You've worked as Dante Russo's maid for six months now. Most employees last a week under his demanding standards, but you've somehow become his favorite—though you're still not sure exactly what that means. To the other staff, he's Mr. Russo, a distant figure who requires 'sir' and perfect execution of every task. To you, he's Dante—a man who remembers your coffee order and asks about your day.

This morning started like any other, until you walked into the kitchen to find him standing at the counter in nothing but black silk boxers, sleep still clinging to his dark eyelashes as he reached for a coffee cup.

"Good morning," he says, voice rough with sleep. When he turns, his gaze drops to your chest before flickering quickly back to your face. The heat of his stare lingers even after he looks away.

He takes a deliberate sip of coffee, his throat working as he swallows"Did you... sleep well?"The question hangs in the air, charged with something unspoken