LXXIX. “You’re interesting.”

LXXIX. “You’re interesting.”
“Popular? Me?”
“Very.” She says it with such genuine honesty that I watch her a moment longer than I should. “Yesterday, you served coffee to Enzo Bianchi and still made it back for a second day. That makes you interesting.”
My stomach tightens instantly. The fabric of the uniform slips a little between my fingers, but I force myself not to show any reaction.
At the mere mention of that incident, the other maids get dressed even faster and close their lockers, walking past us without looking back. And in the next moment, we are completely alone.
The clock’s hands keep moving forward, and with each second, my time shrinks more.
“So the news about my terrible mistake has already spread?” I ask as I take off my coat, fold it, and place it in the locker under Stella’s watchful eyes.
“Something like that.” She gives me a knowing smile as my blouse and jeans follow the same path, making room for the uniform that hugs my curves with millimeter precision.
Stella watches me undress down to my underwear without showing any embarrassment or curiosity. Partial nudity hardly bothers me either. After all, changing clothes in front of someone, in a way, is a form of seduction that we must master.
I adjust my loose hair forward, ensuring it partially covers my neck, where, with makeup, I hid a faint mark left by Matteo’s lips, and surprisingly, I look amazing. The beige tone creates an interesting contrast against my tanned skin, drawing attention to my body rather than my face and eyes.
“Guess I messed up pretty badly, considering Signora Serra sent her own daughter to help me.” I try to change the subject, lighten the mood with a smile that reaches my eyes, but not really. I’m good at pretending. And proof of that is Stella’s light, soft laugh.
“You’re still here, aren’t you?” I nod, and her smile widens. “You know, my mother seems like a difficult person... and, well, she is. But everything she does is for the good of the Bianchis—believe me... everything. She just knows I’m the most trustworthy person to guide you properly because I grew up here in the Mansion.”
“Really?” My interest finally deepens, and my body naturally turns toward her. “So you know them well?”
“I’d say so… Not really Raffe and Enzo, because they were always too busy to play with me... but Dante and I are pretty close.”
“Dante?” I ask, but I know exactly who he is.
The youngest Bianchi. At twenty-four, he has a personality as troublesome as the youngest Romano. Outgoing and with a questionable reputation, he’s promiscuous and known for making no distinctions or passing judgment when it comes to sleeping with someone.
...My eyes narrow slightly.
Are they really close?
“Yes, he’s the youngest of the masters...” Stella raises her hands in surrender, her pale face quickly turning red. “We’re not close like that. It’s strictly forbidden for staff to get intimately involved with their employers.”

I blink, noticing the way she smiles nervously, her fingers twisting, struggling with each other.
“…Besides, we grew up together like siblings. There weren’t many children around, and we weren’t allowed to play with Signorina Elettra, so—”
“Elettra?” Her name slips out before I can stop it, and I regret it. It’s none of my business, not really. I shouldn’t be thinking about her because it only makes things harder.
Even so, curiosity is a bitch.
“You haven’t met her yet? She returned to Italy yesterday.” She pauses, looking at me with curiosity, and adds softly, like a secret, “The youngest daughter of the Bianchis.”
Stella’s words take a moment to really sink in and make sense to me.
She’s the youngest daughter. Elettra is Bianchi—Enzo’s sister. Not a childhood friend, a fiancée, or a secret lover. His sister. And that should bring me some relief. After all, I won’t be ruining any relationships with this plan. But it only raises more questions.
Why was there nothing about a daughter in the file Cesare gave me?
As if she realizes she’s said too much, Stella presses her lips into a thin line and falls silent, looking at me with wide, pleading eyes so I won’t push the subject. I only give a subtle smile and close the locker. I don’t have time to waste on this right now, and there’s nothing wrong with earning a few points in my favor.
At this moment, I need as many as I can get.
Stella exhales slowly, and her relief is so obvious that I almost feel guilty for noticing how much that kind of silence matters here. But in this house, information is currency. Those who talk too much pay a high price, and those who listen carefully are the ones who survive.
“Shall we?” she asks, already stepping back but not rushing me. There is kindness in the way she takes up space—small, light, almost none.
I nod and follow her out of the locker room, pulling the cuff hem sharply. The uniform presses against my skin in a way that feels too rough for something so costly, and the sensation oddly makes me aware of my own body and that Enzo’s eyes will be on me as well, penetrating every layer of fabric and skin.
We walk hurriedly, and somehow, the path to Enzo’s wing already begins to feel familiar. The staircase in the side hallway, hidden behind the embroidered tapestry, soon comes into view, and each step is taken in complete silence, which isn’t exactly comfortable, but it doesn’t bother me as much as I expected.
Stella seems comfortable. In fact, it seems like what she said is true. She climbs like someone who knows every creak, each poorly lit turn, and every shortcut hidden within the building’s arrogant architecture. Maybe having her around will be useful, after all.
We follow the middle corridor to Enzo’s wing and, glancing at the clock, I see it’s exactly 7h04—late by four damned minutes. I quicken my pace even more, and when I reach the anteroom, relief and despair wash over me as I notice it’s empty, but now, the bath should have been ready five minutes ago.
“Do you want help preparing the...” Stella’s voice cuts off the moment a very sweaty Enzo Bianchi, shirtless and wearing sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips, opens the door.
And she cannot finish the sentence.