Chapter 3 - The Blood on the Silk
The tension in the Walsh estate thickened like humidity before a storm. Three weeks into her new role, Sophia had fallen into a rhythm. She was a ghost—a very well-paid, highly observant ghost. She watched the staff, she watched the guards, and she watched Mrs. Gable. The housekeeper was careful, but not careful enough. Sophia noticed her lingering near the secured wing keypad and spotted the burner phone Mrs. Gable kept tucked in her apron pocket, avoiding the estate-issued device. Sophia documented everything: dates, times, and odd behaviors. She slipped the notes into the bottom drawer of Declan’s desk, the one she knew he checked every night. He never mentioned them, but his gaze toward her softened just a fraction.
It was late Thursday night when the storm finally broke. Sophia was reading a book on accounting she had borrowed from the library, determined to understand the ledgers she was dusting. Suddenly, a heavy thud echoed from the corridor, followed by a muffled curse. Sophia bolted upright, grabbed the heavy bronze lamp from her bedside table, and cracked her door open. In the dim hallway, a shadow leaned against the wall, clutching its side.
“Declan?” She dropped the lamp and ran to him. He was breathing heavily, his white shirt soaked in dark, spreading crimson. “Don’t yell,” he grunted, sliding down the wall. “You’re shot!” Sophia’s hands hovered over the wound, panic spiking. “Just a graze. Mostly.” “Mostly? Declan, you’re bleeding out on the carpet.” “It’s a dark carpet.” “You’re not funny. I’m calling Marcus.”
His hand shot out, his bloody fingers gripping her wrist in a warning rather than a gentle hold. “No. No Marcus. No doctor. The leak,” he gasped, his head falling back against the wallpaper. “It’s bad. Someone tipped them off about my route. If the staff knows I’m hit, the O’Connors will know by morning.” He looked at her, his icy eyes pleading for the first time. “Help me up.”
Sophia didn’t argue. She threw his arm over her shoulder and hoisted him up, struggling under his solid muscle and dead weight. She dragged him into his bedroom, kicking the door shut with her heel, and forced him to sit on the edge of the large marble bathtub. She grabbed the black first-aid kit from under the sink. It was fully stocked with gauze, antiseptic, sutures, and a surgical needle—proof that whoever supplied this house knew what kind of injuries occurred here.
“Take off the shirt,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. When he fumbled with bloody fingers, she pushed his hands away. “Let me.” She peeled the ruined silk away from his skin, revealing a torso mapped with old scars. The new wound was angry; a bullet had torn through the flesh of his side, just missing his ribs. “It went through,” she noted, feeling nauseous. She grabbed a bottle of alcohol. “This is going to hurt.” She poured it directly over the wound. Declan bit back a roar, his jaw locking tight as his hands gripped the edge of the tub until his knuckles turned white.
Sophia worked quickly, drawing on the months she had spent in hospitals with Elise. For thirty minutes, the only sounds in the room were his ragged breathing and the tearing of gauze. When she finally taped the last bandage down, she sat back on her heels, wiping sweat from her forehead. Her hands were covered in his blood. Declan looked down at her. The manic edge of the pain had faded, leaving something much more dangerous in his eyes. “You didn’t flinch,” he said softly. “I did. On the inside.”
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He reached out, his clean hand brushing a strand of hair away from her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek. Sophia froze as the air in the bathroom suddenly felt too thin. He was a mafia boss, and she was an ex-maid paying off a debt, but sitting on the floor together, none of that seemed to matter. “Why did you really stay, Sophia?” he murmured. “Because I owe you eighty thousand dollars.” “Lie to me again.” She looked into his eyes. “Because I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” Declan leaned down, his forehead resting against hers. “You have here,” he whispered. “You always have here.”
Suddenly, the intercom on the wall buzzed to life. “Mr. Walsh?” It was Mrs. Gable’s voice. “Are you awake, sir? I heard a noise in the corridor.” The moment shattered. Declan’s eyes hardened back to ice as he pressed his finger to his lips, signaling Sophia to remain absolutely silent.
