The Curious Curvy Maid Secretly Sipped the Mafia Boss’s Wine—Until He Caught Her Mid-Sip and Asked, “Enjoying Yourself?”
The Curious Curvy Maid Secretly Sipped the Mafia Boss’s Wine—Until He Caught Her Mid-Sip and Asked, “Enjoying Yourself?”
The Curious Curvy Maid Secretly Sipped the Mafia Boss’s Wine—Until He Caught Her Mid-Sip and Asked, “Enjoying Yourself?”
Sophie Bennett had been staring at Dante Romano’s wine for exactly 4 minutes.
4 increasingly irresponsible minutes.
She knew because the antique clock above his private study had chimed once, and Sophie had somehow managed to spend the entire time dusting the same corner of his desk.
Her eyes shifted toward the bottle again.
Dark glass. Cream label. Deep burgundy seal.
It was the kind of bottle that looked expensive enough to have its own security detail.
Sophie tightened her fingers around the feather duster. She had work to do. There were shelves behind her, a fireplace mantel, 3 enormous windows, and enough polished furniture inside Dante Romano’s private study to keep a maid professionally occupied until retirement.
Unfortunately, none of those things were sitting beside a crystal glass and looking as though they had been placed there specifically to destroy her common sense.
Sophie looked toward the door.
Empty.
Then toward the hallway beyond it.
Also empty.
Her gaze returned to the bottle.
She narrowed her eyes.
This was becoming personal.
The bottle had been bothering her since she had entered the room 15 minutes earlier. Not because Sophie wanted a drink. At least, that was the version of events she intended to tell herself.
It was the label.
She recognized the vineyard, or thought she did, and that small possibility had been scratching at the back of her mind ever since.
Sophie moved toward the bookshelf, stopped, and looked back.
The wine remained exactly where Dante had left it.
Of course it did.
Wine did not usually flee when accused of being suspicious.
Sophie exhaled.
“Absolutely ridiculous.”
The bottle declined to defend itself.
That somehow made things worse.
She crossed the room only to look.
That was all.
Looking was harmless.
Looking had never gotten anyone dismissed from the employment of a man who could make grown men straighten their posture simply by entering a room.
Probably.
Sophie reached the desk.
Up close, the label became clearer, and her expression changed.
The playful curiosity disappeared for half a second.
Her thumb brushed lightly over the faded emblem near the bottom.
A vineyard crest.
A particular year.
A region she had not allowed herself to think about in a very long time.
Something tightened beneath her ribs.
Then, just as quickly, Sophie pushed the feeling away.
No.
She was not doing that today.
She stepped back.
Good.
Excellent.
Responsible adult behavior had finally arrived.
Sophie turned toward the cleaning cart, took 2 steps, then stopped with her eyes closed.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
She turned around again.
That was mistake number 1.
Mistake number 2 was noticing that the bottle had already been opened.
There was no cork to struggle with, no seal to break, and no obvious evidence that anyone had touched it.
Just an expensive bottle of wine.
Already waiting.
Sophie approached again.
She leaned forward and smelled near the opening.
Her eyebrows lifted.
Interesting.
She smelled again, more carefully this time.
Dark cherry. Oak. A little spice. Something floral beneath it.
And something else Sophie could not immediately place.
That bothered her.
She picked up the empty crystal glass only to smell the wine properly.
That was all.
Sophie poured barely enough to cover the bottom.
Then she stared at what she had done.
Silence.
The glass sat in her hand.
The wine glimmered innocently beneath the afternoon light.
Sophie looked toward the ceiling as though divine intervention might arrive before poor judgment continued.
It did not.
She lifted the glass, swirled it gently, and breathed in.
Her expression sharpened.
For 1 beautiful second, Sophie Bennett was no longer standing inside the private study of Chicago’s most intimidating man.
She was not wearing a pink maid’s uniform.
She was not thinking about laundry schedules, polished silver, rent, bills, or the fact that touching her employer’s personal wine collection was probably somewhere between inadvisable and career suicide.
She was somewhere else.
Years ago.
Somewhere with wooden barrels and dusty sunlight, with her father’s hands guiding hers around a glass while telling her to smell before she tasted.
Sophie blinked.
The memory disappeared.
She looked down at the wine.
That had been enough.
She should pour it away.
Except pouring expensive wine away would be wasteful, and Sophie Bennett had many flaws, but she was not wasteful.
Therefore, drinking it was practically an act of financial responsibility.
Sophie nodded to herself.
Excellent reasoning.
Completely defensible.
She raised the glass.
1 sip.
That was the plan.
A tiny taste.
Then she would return the glass, finish cleaning, and spend the remainder of her employment pretending none of this had occurred.
The wine touched her tongue.
Sophie froze.
Her eyes narrowed.
She swallowed slowly and stared at the glass.
“No.”
She tasted again.
A slightly larger sip.
Her face changed.
Now she looked offended.
“You cost how much?”
Unfortunately for Sophie, the bottle still was not interested in answering questions.
She examined the label again, then tasted once more.
By the 3rd sip, curiosity had transformed into professional outrage.
“This is showing off.”
She swirled the glass.
“Completely unnecessary oak.”
Another sip.
“And whoever told him this needed another 12 years in a cellar should be arrested.”
Sophie paused and considered whose wine she was criticizing.
Her lips twitched.
“Actually, perhaps not arrested.”
He might take that suggestion seriously.
She lifted the glass again, then stopped halfway.
Sophie stared at it.
This was becoming ridiculous.
She had already tasted enough to satisfy her curiosity.
More than enough.
Any further investigation would stop being professional curiosity and become drinking Dante Romano’s wine, which was exactly what she was doing.
Sophie lowered the glass.
Done.
She placed it beside the bottle.
There.
Finished.
Common sense had finally won.
Late, but still technically victorious.
Sophie picked up her feather duster and returned to the bookshelf.
3 seconds passed.
Her eyes moved toward the desk.
No.
She dusted another shelf.
Looked again.
Absolutely not.
She turned her back to the bottle.
That should solve everything.
Unfortunately, Sophie possessed peripheral vision.
She could still see the glass.
Barely, but enough.
She frowned.
The problem was that the wine had changed after sitting in the glass. The aroma would be opening now, and if she had already committed the crime, surely leaving before obtaining complete information would simply make the crime pointless.
Sophie slowly looked over her shoulder.
The glass waited.
She sighed.
“This is how people end up in documentaries.”
She returned to the desk.
Not quickly.
A woman walking toward possible unemployment should at least maintain dignity.
Sophie picked up the glass again.
This time, she swirled it longer, waited, and smelled.
Her eyebrows rose.
There it was.
The heavier oak had softened slightly.
The fruit came through better now.
Sophie tasted.
Her expression changed.
“Hm.”
Another tiny sip.
“Oh.”
She looked at the bottle.
“So now you decide to behave.”
Sophie turned the label toward herself.
The bottle was beginning to annoy her for entirely different reasons.
Because it was good.
Very good.
Still too expensive, but good.
She tasted again, then frowned.
“No, don’t become smug.”
Silence.
“$4,000 does not make you special.”
Another sip.
“It makes somebody irresponsible.”
Sophie paused.
Her gaze slowly traveled across Dante’s study.
Hand-carved desk. Leather chairs. Imported rug. Artwork that probably required insurance policies of their own.
Her eyes returned to the bottle.
“Actually, irresponsibility may not be his primary financial concern.”
The corner of her mouth lifted.
She had become far too comfortable.
That should have worried her.
Instead, she pulled out the chair beside the desk.
Then stopped.
Absolutely not.
Standing while stealing wine was 1 thing.
Sitting down would suggest permanence.
Sophie pushed the chair back.
Good boundaries.
She leaned against the edge of the desk instead, which apparently was completely different.
The glass rested delicately between her fingers.
For several moments, she simply enjoyed the taste.
Then something inconvenient happened.
She remembered.
Not clearly.
Memories rarely asked permission before arriving.
A wooden counter.
Rows of mismatched glasses.
Her father’s old notebook lying open beside a corkscrew.
The smell of crushed grapes and polished wood.
His laugh when Sophie had once declared that an expensive bottle tasted like angry berries.
She had been 16.
He had laughed for almost a full minute.
Then he had told her that descriptions did not need to sound impressive.
They needed to be true.
Sophie lowered the glass.
Her smile faded.
That memory had been buried carefully.
Very carefully.
She had not asked for it back.
Not today.
Not inside Dante Romano’s study.
Not while wearing a pink maid’s uniform and illegally borrowing his Cabernet.
Sophie blinked once, then again.
She placed the glass down.
For real this time.
Enough.
She reached for the cleaning cloth and immediately knocked the cork slightly sideways.
It rolled across the desk.
Sophie caught it just before it reached the edge.
She stared at it, then looked toward the door.
Still empty.
Her shoulders relaxed.
“See?” she whispered to herself. “Perfectly under control.”
The cork slipped from her fingers, dropped, bounced once, and disappeared beneath Dante’s desk.
Sophie closed her eyes.
Of course it did.
She crouched.
The desk was enormous, because naturally Dante Romano could not own furniture designed for ordinary human proportions.
Sophie reached beneath it.
Nothing.
She leaned farther.
Her hair slipped across her cheek.
Still nothing.
Her fingertips finally touched the cork.
“Got you.”
She stood too quickly.
Her hip bumped the desk.
The wine in her glass trembled dangerously.
Sophie grabbed it.
Not 1 drop spilled.
She froze, then slowly smiled.
“Professional.”
She set the cork beside the bottle, then noticed she had left a faint fingerprint on the polished desk.
Her eyes widened.
No evidence.
Sophie grabbed her cloth and polished the spot.
Then another.
Then the area around the bottle.
Then the stem of the glass.
She stopped.
Looked at what she was doing.
“Oh, brilliant.”
Now she was not simply drinking the mafia boss’s wine.
She was wiping fingerprints afterward.
This had become criminally organized.
Sophie placed the cloth down.
She needed to leave immediately before curiosity promoted itself into a felony.
She gathered her supplies, took 1 step toward the door, then glanced at the glass.
There was still wine left.
Not much.
But enough to be suspicious.
Pouring it back into the bottle would be disgusting.
Pouring it away would be wasteful.
Leaving it there would be evidence.
Sophie stared.
Every option was terrible.
She picked up the glass.
1 final sip.
For disposal purposes, obviously.
She drank.
Then realized it was not empty.
Sophie frowned into the glass.
“How are you still here?”
Another sip.
Better.
1 tiny mouthful remained.
At this point, Sophie felt personally challenged.
She raised the glass again.
That was when Dante Romano returned to his own house.
He had arrived 7 minutes earlier.
His afternoon meeting had ended unexpectedly ahead of schedule. The black car had entered through the eastern drive. 2 guards followed him through the marble entrance.
Dante handed his jacket to 1 of them, loosened the watch around his wrist, and headed toward his private study.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing remotely interesting.
Until his footsteps slowed.
A woman’s voice was coming from inside.
Dante stopped.
The guard behind him stopped too.
From beyond the partly open door came Sophie Bennett’s voice.
“Financial irresponsibility.”
Silence.
1 of Dante’s eyebrows moved.
The guard beside him stared straight ahead.
Dante took another step.
The doorway gave him a narrow view into the room.
Sophie Bennett was leaning against his desk, holding his crystal glass and drinking his wine.
Dante said nothing for several seconds.
He simply watched.
The surprising part was not that she had touched the bottle.
People occasionally made stupid decisions.
The surprising part was how completely at home Sophie appeared while making hers.
Her feather duster had been abandoned beside his papers. A cleaning cloth sat beside the decanter, and his curvy maid was studying his wine with the concentration of someone evaluating a hostile business proposal.
Sophie took another sip.
Her nose wrinkled.
Dante’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Not with anger.
With curiosity.
“Still showing off.”
Behind him, the guard’s mouth twitched.
Dante turned his head.
The man’s expression immediately became professional enough for a military portrait.
Dante looked back inside.
Sophie swirled the wine.
“Too dramatic.”
Dante folded his arms.
The guard discovered an intense interest in the opposite wall.
Sophie continued.
“You could have been charming.”
A pause.
“But no.”
Another sip.
“You needed everyone to know you were expensive.”
Dante’s gaze moved slowly toward the bottle, then back to Sophie.
Now he understood.
She was criticizing his wine.
Probably.
Sophie frowned thoughtfully.
“Actually, that sounds familiar.”
Dante’s eyes sharpened.
The guard beside him became suddenly fascinated by the ceiling.
Sophie smiled to herself.
She had absolutely no idea she had an audience, and that made the entire situation considerably more entertaining.
There was no performance.
No attempt to impress him.
No careful behavior because her employer was nearby.
This was simply Sophie Bennett alone with expensive wine and apparently more opinions than survival instinct.
Dante should have entered.
He did not.
Instead, he stayed exactly where he was and watched.
Sophie examined the glass again.
“You and I are finished.”
Dante’s mouth almost curved.
Sophie nodded firmly.
“Completely.”
Then she lifted the glass again.
Dante’s eyebrow rose.
Sophie stared at the remaining wine.
“This is cleanup.”
The guard looked down.
Dante suspected the man was attempting not to laugh.
Sophie drank and set down the glass.
“Done.”
She picked up her feather duster, stopped, and looked at the bottle.
Dante waited.
Suddenly, the humor left Sophie’s face.
Her thumb moved gently across the vineyard crest.
Something inside her expression changed.
Not embarrassment.
Not guilt.
Something quieter.
Something Dante had not expected.
Sophie stared at the label and whispered, “Dad would have hated this vintage.”
Dante’s amusement disappeared.
The sentence was barely audible.
But he heard it.
Sophie seemed to realize she had spoken aloud.
She straightened quickly.
The vulnerability vanished almost instantly.
She reached toward her cleaning cart, then stopped, her head tilting.
Dante had shifted his weight slightly, but Sophie had heard him.
She looked toward the hallway.
Nothing.
From her angle, the doorway appeared empty.
She frowned.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Dante stepped beyond her line of sight.
Sophie’s eyes narrowed.
Perhaps a gardener.
Perhaps Mrs. Russo.
Perhaps 1 of Dante’s guards doing whatever intimidating men did when they were not standing around looking intimidating.
She waited.
Nothing happened.
Sophie shook her head.
“Wonderful.”
She turned around.
“Now I’m hallucinating.”
Dante stepped silently into the study.
Sophie remained unaware.
She began arranging her supplies.
He moved closer.
Still nothing.
She straightened a stack of papers she had absolutely no permission to straighten.
Dante crossed half the room.
Then Sophie froze.
A footstep.
Definitely behind her.
Her fingers tightened around the feather duster.
Slowly, she turned halfway.
Nothing.
Dante had moved toward the opposite side of the tall bookcase.
Sophie stared suspiciously at the doorway, then at the room.
Silence.
“If this house is haunted, I am quitting.”
Behind the bookcase, Dante looked toward the ceiling.
Apparently, the ghosts would need to file their complaints separately.
Sophie turned forward again.
She reached for the empty glass and looked inside.
1 final drop clung stubbornly near the bottom.
She tilted it.
Dante stepped out from behind the bookcase.
Sophie did not notice.
She raised the glass, trying to catch the last drop.
Dante approached.
10 feet.
Sophie tipped her head slightly farther back.
“Come on.”
Dante stopped directly behind her.
Sophie gently shook the glass.
“Don’t become difficult now.”
The drop finally moved.
Sophie smiled.
Victory.
She raised the rim toward her lips.
Then a man’s hand appeared beside hers.
Sophie stopped completely.
Her eyes moved toward the hand.
Large.
Tanned.
Expensive watch.
Black cuff rolled just enough to reveal a strong forearm.
Her expression collapsed.
Oh no.
The hand did not take the glass.
It settled calmly on the desk.
Then another arm appeared on her opposite side.
Sophie stared straight ahead.
She did not need to turn around.
She knew that watch.
She had seen it every morning at breakfast, usually attached to a man whose employees suddenly remembered excellent posture whenever he entered the room.
Her shoulders rose slowly.
Warmth settled behind her.
Close.
Far too close.
Dante Romano.
Sophie closed her eyes.
Perhaps time could reverse itself.
3 minutes would be enough.
She was not greedy.
Unfortunately, time refused negotiations.
Dante leaned slightly closer.
His gaze traveled toward the crystal glass, still suspended beside Sophie’s mouth, then toward his bottle, then back to her.
His voice came low beside her ear.
Calm.
Far too calm.
“Enjoying yourself?”
Sophie froze.
The glass remained midsip.
Her eyes widened.
No movement.
No blinking.
For 3 long seconds, Sophie Bennett ceased being an employee and became expensive furniture.
Dante waited.
She swallowed.
Unfortunately, so did the last drop of wine.
Dante’s eyebrow lifted.
Sophie realized what she had just done.
She had swallowed the evidence while being caught with the evidence.
Excellent.
Very innocent.
Very convincing.
Slowly, very slowly, she turned her head.
Dante Romano was staring down at her.
Black shirt.
Open collar.
Dark hair swept away from his face.
Expression controlled.
His chest close behind her shoulder.
And somewhere beneath those intimidating dark eyes, Sophie saw it.
Amusement.
The horrible man was enjoying this.
Her gaze moved toward the doorway.
1 guard remained several yards away.
The man had apparently decided the chandelier deserved his complete professional attention.
Traitor.
Sophie looked back at Dante.
“Mr. Romano.”
1 eyebrow lifted.
“Miss Bennett.”
That was worse.
Much worse.
Sophie immediately moved away from the desk.
Dante shifted enough to allow it.
She stepped sideways.
The glass remained in her hand.
She noticed, panicked, and placed it behind her back.
Dante’s eyes moved toward her hidden arm, then slowly returned to her face.
Sophie stared at him.
He stared at her.
She brought the glass forward again.
There were moments when commitment became stupidity.
Her mind began searching desperately for an explanation.
Any explanation.
She considered honesty.
Unpleasant.
She considered fainting.
Too theatrical.
She considered pretending someone else had been drinking.
There were 3 people nearby, and 1 of them owned the house.
Then Sophie’s brain produced something.
Unfortunately, it arrived unsupervised.
“I was cleaning it.”
Dante looked at the glass.
Then at Sophie.
She immediately regretted every decision she had made since breakfast.
His gaze moved back toward the crystal.
“Cleaning it.”
Sophie nodded weakly.
“Yes.”
Dante glanced toward the bottle.
Then the empty glass with traces of wine.
Silence.
Outside the study, the guard coughed.
Sophie shot him a look.
The coward immediately looked away.
Dante waited.
Sophie straightened.
If she was about to lose her job, she would at least lose it with dignity.
Or whatever remained of it.
“It was a complicated cleaning process.”
Dante stared at her.
Sophie pressed her lips together.
Stop talking.
That was the intelligent choice.
Her mouth disagreed.
“It required quality control.”
Something moved at the corner of Dante’s mouth.
Barely.
But Sophie saw it.
And somehow that frightened her more than anger.
Angry Dante Romano was simple.
Apologize.
Leave.
Update résumé.
Possibly relocate.
But amused Dante Romano?
There was no procedure for that.
He reached around her.
Sophie stiffened.
His hand closed around the bottle.
He lifted it, looked at the remaining wine, then at Sophie.
“Very thorough quality control.”
Her eyes followed the bottle.
It did appear slightly emptier than she had realized.
“That glass is wider than it looks.”
Dante glanced toward the glass.
Sophie wanted the sentence back immediately.
The guard coughed again.
Dante turned.
1 look.
The coughing stopped.
Sophie decided she liked that guard less every second.
Dante placed the bottle back on the desk.
“Did it pass?”
Sophie blinked.
“What?”
“The inspection.”
Her lips parted.
This was not how she had imagined being caught stealing from a mafia boss.
Dante leaned against the edge of the desk.
“You’ve apparently invested considerable time determining whether my wine is acceptable.”
Sophie looked at him carefully.
He seemed serious.
Mostly.
That tiny thread of amusement remained.
She selected the safest answer possible.
“It passed.”
Dante waited.
Sophie held his gaze.
1 second.
She sighed.
“No.”
His eyebrow lifted.
Sophie folded her arms.
“Oh, come on. You heard me, didn’t you?”
A pause.
Dante’s silence answered everything.
Sophie’s cheeks warmed.
Every comment returned at once.
Showing off.
Financial irresponsibility.
Too dramatic.
Sounds familiar.
Her eyes widened.
“How long were you standing there?”
Dante considered the question.
“Long enough.”
Sophie stared at him.
That was horrible.
A number would have been kinder.
She looked toward the guard.
He provided absolutely no assistance.
She returned her attention to Dante.
“I would like to formally withdraw several comments.”
“Which ones?”
“All.”
“Interesting.”
“I was speaking privately.”
“In my study.”
Sophie opened her mouth, then stopped.
Yes.
That weakened the privacy argument considerably.
Dante reached for another crystal glass.
Sophie watched suspiciously.
He poured a small amount of wine.
Then, to Sophie’s disbelief, held it toward her.
She looked at the glass.
Then at him.
“No.”
1 eyebrow rose.
“No. This feels like a trap.”
“You preferred stealing it.”
Sophie stared.
“That is an extremely aggressive interpretation.”
Dante looked toward the glass she had been holding.
“You were drinking my wine.”
A beat.
“In my study.”
Another beat.
“While insulting it.”
Sophie considered the accusation.
“All right. Moderately aggressive.”
Dante offered the glass again.
She still did not take it.
“What are you doing?”
“Quality control.”
Sophie stared at him.
Outside the doorway, the guard suddenly found the chandelier fascinating again.
Sophie narrowed her eyes.
“You’re mocking me.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t drink it.”
Sophie’s eyes dropped toward the wine.
That was unfair.
Dante knew exactly what he was doing.
She took the glass.
His mouth almost curved.
Sophie caught it immediately.
“Oh, you are enjoying yourself.”
Dante said nothing.
She looked down at the wine.
Then something changed.
The embarrassment softened.
The jokes quieted.
Instinct took over.
Sophie swirled the glass, waited, and smelled.
Dante noticed.
The movement was effortless.
Not copied.
Not hesitant.
Practiced.
Sophie tasted.
Her eyes narrowed.
She tasted once more.
The nervous maid who had been inventing terrible excuses disappeared.
Something calmer replaced her.
Focused.
Certain.
Dante watched carefully.
“Well?”
Sophie glanced toward the bottle.
“You opened this recently.”
“How recently?”
She thought.
“40 minutes.”
Dante’s expression changed barely.
Sophie did not notice.
“Maybe 45.”
Dante’s gaze flicked toward the clock.
43 minutes.
His eyes returned to her.
Sophie tasted again.
“The year isn’t terrible.”
“That sounds generous.”
“It is.”
His mouth almost moved.
“What?”
“The vineyard had too much rain near harvest.”
The amusement vanished from Dante’s eyes.
Sophie continued, completely unaware that she was revealing something much larger than her theft.
“They compensated with longer oak aging.”
Her gaze returned to the wine.
“Too much, actually.”
Dante folded his arms.
“That explains why it feels heavier than it should.”
A pause.
“And the vintage is 2014.”
“I can read.”
Sophie gave him a look.
“Congratulations.”
Silence.
The guard outside abruptly turned away.
Dante’s eyebrow rose.
Sophie remembered who she had just congratulated on literacy.
“Sorry.”
A beat.
“Mostly.”
For the briefest second, Dante nearly smiled.
Sophie looked back at the bottle.
“2012 was better.”
“How much better?”
“Enough that whoever convinced you to buy this probably knew you wouldn’t ask questions.”
Silence.
Sophie finally looked up.
Dante was not looking at the bottle anymore.
He was looking at her differently.
The amusement remained, but beneath it was something sharper.
Interest.
Real interest.
Sophie’s stomach tightened.
She slowly lowered the glass.
Dante’s gaze traveled toward her hand, then her face.
“Where did you learn that?”
There it was.
Sophie looked toward the bottle.
“Learn what?”
Dante’s expression made it very clear that insulting his intelligence repeatedly might eventually become hazardous.
“The harvest.”
Sophie swallowed.
“I read about rainfall conditions from 11 years ago.”
She thought about how that sounded.
“Yes.”
Dante waited.
Sophie offered a weak smile.
“I read aggressively.”
Silence.
Terrible.
Absolutely terrible.
She looked down at her glass.
Even the wine seemed embarrassed for her.
Dante continued watching.
Sophie shifted her weight.
The old memories tried returning.
Wooden counters.
Her father’s notebook.
The vineyard.
That crooked little sign.
The life she had buried.
She pushed everything away.
Dante noticed.
Unexpectedly, he did not ask again.
No interrogation.
No command.
No demand that Sophie explain herself.
He simply reached forward and took the glass from her hand.
Sophie looked up.
Dante placed it beside his own, then turned toward the doorway.
She blinked.
That was it.
She still had employment.
Apparently.
Dante walked toward the hall.
Sophie remained beside the desk, confused.
He reached the doorway and stopped.
“Tomorrow.”
Sophie frowned.
“Tomorrow what?”
Dante looked back.
“7.”
She stared.
“7 what?”
“7:00.”
“Dante, I know how clocks work.”
There it was again.
That almost smile.
Sophie’s eyes narrowed.
“Am I being fired at 7?”
“No.”
“Because mornings would be preferable. I’d like daylight while carrying my boxes.”
Dante’s gaze shifted toward the wine bottle.
“Tomorrow you’re going to explain why the 2012 is better.”
Sophie blinked.
She looked at the bottle.
Then back at him.
“You’re asking me to drink wine with you.”
“No.”
A beat.
His expression remained completely serious.
“I’m supervising you.”
Sophie stared.
“You caught me drinking 1 glass.”
“Several inspections.”
“1 glass.”
“Repeatedly.”
“That is still 1 glass.”
Dante stepped into the corridor.
Sophie watched him leave.
Then he stopped again.
“And Sophie.”
She straightened.
“Yes?”
Dante glanced over his shoulder.
“Next time you insult a $4,000 bottle…”
Sophie’s cheeks warmed.
His eyes moved toward the empty glass.
“Try not to drink most of the evidence.”
Sophie gasped.
“That was not most of it.”
Dante continued walking.
His guard followed.
Sophie stared after them, then toward the bottle, then the glass, then back at the doorway.
“That was barely…”
She checked the bottle.
Stopped.
Frowned.
“All right.”
A pause.
“Perhaps the inspection became enthusiastic.”
From somewhere farther down the corridor, a man’s laugh reached her.
Low.
Brief.
Gone almost immediately.
Sophie froze.
Dante Romano had laughed because of her.
That should not have made her smile.
It did.
Slowly, Sophie looked toward the bottle again.
Her fingertips brushed the faded vineyard crest, and her smile softened.
Dante had not merely caught her stealing wine.
He had noticed something Sophie had spent years trying to bury.
The woman who knew vineyards.
The daughter who knew vintages.
The girl who had once believed wine would become her entire future.
The following morning, by 7:30, Sophie Bennett had developed a very reasonable plan.
Avoid Dante Romano completely.
Forever, if possible.
It was an ambitious strategy considering she worked inside his house.
But Sophie believed in herself.
She entered the breakfast room carrying fresh napkins and immediately discovered Dante sitting at the head of the table.
The plan failed spectacularly.
Sophie stopped for half a second.
Dante looked up from the document in his hand.
Their eyes met.
Nothing happened.
No smile.
No comment.
No mention of stolen wine.
That was somehow worse.
Sophie continued toward the table with the careful dignity of a woman pretending she had not spent the previous afternoon accusing her employer’s Cabernet of having personality defects.
Dante returned to his paperwork.
Sophie replaced 1 napkin.
Then another.
She reached his side of the table.
His wine glass from dinner sat nearby.
Empty.
Sophie refused to look at it.
Dante noticed.
Of course he did.
“Careful.”
Her hand stopped.
She looked at him.
Dante’s expression remained perfectly serious.
“That glass may require inspection.”
Sophie stared.
Across the room, 1 of his guards suddenly developed a cough.
Mrs. Russo, the senior housekeeper, continued arranging flowers as though she had heard absolutely nothing.
Sophie narrowed her eyes.
“You said 7.”
Dante glanced toward the clock.
“It isn’t 7.”
Exactly.
A faint movement appeared near his mouth.
Sophie immediately regretted giving him ammunition.
She finished with the napkins and escaped.
Or attempted to.
By 10:00, Dante had passed her in the main corridor twice.
The 1st time, he said nothing.
The 2nd time, his gaze dropped briefly toward the tray in her hands.
Water.
Nothing alcoholic.
Still, his eyebrow lifted.
Sophie kept walking.
At 11:30, she entered the library to collect a stack of used coffee cups.
Dante was inside with Leo Marquetti, his right-hand man.
Leo had worked beside Dante long enough to survive difficult meetings, hostile negotiations, and several occasions when Dante had been in a very unpleasant mood.
What Leo had apparently never witnessed was his boss quietly tormenting a maid over a wine glass.
Sophie collected the cups.
Dante continued speaking to Leo about warehouses and contracts.
Professional.
Cold.
Controlled.
Sophie almost relaxed.
Then, without looking at her, Dante said, “The cellar is downstairs.”
She stopped.
Leo looked confused.
Sophie looked offended.
Dante turned 1 page of the document.
“In case you’ve become lost.”
Leo’s eyes moved slowly from Dante to Sophie, then back again.
Sophie straightened.
“I know where the cellar is.”
“I assumed.”
She stared at him.
Dante still had not looked up.
Sophie walked out before she could say something that would result in actual unemployment.
Behind her, Leo waited 3 seconds before asking the obvious question.
Dante did not answer.
That made Leo considerably more interested.
By lunch, Sophie realized something terrible.
Dante Romano was enjoying himself.
Worse, she was beginning to enjoy fighting back.
That was dangerous.
Men like Dante were not supposed to become entertaining.
They were supposed to remain distant, intimidating, possibly framed by dramatic lighting while everyone else made sensible decisions.
Instead, Sophie had discovered that beneath Dante Romano’s terrifying reputation lived a man with a very dry sense of humor and enough patience to wait 6 hours between jokes.
That afternoon, Mrs. Russo appeared in the laundry room.
Sophie was folding towels.
The older woman stopped beside the table.
“Mr. Romano wants you in the dining room.”
Sophie froze with a towel halfway folded.
“Why?”
Mrs. Russo’s expression remained neutral.
“I wasn’t informed.”
That meant she knew.
Sophie could feel it.
Mrs. Russo knew everything.
The woman probably knew what Dante had eaten for breakfast before he did.
Sophie placed the towel down.
“Does he look angry?”
Mrs. Russo considered.
“No.”
That was not comforting.
“Amused?”
Mrs. Russo’s mouth almost twitched.
Sophie sighed.
“Wonderful.”
She walked toward the dining room feeling as though she were approaching a disciplinary hearing.
Instead, she found 3 bottles of wine sitting on the table, 3 glasses, and Dante Romano leaning against the window.
Sophie stopped.
Her suspicion arrived immediately.
“No.”
Dante looked at her.
“I haven’t asked anything.”
“You arranged props.”
His eyebrow lifted.
Sophie pointed toward the bottles.
“Nothing good begins with 3 bottles and your expression.”
Dante approached the table.
“I need an opinion.”
“Hire someone.”
“I did.”
Sophie stared.
“You hired a sommelier?”
Dante looked directly at her.
“Apparently not.”
Sophie closed her eyes.
“This is workplace harassment.”
“Yesterday it was quality control.”
She opened them again.
“You’re going to use that forever, aren’t you?”
“Probably.”
The answer was so immediate that Sophie nearly laughed.
She refused.
Dante gestured toward the 1st bottle.
Sophie looked at it.
Then at him.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because yesterday was temporary insanity.”
“You seemed remarkably sane by the 3rd glass.”
“1 glass.”
“Repeated inspections.”
Sophie folded her arms.
Dante waited.
That was another problem.
He could wait forever.
Eventually, Sophie moved toward the table.
“Fine.”
Dante’s gaze sharpened slightly.
She picked up the 1st glass.
The moment she smelled the wine, something in her changed again.
Dante saw it.
The humor remained, but the performance disappeared.
Sophie tasted carefully, paused, then moved to the 2nd.
She did not rush.
She did not exaggerate.
She simply knew what she was looking for.
The 2nd wine earned a small frown.
The 3rd earned something closer to approval.
Dante watched quietly.
Finally, Sophie pointed toward the least expensive bottle.
“That 1.”
Dante looked at it.
“Why?”
“Because it’s better.”
“The other 2 cost 6 times as much.”
Sophie shrugged.
“That sounds like their problem.”
Dante’s mouth almost curved.
She continued before he could interrupt.
“The 1st is trying too hard. The 2nd is technically good, but it has no personality.”
She tasted the 3rd again.
“And this 1 knows what it is.”
Dante leaned against the table.
“That is your professional terminology?”
“I told you I’m not a professional.”
“No.”
His gaze settled on her.
“You told me you read aggressively.”
Sophie became very interested in the glass.
Dante noticed.
He did not press.
Instead, he selected the 3rd bottle.
“Dinner tonight.”
Sophie blinked.
“With 6 people?”
“Business.”
“Yes.”
She looked at the bottle.
“Then this works better.”
Dante nodded once.
No argument.
No 2nd opinion.
Just trust.
That surprised her.
Sophie slowly lowered the glass.
“You’re actually going to serve the 1 I chose.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I expected you to ignore me.”
“Why ask?”
That answer landed differently.
Simple.
Dante Romano did not ask for opinions he intended to dismiss.
Sophie studied him for a second, then looked away before he noticed she was studying him.
Unfortunately, he noticed.
Of course he did.
She picked up the 1st bottle again.
“Who buys these for you?”
“A supplier.”
“He doesn’t like you.”
Dante’s eyebrow lifted.
Sophie pointed at the label.
“Or he assumes you’re impressed by numbers. Price. Age. Reputation. Rarity.”
She looked toward the 3 bottles.
“People buy expensive wine for the same reason they buy enormous watches.”
Dante glanced at his wrist.
Sophie saw it.
Her eyes widened.
“No.”
Too late.
Dante looked at his watch.
Then at her.
Sophie immediately corrected herself.
“Your watch is very tasteful.”
“Interesting.”
“Elegant.”
“Yesterday my wine was dramatic.”
“That was the wine.”
“And today?”
Sophie stared at the watch.
Then at him.
She decided survival required strategic retreat.
“I should return to work.”
She moved toward the door.
Dante let her take 3 steps.
Then, “Sophie.”
She turned.
He was holding the 2nd bottle.
The 1 she disliked.
“Take it.”
Her eyes widened.
“What?”
“For the kitchen.”
“You’re giving away a bottle that costs…”
“You don’t like it.”
“That is not a financial system.”
“It is now.”
Sophie stared at him.
Then started laughing.
She could not help it.
Dante’s expression remained controlled, but there it was again.
That tiny almost smile.
For some reason, that affected Sophie more than a full grin would have.
She picked up the bottle.
At the doorway, Dante spoke again.
“7.”
Sophie turned.
He looked toward the remaining 2 bottles.
“Don’t be late.”
She should have refused.
Instead, Sophie smiled.
“Depends on whether you’re serving anything worth stealing.”
For 1 beautiful second, Dante Romano looked genuinely caught off guard.
Sophie walked out before he recovered.
Behind her, Leo Marquetti entered through the opposite door.
He looked toward Dante, then toward Sophie disappearing down the corridor with an expensive bottle in her hands.
Leo considered asking.
Dante looked at him.
Leo decided life was valuable.
That evening, the 3rd bottle was served.
Dante’s guests loved it.
Sophie knew because 1 of the waiters returned to the kitchen twice, asking for another bottle.
She pretended not to care.
At exactly 7:00, a guard appeared in the kitchen carrying an empty wine glass.
Sophie stared at him.
The guard stared back, then held out the glass.
“Boss said you’d understand.”
Sophie looked at the glass, then toward the ceiling.
This man was impossible.
She took it and went downstairs.
What Sophie did not know was that Dante had spent the entire dinner wondering why his maid’s opinion had mattered more to him than that of every wealthy man sitting at his table.
Dante disliked unanswered questions.
Especially when the answer wore pink, laughed at his wine, and looked at him as though being Dante Romano was merely a personality inconvenience.
The private tastings became a habit.
Not immediately.
That would have been suspicious.
At first, they happened every few days.
Then twice in 1 week.
Soon, Sophie noticed that Dante somehow required her opinion whenever any bottle entered the Romano estate.
A client sent Champagne.
Sophie was summoned.
A shipment arrived from France.
Sophie was summoned.
Leo brought Dante a bottle from a restaurant owner.
Sophie was summoned.
By the 3rd week, Sophie walked into Dante’s study, looked at the bottle waiting on his desk, and folded her arms.
“This is getting ridiculous.”
Dante glanced up.
“What is?”
“You.”
His eyebrow lifted.
Sophie pointed.
“That bottle arrived 20 minutes ago.”
Dante said nothing.
“I know because I signed for it.”
Still nothing.
“You called me upstairs before the delivery man reached the gate.”
Dante considered.
“Efficient.”
Sophie stared at him, then looked toward Leo, who was standing beside the window.
“Does he do this to everyone?”
Leo looked at Dante.
Then at Sophie.
“I have survived 10 years by not answering questions like that.”
Sophie nodded.
“Wise.”
Dante ignored both of them.
The wine was opened.
Sophie tasted.
Dante listened.
Leo watched the 2 of them with increasing fascination.
The strange thing was that Dante was not simply flirting.
He genuinely valued Sophie’s judgment.
If she disliked something, he asked why.
If she preferred a cheaper bottle, he did not correct her.
He wanted the reasoning.
And Sophie, despite herself, loved that.
For years, wine had been something she kept locked away with every other memory connected to her father.
Now Dante was quietly forcing that door open.
Not by interrogating her.
Not by pitying her.
By asking what she thought.
It should not have mattered.
It did.
Soon, the estate staff began noticing other things.
Dante started leaving an empty glass beside his during evening tastings.
He never told Sophie to use it.
He simply placed it there.
The 1st time, she ignored it.
The 2nd time, she ignored it again.
The 3rd time, she stared at it for nearly 1 minute.
Dante continued reading.
Sophie finally picked it up.
“Manipulative.”
Dante turned a page.
“You poured it yourself.”
She hated that he was right.
Mrs. Russo noticed the glasses.
She said nothing, which was considerably more threatening than if she had said everything.
The guards noticed too.
1 evening, Sophie entered the wine room and found 2 of them standing outside.
They immediately stopped talking.
Sophie narrowed her eyes.
“What?”
Both men looked innocent.
Suspiciously innocent.
She pointed toward the younger 1.
“You.”
He swallowed.
“What were you discussing?”
“Security.”
“Of course.”
Sophie looked toward the other guard.
“Security also involved my name?”
Silence.
She smiled slowly.
“Interesting.”
The younger guard immediately looked toward the floor.
Sophie entered the wine room.
Dante was inside.
She closed the door behind herself.
“Your employees are gossiping.”
Dante selected a bottle.
“So are mine.”
She blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“You work here.”
Sophie opened her mouth.
Stopped.
“That isn’t the point.”
Dante handed her the bottle.
Sophie took it automatically.
Then realized what he had done.
“Don’t distract me with Burgundy.”
It worked.
She stared.
Dante almost smiled.
This was becoming a problem.
A serious 1.
Not because Dante was flirting aggressively.
He was not.
That would have been easier.
The attraction lived in tiny places.
Dante remembering that Sophie hated overly dry whites.
Sophie bringing him a sandwich because he had skipped dinner again.
His hand appearing at her waist when she nearly backed into a shelf.
The way he checked the chair before she sat down automatically.
The way Sophie caught him watching when she laughed.
The way he looked away approximately half a second too late.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing they could accuse each other of.
That made it worse.
1 Thursday evening, Sophie entered the cellar carrying 2 small plates of cheese from the kitchen.
Dante looked at them.
“You brought food.”
“You forget food exists.”
“I had lunch.”
“At 11:00.”
Dante glanced toward the clock.
8:30.
Sophie placed a plate in front of him.
“Exactly.”
He looked at her.
Then at the plate.
Then ate.
Sophie smiled triumphantly.
“You’re welcome.”
Dante shook his head, but ate everything.
That tiny victory pleased Sophie more than it should have.
1 hour later, they were arguing over whether a particular wine was elegant or boring.
Dante called it restrained.
Sophie called restrained a polite word people used when they were afraid to say boring.
Dante accused her of having no respect for tradition.
Sophie accused him of purchasing tradition by the case.
The argument continued until Sophie laughed so hard she had to put down her glass.
Then Dante laughed.
Not almost.
Not the faint curve she had learned to recognize.
He actually laughed.
Low.
Brief.
Real.
Sophie stopped.
Dante stopped too.
Silence.
They looked at each other.
Outside the cellar door, someone dropped something.
A loud metallic clang.
Dante’s eyes moved toward the door.
Sophie pressed her lips together.
“Was that a guard?”
“Yes.”
“Did your guard just drop something because you laughed?”
Dante’s expression flattened.
“No.”
Another sound came from outside.
Someone muttered urgently.
Sophie lost the battle.
She laughed again.
Dante gave her a long look.
“You’re dangerously comfortable.”
“With you?”
“With employment.”
Sophie smiled.
“You haven’t fired me yet.”
“Repeated oversight.”
“That’s practically affection.”
The word slipped out.
Affection.
Neither of them moved.
Sophie’s smile softened.
Dante looked at her differently.
The air shifted just slightly.
Enough.
Sophie reached for another bottle to break the moment.
That was when she saw it.
A bottle on the lower rack.
Dust along the shoulders.
Faded cream label.
Small crest near the bottom.
Sophie stopped.
Her hand remained suspended.
Dante noticed immediately.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Too fast.
He knew it.
Sophie reached for another bottle instead.
Dante’s eyes went toward the 1 she had been staring at.
Then back to her.
“Sophie.”
She forced a smile.
“Do you want the Bordeaux or not?”
Dante did not answer.
He crouched and removed the bottle.
Sophie went still.
The crest faced her.
A tiny vine looping around an old-fashioned letter B.
Her father’s vineyard had once distributed wine through the same cooperative.
She had not seen that mark in years.
Not since everything fell apart.
Dante watched her face.
Sophie immediately looked away.
“Put it back.”
He studied the bottle.
“Why?”
“I don’t like it.”
“You haven’t tasted it.”
“I don’t need to.”
Her voice had changed.
The humor was gone.
Dante heard it.
He placed the bottle down.
Not back in the rack.
On the table.
Sophie grabbed her plate.
“I should go.”
Dante could have stopped her.
He did not.
Sophie reached the door.
His voice came quietly from behind her.
“I’m not asking tonight.”
She stopped.
Her fingers tightened around the plate.
Dante continued.
“But 1 day, Sophie…”
A beat.
“You’re going to tell me why that label scares you.”
Sophie looked over her shoulder.
There was no teasing in his expression.
No demand.
Just certainty.
Somehow, that made her chest tighten more than pressure would have.
She left.
Dante remained in the cellar.
His gaze returned to the faded crest.
He had spent most of his adult life surrounded by people hiding things.
Money.
Loyalty.
Fear.
Ambition.
Sophie Bennett was different.
Whatever she hid hurt.
For the first time in years, Dante Romano found himself wanting to understand someone’s silence.
Not because it threatened him.
Because he cared what had caused it.
3 days passed before Sophie returned to the wine room.
Dante did not summon her.
That surprised her.
On the 1st evening, she expected 1 of his guards.
Nothing.
The 2nd evening, nothing.
By the 3rd, Sophie had become annoyed.
Which was ridiculous.
She had spent weeks complaining that Dante summoned her too often.
Now he had stopped, and somehow that was offensive.
At 7:15, Sophie found herself walking past his study.
The door was open.
Dante sat behind his desk.
He did not look up.
Sophie slowed.
Continued 3 steps.
Stopped.
Turned around.
This was embarrassing.
She walked back.
Dante remained focused on his paperwork.
Sophie stood in the doorway.
He finally looked up.
“Yes?”
She frowned.
“Yes?”
“You’re standing in my doorway.”
“I know.”
Dante waited.
Sophie became irritated by his calm.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
He glanced around the desk.
“No.”
She stared.
“Wine.”
The man was pretending he did not understand.
Sophie folded her arms.
“Fine.”
She turned.
“Sophie.”
She stopped.
Dante opened the lower drawer of his desk, removed a bottle, and set it on top.
Sophie looked at it.
Then at him.
He had been waiting.
The horrible man had been waiting.
“You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
She walked into the study, trying very hard not to smile.
The bottle was not the 1 with the vineyard crest.
Dante did not mention it.
Neither did Sophie.
That mattered.
They drank, argued, laughed, and slowly the awkwardness disappeared.
2 weeks later, Dante had business outside the city.
A small private wine merchant had requested a meeting concerning several collectible bottles.
Normally, Dante would have sent someone instead.
At 11:00 that morning, Sophie was polishing silver when Leo Marquetti appeared beside her holding a garment bag.
Sophie looked at him.
Then at the bag.
“No.”
Leo sighed.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“That’s becoming a Romano family tactic.”
“He wants you to come.”
Sophie stared.
“Where?”
“Wine merchant.”
She looked down at her maid’s uniform.
Leo lifted the garment bag.
Sophie looked back at him.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
30 minutes later, Sophie was wearing the dress.
Mrs. Russo had selected it, which meant resistance had been futile from the beginning.
Deep rose fabric.
Soft at the waist.
Elegant without trying too hard.
Sophie looked at herself in the mirror, then at Mrs. Russo.
“You planned this.”
The older woman adjusted 1 sleeve.
“I folded it.”
“That is not a denial.”
Mrs. Russo smiled.
Barely.
Sophie should have known.
When she entered the front hall, Dante was waiting.
White shirt.
Dark jacket.
Hands in his pockets.
He looked toward her and stopped.
No dramatic reaction.
No ridiculous compliment.
Dante Romano simply stared.
Sophie noticed immediately.
That was far more satisfying.
She walked closer.
“Something wrong?”
Dante recovered.
“No.”
She waited.
Nothing else.
Sophie smiled.
“Good.”
She passed him.
Dante turned.
Leo stood behind them.
Leo looked at Dante.
Dante looked at Leo.
Leo immediately looked somewhere else.
The drive took 40 minutes.
Sophie spent the first 10 pretending Dante had not stared.
Dante spent the first 10 pretending he had not been caught staring.
Neither was particularly convincing.
The wine merchant occupied an old converted stone building surrounded by vineyards.
The smell hit Sophie first.
Wood.
Fruit.
Earth.
Memory.
Her steps slowed.
Dante noticed.
Again, no pressure.
Inside, the merchant brought out 6 bottles.
Sophie listened, tasted, and asked questions.
At first, the merchant directed every answer toward Dante.
Then Sophie politely corrected 1 detail about the year.
The man paused.
Later, she identified a storage problem from the cork alone.
By the 4th bottle, the merchant was speaking directly to her.
Dante sat back and watched.
Something warm settled in his chest.
Sophie belonged in this room.
Not because of her dress.
Not because she had arrived with Dante Romano.
Because she knew what she was doing.
Afterward, they walked outside beneath a covered terrace.
Rain had started.
Soft.
Steady.
Sophie leaned against the railing.
Dante stood beside her.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Sophie said, “My father would have loved that place.”
There it was.
No pressure.
No interrogation.
She had offered it herself.
Dante remained quiet.
Sophie watched the rain.
“My father was called Daniel Bennett.”
A small smile appeared.
“He could tell if someone was touching his barrels from the other side of the building.”
Dante listened.
Sophie told him about the small vineyard outside Napa where she had spent part of her childhood before her family moved east.
It had not been glamorous.
It had not been enormous.
Her father managed the vineyard and later opened a modest tasting shop.
Sophie practically grew up behind the counter.
At 12, she could identify regions by smell better than many adults.
At 16, her father began teaching her seriously.
By 21, Sophie had certifications, experience, and a plan.
The shop would eventually become hers.
She would expand it.
Create tasting classes.
Maybe buy a small vineyard 1 day.
That had been the future.
Then her father died.
Suddenly.
Grief came with paperwork.
Loans.
Medical bills.
Business debt Sophie had not known existed.
For nearly 1 year, she tried to save everything.
The shop.
The inventory.
The lease.
The tiny collection her father had spent decades building.
1 by 1, they disappeared.
She sold what she could.
Closed what she could not save.
Then stopped tasting wine completely.
Every bottle became a door, and Sophie was tired of walking through it into a room where her father no longer existed.
Years passed.
Different jobs.
Different cities.
Eventually, the Romano estate.
Sophie looked down at her hands.
“The first time I saw your bottle…”
She smiled faintly.
“I recognized the cooperative mark.”
Dante understood.
“The crest.”
Sophie nodded.
“My father used to work with vineyards that carried it.”
Rain tapped quietly against the roof.
Sophie exhaled.
“I wasn’t trying to steal your wine.”
Dante looked at her.
She gave him a look.
“All right. Technically, by sip 3, theft had become difficult to dispute.”
His mouth moved.
Sophie smiled.
“But at first…”
Her voice softened.
“I just wanted to know if I could remember.”
Dante said nothing.
No pity.
No speech about how sorry he was.
No promise to fix everything.
Sophie was grateful.
After a while, he asked 1 question.
“Did you?”
Sophie looked toward the vineyards beyond the rain.
“Remember?”
Dante nodded.
She smiled.
“Everything.”
Something changed between them quietly.
Dante had known Sophie was hiding a past.
Now he understood that she was not ashamed of it.
She was grieving it.
And Sophie, for the first time, understood why Dante’s silence around her felt different from everyone else’s.
He did not rush to fill it.
He let her own it.
The rain became heavier.
Sophie shivered slightly.
Dante removed his jacket.
She immediately protested.
He placed it around her shoulders anyway.
“Bossy.”
“You’re cold.”
“That doesn’t make you less bossy.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
Close.
Too close.
The teasing faded for several seconds.
Neither moved.
Dante’s eyes dropped briefly toward her mouth.
Sophie noticed.
Her heartbeat changed.
His hand rested against the railing beside hers.
Almost touching.
Sophie could have moved away.
She did not.
Dante leaned slightly closer.
Then his phone rang.
Sophie closed her eyes.
Dante looked toward the sky as though considering whether technology could be eliminated permanently.
Sophie laughed.
“Dangerous criminal empire.”
Dante checked the screen.
“Unfortunately.”
He answered.
Sophie turned toward the rain to hide her smile.
But the moment remained.
Unfinished.
Waiting.
When Dante finished the call, his expression had changed.
The warmth disappeared.
A shipment connected to 1 of his businesses had arrived with inventory missing.
Nothing enormous.
Nothing that would alarm anyone else.
But Dante Romano had survived by noticing small inconsistencies.
Lately, too many small things inside his organization were beginning not to add up.
After the trip, Dante started coming home earlier.
Nobody officially discussed it.
Everybody noticed.
His driver noticed first.
Leo noticed second.
Mrs. Russo probably noticed before either of them, but simply chose not to announce it.
Sophie noticed on Tuesday.
She was arranging flowers in the west sitting room when Dante walked through at 4:20.
She looked toward the clock.
Then at him.
“Aren’t you supposed to be frightening businessmen until 6?”
Dante removed his watch.
“Finished early.”
Sophie looked toward the flowers.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Wednesday, he appeared in the kitchen at 5:00.
Sophie was tasting sauce.
Dante claimed he wanted water.
The Romano estate contained approximately 14 people capable of bringing him water.
Apparently, all 14 had become unavailable.
Sophie handed him a glass.
He remained.
She looked at him.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
He did not leave.
Sophie waited.
Dante looked toward the stove.
“What are you making?”
She stared.
“You came into the kitchen for water, and now you’re asking about dinner.”
Dante drank calmly.
“I can multitask.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes.
Thursday, he appeared in the laundry corridor.
That was when Sophie stopped pretending.
She was carrying folded linens.
Dante came around the corner.
She stopped directly in front of him.
“No.”
Dante looked at her.
“No. This is the 3rd day.”
“What is?”
“You.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“You keep appearing.”
“I live here.”
“Not in the laundry corridor.”
Dante looked around.
“Apparently I do today.”
Sophie stared.
He walked past.
She turned.
“Dante.”
He stopped.
That was the 1st time she had used his first name without thinking.
Both of them noticed.
Sophie tightened her hold on the linens.
Dante looked back.
Something subtle changed in his expression.
She recovered first.
“You are following me around your own house.”
Dante considered.
“Is that possible?”
“Yes.”
“I own the corridor.”
“Wealth does not change grammar.”
His mouth almost curved.
Sophie walked away before her face betrayed her.
Dante watched her go.
Behind him, Leo stepped from a side room.
He had heard everything.
Dante turned.
Leo immediately began walking in the opposite direction.
Wise man.
1 week later, Dante received an invitation to a private wine auction.
Normally, he attended alone or sent Leo.
This time, Sophie found an envelope beside her dinner plate in the staff kitchen.
Her name was written across the front.
She opened it.
Inside was a single card.
Saturday.
Sophie stared.
Mrs. Russo walked past.
Sophie held up the card.
“He’s doing it again.”
Mrs. Russo continued walking.
“Doing what?”
“Ordering me around using stationery.”
“No idea.”
Sophie watched her leave.
“Everyone in this house is dishonest.”
Saturday evening arrived.
Sophie wore a dark green gown.
Elegant.
Soft around her curves.
Her hair pinned loosely at the back.
When she descended the staircase, Dante was waiting below.
Again, he stared.
Again.
Sophie caught him.
This time, she smiled immediately.
“You really should work on that.”
Dante looked toward her face.
“On what?”
“The staring.”
“I wasn’t staring.”
Sophie reached the final step.
“Of course.”
Dante offered his arm.
She took it.
“Your face was simply conducting a prolonged inspection.”
He looked down at her.
“Quality control.”
Sophie stopped.
Dante continued walking.
She stared after him.
Then laughed.
“That was terrible.”
“It worked.”
Unfortunately, it had.
The auction was filled with wealthy collectors, restaurant owners, investors, and enough expensive perfume to alter atmospheric conditions.
Sophie expected to feel out of place.
She did not.
Wine had always been 1 world where money could pretend to be expertise until someone actually opened the bottle.
Dante understood that quickly.
Several men greeted him.
Most barely acknowledged Sophie.
1 older collector assumed she was Dante’s assistant and handed her his empty glass.
Sophie looked at the glass.
Then at him.
Dante saw everything.
He said nothing.
Instead, when the next lot appeared, Dante asked Sophie whether it was worth bidding on.
In front of everyone.
The collector glanced toward her.
Sophie studied the catalog.
“No.”
Dante did not bid.
The bottle sold for $28,000.
5 minutes later, another lot appeared.
Dante looked at Sophie.
She nodded.
He bought it.
Then another.
He asked again.
And again.
By the 4th time, people had stopped treating Sophie like staff.
Now they were listening.
Sophie noticed.
So did Dante.
That mattered more than if he had publicly embarrassed anyone.
He had not announced her intelligence.
He had simply trusted it where everyone could see.
Later, on a balcony overlooking the city, Sophie stood beside him holding Champagne.
“You did that deliberately.”
Dante looked toward the skyline.
“Did what?”
She smiled.
“I hate when you pretend not to know things.”
“Then stop asking questions you know the answer to.”
Sophie turned toward him.
Their shoulders nearly touched.
“You made them listen.”
“No.”
Dante’s eyes moved toward hers.
“You did.”
That quiet answer reached somewhere deep.
Sophie looked down at the glass.
For once, no joke came.
Dante reached up.
A loose strand of hair had fallen near her cheek.
His fingers brushed it back.
Sophie stopped breathing for approximately 1 second.
Maybe 2.
His hand remained near her face.
The city disappeared.
The auction disappeared.
The people inside disappeared.
Dante leaned closer.
This time, no rain.
No phone.
No interruption.
Almost.
Leo opened the balcony door.
“Boss.”
Dante closed his eyes.
Sophie bit her lip to avoid laughing.
Leo looked between them.
Realized.
Regretted every professional choice that had brought him to this exact balcony.
“I can come back.”
Dante looked at him.
“No.”
Leo remained very still.
“There’s a problem.”
The humor left Dante’s face.
A wine shipment connected to Romano-owned restaurants had arrived with several cases missing.
Again.
Not enough to justify panic.
Enough to establish a pattern.
On the drive home, Dante was quieter.
Sophie noticed.
She did not ask immediately.
Eventually, he explained that inventory had been disappearing across different businesses for months.
Wine.
Imported food.
Small luxury shipments.
Never enough to look dramatic.
Combined, however, it represented significant money.
Someone inside Dante’s organization was stealing.
And doing it carefully.
Sophie looked toward the dark road outside.
“What does wine have to do with it?”
Dante’s gaze moved toward her.
“That’s what I’m trying to determine.”
Neither of them knew that the answer was already sitting inside Dante’s private cellar, hidden among hundreds of bottles waiting to be opened.
The dinner was supposed to be boring.
Sophie knew because Dante had used the phrase routine meeting.
In Dante Romano’s world, routine meetings involved 6 men in dark suits arriving through separate entrances while guards inspected vehicles.
Sophie had stopped questioning the definition.
The dining room was prepared.
Candles.
Crystal.
White linen.
2 bottles Sophie had personally selected.
And 1 bottle she had not.
She noticed it 20 minutes before dinner.
Sophie entered the dining room to inspect the table.
Her eyes moved automatically toward the wine.
2 familiar bottles.
Then a 3rd dark glass bottle.
Older vintage.
Sophie frowned.
She had not chosen it.
She picked it up.
The label looked legitimate.
The seal looked normal.
Everything appeared fine.
Still, something bothered her.
She called 1 of the servers.
“Who brought this?”
The young man thought for a moment.
“Mr. Vieieri.”
Sophie looked up.
Carlo Vieieri, Dante’s logistics director.
He had worked with the Romano organization for nearly 11 years.
Trusted.
Quiet.
Efficient.
He controlled several import routes, including wine shipments.
Sophie looked back at the bottle.
“Did Mr. Romano ask for it?”
The server was not sure.
Sophie set it down.
Something small tightened in her stomach.
She should have left it.
Instead, she examined the cork.
Then the capsule.
Then the glass near the neck.
Nothing obvious.
That was the problem.
If something was wrong, someone had worked very hard to make it look right.
Dinner began.
Sophie was not serving.
She was supposed to return upstairs.
She did not.
From the hall, she watched.
Dante sat at the head of the table.
Leo beside him.
Carlo Vieieri farther down.
Conversation moved calmly.
Business.
Shipping.
Money.
Exactly the kind of topics that usually made Sophie’s attention wander.
Then the server reached for the unfamiliar bottle.
Sophie’s eyes sharpened.
The cork came free.
She heard it.
A soft sound.
Normal.
Almost.
The server poured.
Sophie smelled something from several feet away.
Faint.
Wrong.
Her body reacted before her mind finished processing it.
She stepped into the room.
“Wait.”
The conversation stopped.
6 powerful men looked toward the curvy maid standing in the doorway.
Dante’s hand paused near his glass.
Sophie crossed the room.
No apology.
No hesitation.
“Don’t drink that.”
Silence.
Dante looked at her.
1 second.
Then he moved his hand away from the glass.
Immediately.
That trust nearly frightened Sophie more than the bottle.
Carlo Vieieri frowned.
“What’s the problem?”
Sophie ignored him.
She leaned toward the wine.
She did not taste it.
She only smelled.
Her expression tightened.
Dante watched.
“You’re sure?”
Sophie looked at him.
“No.”
A beat.
“But I’m sure enough.”
That was all Dante needed.
The meeting ended quietly.
No panic.
No dramatic shouting.
The bottle was secured.
Every person in the room remained inside until security completed preliminary checks.
Sophie stood near the fireplace.
Dante approached.
“You weren’t supposed to be here.”
She folded her arms.
“You’re welcome.”
His jaw tightened.
Sophie saw it.
There was fear beneath the anger.
Not for himself.
For her.
2 hours later, a specialist confirmed that the wine had been deliberately contaminated with a dangerous substance.
The intention was obvious.
Had Dante emptied the glass, he might not have survived the evening.
The Romano estate changed instantly.
Doors locked.
Security doubled.
Staff questioned.
Shipments frozen.
Dante became terrifyingly calm.
Sophie had learned enough about him to know that quiet Dante was considerably more dangerous than loud Dante.
Leo arrived in the study after midnight.
The bottle had been traced through an internal shipment.
Records indicated that it should never have reached Dante’s private cellar.
Someone had altered the inventory.
Someone with access.
Someone trusted.
Dante looked toward Sophie and made a decision.
“2 guards.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“No.”
“3.”
“Dante.”
“4.”
She stared.
“This is not an auction.”
“It can become 1.”
Sophie folded her arms.
“I don’t need 4 guards.”
“You almost identified an attempt on my life.”
“That sentence does not explain why I need an escort to the pantry.”
“It does to me.”
Sophie opened her mouth.
Stopped.
Then pointed toward him.
“2.”
Dante said nothing.
“2 guards, and they stay outside the bathroom.”
Leo turned away immediately.
Dante looked at him.
Leo found the bookshelf fascinating.
Dante returned his attention to Sophie.
“Fine.”
The guards began the following morning.
By lunchtime, they regretted everything.
Sophie went to the kitchen.
2 men followed.
Laundry room.
2 men.
Garden.
2 men.
At 1:30, she entered the pantry.
Both followed.
Sophie stopped.
Turned.
They stopped too.
She looked toward a 20-pound bag of flour.
Then at the younger guard.
“You.”
He looked alarmed.
“Carry that.”
He blinked.
Sophie smiled.
“If we’re going everywhere together, everyone works.”
By day 2, 1 guard carried groceries.
The other held baskets.
Mrs. Russo approved.
Dante did not.
Sophie considered this a success.
But beneath the jokes, fear remained.
Sophie caught herself checking bottles twice.
Listening for footsteps.
Watching unfamiliar faces.
Dante noticed.
He also stopped sleeping properly.
She found him late 1 evening on the rear terrace.
Alone.
A glass sat untouched beside him.
That frightened Sophie more than if he had been drinking.
She approached.
Dante looked toward her.
“You shouldn’t be outside.”
There it was.
Sophie stopped.
For 4 days, she had accepted the guards.
Accepted the locked gates.
Accepted being driven everywhere.
But that sentence made something inside her snap.
“I live here too.”
“You work here.”
“Even worse. Employees generally require access to the building.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“This isn’t funny.”
“I know.”
Her voice softened.
That got his attention.
Sophie stepped closer.
“You’re scared.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
“Terrible lie.”
He looked toward the garden.
Sophie continued.
“You’re trying to control everything because you can’t control whoever did this.”
Silence.
Dante finally looked at her.
“Someone tried to kill me and failed because of you.”
The words came harder than he intended.
Sophie stopped.
Dante stood.
His voice became lower.
“What do you think I thought when they confirmed that bottle?”
She did not answer.
“I thought about you smelling it.”
A beat.
“Touching it.”
Another.
“Standing in that room with whoever put it there.”
Sophie understood.
Dante was not afraid of dying.
Not in the way she had assumed.
He was afraid she had entered the danger with him.
His fear simply wore the only shape Dante trusted.
Control.
Sophie stepped closer.
“I’ll keep the guards.”
He watched her.
“I’ll tell you where I’m going.”
Another step.
“I’ll be careful.”
She stopped directly in front of him.
“But you don’t get to hide me because somebody decided I matter to you.”
Silence.
There it was.
Matter.
Neither of them had said it before.
Sophie’s heartbeat changed.
Dante’s eyes did too.
She looked away.
Then he spoke.
“You matter.”
Quiet.
Certain.
Sophie looked back.
No humor.
No teasing.
Just truth.
Dante’s hand moved toward her face slowly enough that she could stop him.
She did not.
His fingers brushed her cheek.
Sophie smiled faintly.
“You know…”
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
“If you’re about to make a joke…”
“I was.”
His thumb moved gently beneath her cheekbone.
“Don’t.”
That made her smile wider.
Then he kissed her.
No audience.
No dramatic music.
No guards watching.
At least Sophie sincerely hoped no guards were watching.
The kiss began carefully.
It did not remain careful for long.
Months of arguments, looks, almost-moments, private tastings, and 1 deeply irresponsible stolen glass of wine finally caught up with them.
When they separated, Sophie rested her forehead briefly against his chest.
Then she looked toward him.
“So…”
Dante exhaled.
She smiled.
“Does this change my employment benefits?”
He stared at her.
Sophie lost control and laughed.
Dante shook his head.
Then kissed her again.
The following morning, Sophie remembered something.
A small thing.
Several weeks earlier, she had gone downstairs late to return a tray.
Someone had been inside the wine cellar.
Carlo Vieieri.
At the time, it had not seemed strange.
Carlo handled import shipments.
Of course he had access.
But now Sophie remembered how quickly he had shut 1 cabinet when he noticed her.
And what he had said.
Inventory issue.
Nothing important.
Sophie stopped in the corridor.
Her smile disappeared.
10 minutes later, she was inside Dante’s study.
This time, when she said Carlo Vieieri’s name, Dante did not laugh.
He did not accuse Carlo immediately.
That surprised Sophie.
She expected anger.
Instead, Dante became colder.
Methodical.
Carlo had worked beside him for 11 years.
He knew the businesses.
The import routes.
Restaurant deliveries.
Security schedules.
Wine seller access.
If Sophie was wrong, Dante refused to destroy a decade of loyalty over suspicion.
If she was right, they needed proof.
So they created a simple trap.
Dante casually announced that a rare bottle from his private collection would be served at a dinner 2 nights later.
Only a handful of senior men heard.
Carlo was among them.
The bottle itself remained untouched.
A hidden camera covered the relevant storage area.
The inventory system was monitored.
Nothing happened the 1st night.
Sophie pretended she was not nervous.
She was terrible at pretending.
At 11:30, she sat beside Dante in his study, eating crackers directly from a plate Mrs. Russo had sent upstairs.
Dante watched the security screens.
Sophie looked at him.
Then toward the plate.
“Romantic.”
Dante did not look away.
“You insisted on staying.”
“I pictured less surveillance.”
“You have unusual expectations for dating.”
Sophie smiled.
“Dating?”
Dante finally looked at her.
She raised an eyebrow.
“You kissed me twice and assigned me armed escorts.”
A beat.
“That is not a conventional courtship.”
Dante almost smiled.
Then movement appeared on 1 monitor.
Both of them turned.
Someone entered the cellar.
Carlo.
Sophie’s humor disappeared.
He moved directly toward the announced bottle.
Opened a storage cabinet.
Removed something small.
Dante stood.
Security entered seconds later.
Carlo froze.
There was no dramatic chase.
No ridiculous confession.
Only proof.
Then the larger truth began unraveling.
Carlo had not only been involved with the altered wine.
For nearly 2 years, he had been manipulating imported luxury shipments.
Small discrepancies.
Cases disappearing.
Invoices modified.
Payments redirected.
Wine shipments had been particularly useful because values varied wildly from bottle to bottle.
A missing case could be explained as damage.
A substituted bottle could be overlooked.
A changed invoice could be buried.
Carlo had been moving money toward a rival group while quietly weakening Dante’s businesses from the inside.
The contaminated bottle had been intended to solve his final problem.
Dante himself.
If Dante died after an ordinary private dinner, Carlo expected confusion.
The scattered inventory losses would appear unrelated.
The altered records would remain buried among legitimate shipments.
The bottle would become part of a larger chaos that Carlo had spent years carefully creating.
But Sophie had noticed what everyone else saw as ordinary.
A bottle that looked correct.
A seal that appeared flawless.
A scent so faint that it could have been ignored.
The knowledge she had spent years refusing to use had become the reason Dante never drank from that glass.
And the detail she remembered afterward—the cabinet Carlo had closed too quickly—gave Dante the suspicion he needed to set the trap.
The evidence was no longer circumstantial.
Carlo had entered the cellar after learning which rare bottle Dante intended to serve.
He had gone directly to it.
He had opened the storage cabinet.
Security had found him there.
For 11 years, Dante had trusted him.
That history did not disappear simply because the truth had changed, but neither did it protect Carlo from what the evidence showed.
Sophie remained beside Dante as the security team secured the cellar and the records began to expose the scale of what Carlo had done.
The missing wine.
The altered invoices.
The redirected payments.
The shipments that had seemed insignificant when viewed 1 at a time.
Together, they formed a deliberate pattern.
Dante had survived by noticing small inconsistencies.
Sophie had survived her own past by trying not to notice anything connected to wine at all.
Yet those 2 instincts had converged in the same cellar.
The story had begun with a maid standing alone in a private study, stealing a taste from a $4,000 bottle because a faded vineyard crest reminded her of a life she had buried.
At the time, Sophie believed the greatest danger was being caught.
Dante had caught her.
He had heard every insult she directed at his wine.
He had watched her wipe fingerprints from his desk.
He had seen her swallow the last drop while standing directly in front of him.
Instead of firing her, he had asked why the 2012 vintage was better.
That question reopened a part of Sophie’s life she thought grief had permanently closed.
The private tastings followed.
Then the merchant.
The auction.
The missing shipments.
The unfamiliar bottle.
And finally the glass Dante never drank.
Sophie Bennett had once stopped tasting wine because every bottle reminded her of Daniel Bennett and the future she had lost when he died.
For years, she believed forgetting that knowledge was easier than living with what it carried.
But inside the Romano estate, Dante had never asked her to forget.
He had simply kept asking what she thought.
May you like
Eventually, Sophie remembered everything.
And when remembering mattered most, it saved his life.
Disclaimer: This story is fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. Any names, characters, places, or events are fictitious or used fictitiously. No real person or organization is intended to be portrayed.
