Chapter 4 The master's game

"The new one doesn't talk," said Enzo, holding a glass of wine, sprawled on the black leather sofa.

"She doesn't even look at you," added Dante, laughing as if it were a joke.

Luciano leaned back further, bored. The house lights were dim, electronic music vibrated in the background like an artificial pulse. Through the window, the backyard shone under the moon. The mansion was quiet, as if the only world existed except that living room filled with spoiled heirs and expensive cigarette smoke.

"How much do you want to bet I can make her talk?" said Luciano without looking at anyone.

Dante raised an eyebrow.

"The quiet one? The one who mops as if she owes her life to the apartment?"

"That's the one," he smiled, slightly tilted, like someone casually casting a hook.

"Five thousand says you don't make it," Enzo jumped in, pulling out his cell phone to register the bet.

Luciano turned the glass in his hand, watching the whiskey move like liquid gold.

"I'll do it for free. Just for fun."

And he stood up. The echo of his footsteps down the hallway sounded with that empty rumble that only the homes of the rich have. He walked down the marble stairs, hands in his pockets. He didn't care who saw him. It was Luciano De La Vega. No one told him what to do. Especially not in his own house.

At the end of the hallway, next to the library closed to the public, was her.

Amelia. Again. Always the same: hair tied back, worn gray uniform, face as serious as a statue. Mop in hand. Silent.

The light from the spotlights fell on the marble, leaving it like a mirror. Luciano walked unhurriedly, like a bored predator. She didn't look at him.

And that bothered him.

"What?" "Aren't you saying hello now?" he said, feigning a jovial tone. "Don't they teach manners in pigpens?"

Amelia continued moving the mop. As if he weren't there! As if her words were flies.

Luciano clicked his tongue.

"Oh, right. You're the mute one in the house." And he took a crumpled bill from his pocket. He held it out elegantly, as if offering a rose. "Does this loosen your tongue?"

It was a hundred-thousand-dollar bill.

Amelia stopped.

The air between them tensed.

Luciano dropped it. The bill floated for a second and landed on the clean marble.

Amelia lowered her gaze. The silence thickened. The whole world seemed to stop in that instant.

And then, with a calmness that seemed like an insult, she swiped the mop over the bill.

One. Two. Three strokes.

She left it soaked, dirty, trampled by the mop.

Luciano didn't move.

"Do you think you're funny?" he said in a low but sharp voice. "This is worth more than your monthly salary."

Amelia looked up. Straight into his eyes. Without hatred. Without fear. Just that stubborn determination he couldn't quite understand.

"Then gather your money, young man," she said, for the first time. Her voice was firm, calm, without servility. "And stop leaving trash on the floor I just cleaned."

Luciano froze. Not because of the words. But because of how she said it. That damn way she stood as if he meant nothing. As if he were just another one who littered, and she was the only one who truly cleaned.

"Who do you think you are?" he snapped, his pride hurt.

"Someone who isn't for sale," Amelia replied.

The silence grew even heavier. A drop fell from the mop and splashed the wet bill.

Luciano took a step toward her. He was less than two feet away. He could smell her cheap perfume, feel the steam from her work clinging to his skin. His heart was beating faster, though he didn't understand it. It was anger. Yes. But also something else.

A damn plot.

She didn't lower her gaze. She didn't apologize. She didn't whine. She didn't even apologize for speaking to him like that. She just stood there, firm, with a wet mop and her old shoes pointed at him.

He lowered his gaze for a moment. The bill was still there. As a symbol. As an offense.

Luciano took a step back. He smiled, though it wasn't a friendly smile.

"You've got guts, I'll give you that."

He bent down, picked up the wet bill, and folded it slowly.

"This isn't over, doll. It only began."

And he was gone.

Amelia followed him with her eyes as he disappeared down the hall. He didn't sigh. He didn't break down. She just swallowed again. She gritted her teeth. And kept mopping.

The lives of the rich were full of stupid games. But she wasn't going to play that one.

Although, deep down, something had rumbled in her stomach.

Because for the first time in years, she'd felt worth more than a damn dollar bill.