Heavy music that vibrated through the floor. Masked faces everywhere, laughing, dancing, disappearing into shadows. No one asked who I was. No one cared.

I ordered one drink and sat at the edge of the bar, nursing it, watching. Couples moved together like they belonged to each other. Strangers vanished behind closed doors. People laughed without looking over their shoulders. I wanted that. Even if only for one night. Even if it cost me everything.

Then I saw him. Tall. Dark-haired. Masked. Standing alone a few seats down.

He caught me looking and held my gaze a second longer than necessary. Then closed the distance with the easy confidence of someone who had done this before.

“First time?”

His voice was casual. Warm. The kind of voice that belonged to a man who made people feel safe.

I nodded. “Is it that obvious?”

“A little.” He gestured at my nearly full glass. “Most people here are already two or three in. You’re treating that like medicine.”

“Maybe it is.”

He ordered water for himself and leaned an elbow on the bar, body angled toward me but not crowding. We talked for a while—nothing deep. The music. The masks. How the place felt like it existed outside normal rules. He asked if I wanted another drink. I declined. He didn’t push.

At some point he said, almost lightly, “There are quieter rooms in the back if the noise gets to be too much.”

I looked at him. Still relaxed. Still easy. No urgency in the way he stood.

I thought of Angelo and of a future that had been decided without a single word from me.

This was the decision I was making for myself.

“Okay.”

He stood and offered a hand. I took it.

The hallway was narrower than I expected. The bass from the main floor thudded through the walls like a second heartbeat. He opened a door marked with a small number and waited for me to step inside first.

The room was small and dim with a low couch and side tables. The door closed behind us. For a second it felt exactly like what I had wanted. A stranger. A secret. No names. No family. No future already written in someone else’s hand.

He stepped closer and kissed me. It was fine at first. Soft. Careful. The kind of kiss that asked rather than took.

Then his hand slid to my waist and stayed there a beat too long. I shifted. His grip tightened.

I pulled back slightly. “Wait.”

He didn’t move away. His other hand came up, fingers curling around the edge of my mask like he might lift it.

“Stop.”

I pushed against his chest. He barely rocked.

The easy smile was gone. In its place was something flatter. Hungrier. Calculating.

“Come on,” he murmured. “You’re gonna love this.”

I shoved harder. “I said stop.”

His weight pressed me against the wall. One forearm braced beside my head. The other hand found my hip and held it.

Panic cut clean through the low thrum of the music. I twisted and kneed upward. He grunted and loosened just enough for me to slip sideways.

I reached for the door. His hand closed around my wrist and yanked me back.

I opened my mouth to scream but before anything could leave my mouth, the door slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall.

The man was ripped away from me so fast I staggered. An arm locked around my waist from behind, solid, unyielding, inescapable and hauled me out into the hallway before I could draw a full breath.

“Let go!”

I kicked and twisted, trying to dig my heels into the carpet. The person holding me didn’t even slow. We moved through the back corridor, past startled staff, out a side exit into cool night air. I was shoved into the back of a black car. The door shut with a solid, final thud.

I scrambled toward the far side. A hand caught my wrist.

“Stop.”

I froze. The voice came from beside me. Low. Deep. Familiar in a way that made my blood run cold.

“I’d stop wiggling if I were you. You definitely don’t want to suffer the consequences of that.”

My hand rose slowly to my mask. I pulled it down and everything inside me dropped.

Blue eyes. Cold expression. That perfectly carved face I had seen this morning.

Kyliano Russo.

Future Don.

I stared at him. He stared back. Of all the men in this city, of all the possible strangers, I had somehow managed to choose the one man who could ruin my entire life without lifting a finger.

I groaned and let my head fall against the seat, the stolen money still burning a hole in my bag, the taste of panic still sharp in my mouth.

“Just kill me already.” My mouth couldn't resist uttering those.

One eyebrow rose.

I looked at his annoyingly perfect face and muttered, voice rough with everything I refused to name,

“I could have come if you didn’t play Superman.”