Chapter 2 - Scars and Silk
Dr. Evans arrived in less than ten minutes.
He was a discreet man, well-paid to ignore gunshot wounds and shattered bones.
Tonight, he found himself tending to a six-year-old girl and a weeping maid.
Lily was stable, fast asleep on the sofa, her breathing normal once again.
Beatrice, however, refused to sit on the good furniture.
She stood awkwardly in the corner of the grand foyer, leaning her weight on her good leg.
"Miss Miller, please sit down," Dr. Evans urged, gesturing to a leather armchair.
"I'll ruin the upholstery," Beatrice mumbled, her cheeks flushing red.
"It's just a little blood. I can clean it up later."
"You will not clean anything."
The deep, gravelly voice echoed from the hallway.
Leo stepped into the light, having discarded his overcoat.
He wore a tailored black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal dark, intricate tattoos wrapping around his forearms.
He walked directly to the leather armchair.
"Sit," Leo commanded gently.
It wasn't a request.
Beatrice nervously obeyed, perching on the very edge of the cushion.
She tried to cross her arms to hide the tear in her uniform.
She had spent her whole life trying to shrink, trying to be invisible.
Under Leo Rossi’s intense gaze, she felt massive, awkward, and entirely exposed.
Dr. Evans cleaned the cut on her cheek and wrapped her sprained fingers.
Beatrice hissed as the antiseptic stung.
Leo watched every flinch.
His jaw ticked.
"Will she need stitches?" Leo asked the doctor.
"Steri-strips will do, Mr. Rossi," Dr. Evans replied, packing his bag.
"But she needs rest. Her knees are badly bruised from throwing herself on the stone."
"Thank you, Doctor. Mateo will see you out."
The heavy front doors clicked shut, leaving Leo and Beatrice entirely alone in the massive foyer.
The silence stretched between them.
Beatrice kept her eyes glued to the expensive Persian rug.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Rossi," she whispered.
Leo frowned, stepping closer.
"For what exactly?"
"For causing a scene. For bleeding on the floor. I'll... I'll pack my things in the morning."
She assumed she was fired.
In her experience, the rich always fired the people who witnessed their messy, violent secrets.
Leo knelt down in front of her.
Beatrice gasped, instinctively pulling her legs back.
Men like Leo Rossi did not kneel.
Not for anyone.
He reached out, his large, calloused hand gently catching her chin.
He tilted her face up until she was forced to look into his stormy gray eyes.
"You saved my daughter's life," he said softly.
"You bled for her."
Beatrice's breath hitched in her throat.
"She was scared," Beatrice whispered. "I couldn't just leave her."
"Every other guard in this house heard the commotion and stayed outside."
Leo's thumb lightly brushed the uninjured side of her cheek.
"You are the only one who fought for her."
He stood up, pulling a sleek, black smartphone from his pocket.
"You are not packing your things, Beatrice."
"I'm not?"
"No."
May you like
Leo dialed a number, his eyes never leaving hers.
"You're moving into the main wing."
