I Adjusted the Boss’s Tie and Spotted the Assassin \u2014 What Happened Next Left Everyone Stunned
Part 2
Instead, I felt a large, warm hand grip my chin.
Vincent tilted my face up, forcing me to open my eyes and look at him.
His expression wasn’t angry.
It was intensely curious, like a man who had just discovered a hidden vault in a house he’d lived in his entire life.
“You’re shaking,” he noted, and the fact that he actually knew my name sent a fresh wave of shock through my system.
“I…
I…” I stammered, unable to form a coherent thought.
“You saw the safety,” Vincent murmured, his thumb brushing away a stray tear on my cheek.
“You saw the safety on a weapon concealed beneath a jacket from ten feet away while fixing my tie.
My two highest-paid guards didn’t see a damn thing.”
He let go of my chin and took a step back, looking me up and down.
For the first time in my life, a man’s gaze traveling over my heavy body didn’t feel dismissive or mocking.
It felt analytical, assessing my value.
“They don’t look at you, do they?” Vincent asked, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his lips.
“The men in this house, the guests, they look right through you.”
I nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“Yes sir.”
Vincent dropped the suppressed pistol onto the console table.
“Take off the apron.”
I blinked, confused.
“Sir?”
“You’re not cleaning floors anymore,” Vincent stated, his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate.
“From this second on, you don’t touch a mop.
You don’t touch a duster.”
He stepped closer, leaning down slightly so he was eye level with me.
The scent of sandalwood mixed with the sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood.
“You saved my life today,” Vincent said, his voice a low, intimate rumble.
“In my world, loyalty and observation are the only currencies that matter.
I need eyes that nobody else notices.”
He reached out and gently straightened the collar of my cheap maid’s uniform.
“You work directly for me now.
You’re my shadow.”
In the bloody aftermath of the driveway, an unlikely and terrifying partnership was forged.
I had just stepped out of the background and directly to the right hand of the devil himself.
Three months later, I no longer wore a polyester uniform.
I stood in the corner of a dimly lit subterranean private dining room at a restaurant in Greenwich Village.
I was draped in a custom-tailored deep burgundy pantsuit that Vincent had flown in a seamstress from Milan to design.
The garment draped beautifully over my frame, giving me the imposing silhouette of a queen rather than a servant.
The war with his uncle, Sal, had spilled onto the streets.
Tonight was a trap.
Vincent had called his three highest-ranking men to the restaurant under the guise of planning a massive strike.
At the table sat Leo, the extortion brute, Greg, the polished money launderer, and Frankie, Vincent’s childhood friend and current underboss.
I stood quietly by the vintage wine racks holding a silver tray with a crystal water pitcher.
I wasn’t listening to the words.
I was reading their bodies.
Frankie was nodding along to Vincent’s fake plans, a perfect mask of loyalty.
But my eyes dropped to his hands beneath the table.
He kept rolling an unlit cigar back and forth, and his foot was pointed directly toward the heavy velvet curtains covering the reinforced street-level window.
Frankie had casually rested his coat on the window sill earlier, creating a tiny half-inch gap in the fabric.
It was a gap that exposed a direct line of sight to Vincent’s skull.
I looked back at Frankie just as he subtly dragged his heavy crystal whiskey glass across the table.
He positioned it precisely in the center of the mahogany wood.
It was a marker, a reflection point for a laser sight.
Ice water flooded my veins as I realized Uncle Sal wasn’t waiting for tomorrow.
He had bought Frankie, and the hit was happening right now.
The sniper had a direct line of sight to Vincent’s skull, and I had a fraction of a second to act\u2014how could a girl like me outrun a bullet?
