TAINTED

Chapter Five

Morning sunlight spilled across the marble halls, blinding after the shadows of last night. Deynn was scrubbing silverware in the pantry when the head maid, Signora Elise, appeared in the doorway.

"Deynn," her sharp voice cut through the clatter. "Come with me."

Deynn wiped her hands quickly, bowing her head as she followed the older woman. Elise was rigid, her gray hair coiled in a severe bun, every step precise. She was loyal to Santoro's, her words carried weight, and though she rarely spoke more than orders, her watchful eyes missed nothing.

At the entrance, Elise pressed a small purse into Deynn's hand. "The kitchens need fresh herbs. And wine—the expensive kind. Go to the markets in the city and return swiftly. Do not linger. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Signora," Deynn murmured, clutching the purse.

The iron gates creaked open, and the weight of the mansion fell away behind her. The air outside was different—fresher, freer—and yet her chest was still tight with the memory of Atlas's hand at her throat.

Focus, she told herself. This was her chance.

She walked through the market streets, weaving between stalls of fruit and baskets of bread. When she reached the corner near the old clock tower, she slowed, eyes flicking toward the alley shaded by tall stone buildings. A shadow moved—two knocks against the wall, their signal.

"Rigo," she whispered.

He stepped out of the shadows, plain clothes blending into the crowd. His sharp eyes softened briefly at the sight of her, but his voice remained low, urgent.

"You're late."

"I had no choice," she hissed, glancing around. "Atlas keeps me under watch. Even now Elise will time how long I'm gone."

Rigo's jaw clenched. "Then tell me quickly. What did you hear?"

Deynn's fingers tightened around the basket she carried. "Last night... in his study. Men spoke of shipments—guns, crates moved through the southern ports. And names, Rigo. Rossi names."

His expression darkened, eyes narrowing. "So it's true. Santoro is taking the Rossi territory piece by piece."

She nodded, lowering her voice further. "It's bigger than we thought. He's not just fighting for power—he's already winning."

Rigo exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "We need proof. Locations, dates. If you can get it, we'll have leverage."

Deynn's stomach twisted. Proof meant getting closer to Atlas. Too close. But she only nodded. "I'll try."

Rigo's hand brushed hers for the briefest second, a fleeting touch of reassurance. "Be careful, Deynn. If he suspects you..." His words trailed, the warning heavy in his silence.

Her eyes flicked to the street, where the crowd moved like a tide. "He already suspects me," she whispered. "But I'll play the part he wants. The clumsy maid, the foolish girl in silk. It's the only way."

From a distance, the sound of carriage wheels clattered against stone. The market buzzed. Elise's warning echoed in her head: Do not linger.

"I have to go," Deynn said quickly, pulling back. "If I return late, they'll know."

Rigo nodded once, though his eyes stayed on her like an anchor. "Then go. And Deynn—don't let the devil get inside your head."

She forced a thin smile, though her chest tightened with the memory of Atlas's voice, his laugh, his touch.

Too late, she thought, turning back toward the market with steady steps.

By the time she returned through the gates of the Santoro mansion, basket in hand, her mask was firmly back in place.

But deep down, she knew Rigo was wrong.

The devil was already inside her head.

The gates shut behind her with a heavy clang, and the suffocating air of the mansion swallowed her whole again. Deynn carried the basket against her chest, her every step measured as she crossed the courtyard.

Signora Elise stood at the entrance, waiting like a sentinel. Her sharp eyes scanned the basket, then Deynn herself.

"You took longer than I expected," Elise said coolly.

Deynn bowed her head, voice soft, submissive. "The merchant delayed, Signora. He was short on the herbs you wanted. I hurried as quickly as I could."

Elise studied her for one tense heartbeat longer, then gave a curt nod. "Go. The kitchens await."

Relief brushed Deynn's chest, but she didn't let it show. She moved quickly, slipping past the other maids, returning to her silent rhythm of work. Washing. Folding. Polishing. Always blending in. Always unseen.

But inside her head, the market's shadows lingered.

Rigo's voice. The names whispered behind Atlas's study door. The truth of shipments flowing like blood across territories.

Her mind swirled with calculations. If Rigo was right, then every step she took in this house brought her closer to the heart of the storm. And closer to Atlas Santoro.

By evening, she was back in her small chamber, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror. The silk robe hung untouched in the wardrobe. Her skin still carried the ghost of Atlas's touch, though she had scrubbed her hands raw in scalding water.

She whispered to herself, as though the walls might swallow the words:

Play the part. The clumsy maid. The foolish girl. That's how you survive.

But in the silence of the night, when the mansion fell asleep and only the guards prowled the halls, her chest tightened with a dangerous realization.

It wasn't just survival anymore.

It was temptation.

And she wasn't sure how much longer she could resist it.