Synopsis-
When Luca Romano, the mafia’s cold and calculated cleanup man, meets Sofia Marquez, a stubborn night janitor with a heart full of fire, sparks fly in the unlikeliest of places. As bloodstains and secrets threaten to pull them under, they discover that sometimes love is the mess worth keeping—and the only thing powerful enough to clean a broken past.
Chapter 1: Night Shift Strangers
The Romano Club didn’t sparkle in the moonlight—it gleamed under shadows. Gilded ceilings and velvet halls masked a darker underbelly, one Sofia Marquez wasn’t paid enough to think about. Armed with nothing but a mop, a cart of cleaning supplies, and earbuds blaring her favorite salsa playlist, she pushed open the service entrance just before midnight.
The halls were silent. Too silent. She paused for a second, pulling one earbud out.
First night jitters, she told herself. Big buildings always creaked louder at night.
She moved through the grand lobby, past polished marble floors and heavy mahogany doors, admiring chandeliers worth more than her entire life. Her reflection in the mirrored walls looked out of place—cheap sneakers, janitor uniform a size too big, and frizzy curls tied in a tired bun. Definitely not club clientele.
By the time she reached the private wing, her cart rattled annoyingly over uneven stone. This part of the club was supposed to be off-limits—reserved for Romano family business and high-rolling VIPs. But the hallway reeked of ammonia and something else—something metallic.
Curious despite herself, she reached for the knob of a half-open door and pushed.
Inside, dim overhead lights flickered. A Persian rug had been rolled hastily into a corner. The long table was smeared with something dark red. And in the middle of it all stood a man in black gloves and a designer coat, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing the hardwood floor with precise, methodical strokes.
His back was to her. She froze.
The man turned.
Steel-blue eyes locked onto hers. His face was expressionless, unreadable, but something in his gaze felt colder than the marble she stood on.
Sofia’s fingers tightened around her mop handle. “Um… I think I got the wrong room.”
He didn’t blink. “You did.”
She stepped back slowly. “Right. I’ll just… not look. Or breathe. Or tell anyone. Promise.”
“Too late. You already saw.”
Her heart stumbled. He stood now, tall and sharp-edged like a knife in human form. His hands, she noticed, weren’t trembling. Not even a little.
She swallowed. “I didn’t see anything. I mean—saw a guy cleaning. That’s not illegal. Pretty sure the blood is from… spilled wine. Really dark wine.”
Still no smile. No emotion.
“Don’t come back to this wing,” he said, voice like gravel. “Stick to the public floors.”
Sofia nodded rapidly. “Copy that. Message received. No more curious janitor moves.”
She turned to leave.
“Wait.”
She froze again.
He walked over, leaned down, and dipped her mop in the bucket of bloody water. “If anyone asks—this mess was yours. Floors are slippery tonight.”
She stared at him.
He winked.
And just like that, he returned to cleaning, as if she were a ghost passing through.
Outside the door, Sofia exhaled a shaky breath. “What the hell did I just walk into?”
Whatever it was, she had a feeling her night shifts were about to get a whole lot messier.
Chapter 2: Silence and Stubbornness
The next night, Sofia came armed—not with pepper spray or a plan, but with a steelier attitude and a flashlight tucked into her belt like a weapon. She hadn’t been able to sleep, replaying that moment in the private room over and over. Who was that guy? And why did she feel more intrigued than terrified?
The Romano Club was quiet again, the kind of quiet that made your ears ring. As she pushed her cart down the main hallway, her fingers itched with the need to investigate, to understand. But instead, she stuck to the east corridor, dutifully wiping down tables, spraying disinfectant, and trying not to think about gloved hands and crimson-streaked water.
Until she turned a corner and found him again.
Same man. Same gloves. Different mess.
He was crouched near the back door of the kitchen lounge this time, scrubbing the wall as if it had insulted his ancestors. The faint scent of bleach drifted toward her, mixing with the sharp tang of blood. Again.
She stopped short.
He didn’t even glance her way. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away?”
“You did,” Sofia said coolly, folding her arms. “But this is my cleaning zone. Unless you’ve been promoted to janitor, I’m afraid we’ll be coworkers tonight.”
That got a glance. His brows lifted slightly, as if he wasn’t used to people talking back—or talking at all.
“You should walk away,” he said, straightening. “Forget this hallway, forget last night.”
Sofia raised an eyebrow. “Or what? You’ll kill me with a mop?”
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “You’re not afraid of me?”
“Oh, I’m terrified,” she deadpanned. “But also kind of annoyed. This is a union job. If you’re going to keep scrubbing up blood, at least let me clock in for hazard pay.”
Now he fully turned to face her. Up close, she saw how calm he was—too calm. The kind of calm that came from doing terrible things too many times. But beneath it… there was something else. Weariness, maybe. Loneliness.
“What’s your name?” he asked quietly.
“Why? So you can write it on my headstone?”
“No,” he said. “So I know who to thank when you finally shut up.”
Sofia blinked, then barked a laugh. “Nice. Very charming. You must be a hit at parties.”
He crouched again and resumed scrubbing. “Sofia Marquez,” he murmured.
Her breath caught.
“You read it off my ID badge, didn’t you?” she asked.
“Three seconds after you walked in last night.”
“Creep.”
“Cleaner.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Is this your full-time gig? Mafia janitor with a God complex?”
That time, he did smile. Brief. Sharp. Gone in an instant.
“Go clean the lobby, Sofia.”
“No.”
He looked up. “No?”
She stepped closer, planting her mop beside his bucket. “Whatever you’re hiding, I don’t want in on it. But I’m not turning around just because you say so. I’ve had scarier bosses than you, buddy.”
Their eyes met.
Something shifted. A beat of silence that felt heavier than anything spoken. Then, without a word, he stood and backed away slightly, giving her space.
She bent down and picked up her own cloth. “Good. Let’s pretend none of this ever happened.”
As she scrubbed beside him, their shoulders nearly touching, Sofia felt it—the tension humming like a live wire between them.
Whatever he was, he wasn’t used to being challenged.
And she? She wasn’t about to be silenced.
Chapter 3: A Cleaner’s Code
Luca Romano lived by rules. Simple ones. Clean the mess. Keep your mouth shut. Get out before the blood dries.
It had worked for years.
He moved through the world like a shadow—efficient, invisible, always in control. His apartment was spotless, cold, and impersonal. His wardrobe: black, gray, darker gray. His meals: eaten standing, alone. He didn’t own a couch. Didn’t need one. Nobody ever visited.
But ever since the janitor showed up—Sofia with her wide eyes, sharper tongue, and mop like a battle flag—his clean lines had started to blur.
He told himself it was nothing. A blip. Just a woman with too many questions.
And yet… here he was again. In the security room, watching the grainy surveillance feed of her mopping near the ballroom, humming off-key, earbuds bouncing in her ears like she had nothing to worry about in the world.
Why did that infuriate him?
No, not infuriate. Confuse.
Luca leaned back in the leather chair, fingers steepled in thought. She hadn’t run. She hadn’t flinched. She’d stared down blood and bleach and danger—and cracked a joke while doing it.
That kind of courage didn’t belong in his world. Or maybe it didn’t belong in a person who still smiled like that.
Later that night, as Sofia wheeled her cart past the bar, she found him again—seated alone, polishing a whiskey glass he wasn’t drinking from.
“You again,” she muttered, grabbing her mop.
“You’re in my zone,” he replied, without looking up.
She gestured to her name tag. “Janitor of the Month. I go where I want.”
A pause. Then: “You missed a spot under the table.”
She blinked. “Did you just critique my mopping technique?”
“I clean up messes for a living,” he said, standing. “Yours are amateur.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Next time I stumble onto a murder scene, I’ll remember to bring the lemon-scented bleach.”
His expression didn’t change. But his eyes lingered on her just a beat too long. She felt it like static on her skin.
“Why are you still here?” he asked finally.
“I need the job,” she said simply. “Why are you still here?”
That quieted him.
Sofia leaned against her cart. “You act like someone who’s already disappeared. Like you’re only half-present, even when you’re standing right in front of me.”
Luca’s jaw clenched. “People like me don’t get to be present.”
She didn’t push. But she didn’t back off either.
“Do you like it?” she asked after a moment. “This life?”
“No.”
“Then why stay?”
His gaze hardened. “Because cleaning up after monsters is the only thing that makes me feel less like one.”
Sofia’s breath caught. There it was. The crack.
Not a confession. Not quite. But something real.
And for Luca, it was more honesty than he’d offered anyone in years.
That night, as he returned to his silent apartment, he noticed something new. A small smear of pink wax on his glove—bubblegum scented. From her mop bucket.
He didn’t wipe it off. Not right away.
Chapter 4: The Coffee Truce
It started with a paper cup.
Sofia spotted him hunched over in the dim staff lounge around 2 a.m., sleeves rolled up, arms streaked with cleaning fluid, dark hair damp at the edges like he’d been scrubbing sins off the tile floor. He didn’t see her at first. Or maybe he did and chose not to react—he was like that, unreadable, like a locked room with no key.
She walked in, two coffees in hand—one black, one with two sugars and a splash of milk.
Without a word, she slid the latter across the table.
Luca’s eyes flicked to the cup. Then to her. “What’s this?”
“A truce,” Sofia said, taking a sip of her own. “Or a bribe. Depending on how you want to interpret it.”
He studied her, then the coffee. Then her again. “I don’t drink sugar.”
“Yeah, well,” she said, plopping down in the chair across from him, “maybe tonight you do.”
He didn’t move.
“You always this suspicious, or am I just lucky?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t trust handouts,” he said flatly.
Sofia leaned back, arms crossed. “Then consider it a peace offering from one cleaner to another. Look, I don’t care what you’re mopping up around here. Not really. But I do know you work like a man with something to prove… or something to forget.”
That caught him off guard. His gaze dropped to the cup. Then slowly, he picked it up.
One sip.
His mouth twitched. “Too sweet.”
“That’s the point.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, the hum of an old vending machine filling the air. It wasn’t comfortable exactly, but it wasn’t awkward either.
She watched him as he cradled the coffee in both hands, as if the warmth surprised him.
“I’ve seen you watching the cameras,” she said quietly.
Luca didn’t deny it.
“Are you checking on me? Or just making sure I don’t open the wrong door again?”
He glanced at her, those cold eyes softening just slightly. “Both.”
She smirked. “You always this protective of people who annoy you?”
“You always this curious about men who could ruin your life?”
Sofia tilted her head. “Probably.”
He chuckled under his breath—a sound so faint it could’ve been the wind.
“I wasn’t supposed to talk to you,” he said, more to himself than to her. “But you keep talking anyway.”
“Then stop listening,” she challenged.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on the table, his gaze fixed on hers. “What are you really doing here, Sofia? This club isn’t for people like us.”
She held his stare. “I clean up messes. You do too. Maybe we’re exactly the kind of people this place is built for.”
He said nothing, but his jaw shifted like her words had landed somewhere deeper than either of them expected.
As she stood to leave, she nodded toward the cup in his hand. “Tomorrow night, same time. I’ll bring decaf, if that’s more your vibe.”
He didn’t say yes.
He didn’t say no either.
But the next night, when she walked into the lounge again—he was already there. Waiting.
Chapter 5: Blood and Broomsticks
The mop bucket rolled unevenly across the hallway, its wheels squeaking over the Romano Club’s polished floor. Sofia was humming to herself, her usual playlist filling one ear while the other stayed alert—just in case. She’d grown used to walking this tightrope: one foot in the world of bleach and Windex, the other brushing the edge of something darker.
Tonight, the air felt wrong.
The kind of wrong that hummed under your skin before your brain caught up.
She rounded the corner near the executive suite and stopped cold.
The door to room 3C was ajar. Light spilled out, pooling on the marble. Inside, she could hear the low scrape of something being dragged. Not hurried. Deliberate.
She should’ve turned around. Pretended she hadn’t seen it.
Instead, Sofia pushed the door open.
There he was again—Luca—on his knees, rolling up a rug. Blood bloomed across the floor like a cruel watercolor. A crumpled chair sat against the wall, and beside it, a shattered whiskey glass still dripped onto the carpet.
Sofia took a breath and stepped inside. “You missed a spot.”
Luca’s head snapped up, startled—but only for a moment. Then he sighed, like she was the world’s most persistent housefly. “I told you to stay in your section.”
She stepped over the threshold. “Yeah, well. Your mess is in mine now. I just waxed this floor yesterday.”
He stared at her, incredulous. “There’s a body in the hallway.”
“I didn’t say I liked the mess,” she replied, pulling a pair of gloves from her back pocket. “Just that it’s ruining my wax job.”
He blinked. “What are you doing?”
“Helping. Obviously.”
Luca stood, his voice low and edged with steel. “Sofia. You don’t want to be part of this.”
“You think I haven’t cleaned up after things I didn’t want to see?” she snapped, eyes flashing. “I grew up in a neighborhood where gunshots were our lullabies. I’ve cleaned blood off hospital tiles and vomit out of bus seats. Don’t act like you’re the only one who’s seen things.”
For a second, the silence between them was thick enough to drown in.
Then he handed her a rag.
Together, they worked.
It wasn’t graceful. She gagged once. He moved with military precision. She scrubbed the corner where blood had pooled behind the bar. He folded the rug and wrapped it in plastic.
She didn’t ask questions. He didn’t offer explanations.
It was, bizarrely, the most human moment Luca had experienced in years.
When they were nearly finished, Sofia leaned back on her heels and exhaled. “You need a better system. No offense, but your cleanup methods are very… 2006.”
Luca stared at her. “You realize helping me makes you complicit.”
“You’re cute when you’re worried,” she said, smirking.
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are. You’re cute and moody and probably going to give me nightmares.”
He tried to fight the smile. Failed. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe. But I clean a mean crime scene.”
When they finished, he walked her back to the lounge, silent the whole way. As she reached for the door, he spoke softly behind her.
“You shouldn’t have helped.”
She turned. “Too late.”
And before he could argue, she disappeared into the hallway, leaving behind only the faint scent of lemon cleaner and the ghost of her smile.
Chapter 6: Past Stains Don’t Fade Easily
The Romano Club always smelled faintly of money and secrets, but tonight, as Sofia wiped down the glass elevator doors, it just smelled… heavy. Like the walls were watching.
She leaned against her cart, staring out at the city lights beyond the thirty-fourth-floor window. Her reflection stared back—dark eyes tired, curls escaping her bun, uniform wrinkled from too many back-to-back shifts. She looked like a woman barely keeping it together.
Which, to be fair, she was.
The elevator dinged behind her. She didn’t turn.
“I’m off-duty,” she muttered. “If it’s another bloodbath, you’re mopping it yourself.”
Luca stepped beside her, holding two steaming cups.
She blinked. “You brought coffee?”
He handed her one wordlessly.
“Black. No sugar,” he said.
She looked down at it. “Let me guess—symbolic of your personality?”
He gave a quiet huff of amusement.
They stood together, side by side in the soft glow of the hallway, sipping coffee and saying nothing for a long while. It wasn’t awkward. Just… tentative. Like neither of them wanted to disturb the fragile quiet they’d built between mop buckets and midnight crime scenes.
After a while, she broke the silence.
“My mom used to say the worst stains are the ones you never see,” Sofia said softly. “Grief, shame, guilt. They soak deep, past the surface. You can scrub all you want, but they’re still there.”
Luca glanced at her, something unreadable in his expression. “She sounds wise.”
“She had to be. She raised me by herself after my dad bailed.” Sofia swallowed. “She was a hospital cleaner for twenty-seven years. Same shift I’m working now. Used to come home with cracked hands and stories she didn’t want to tell.”
Luca said nothing, but his grip on the cup tightened.
“She got sick last year. Real sick. The kind of sick that makes doctors look sad when they walk in the room.”
Now he looked at her, sharply.
“She’s the reason I’m here,” Sofia admitted. “The money’s good. Dangerous, maybe. But steady. And I can’t afford to be picky.”
Luca stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. Not just a girl with a mop and a sharp tongue—but someone carrying more than she ever let on.
He spoke, voice low. “You shouldn’t have to carry that alone.”
Sofia smiled, sad and soft. “Neither should you.”
He turned away, jaw tightening.
She tilted her head. “You don’t talk about your past.”
“There’s nothing worth talking about.”
“I doubt that,” she said. “People don’t become cleaners for the mafia because they ran out of options. They do it because something broke before the job ever found them.”
Silence again. Deeper, heavier this time.
Finally, Luca murmured, “I was seventeen when the Don pulled me off the street. I’d just… lost everything.”
Sofia didn’t ask what “everything” meant. She just nodded, letting the silence answer for him.
They stood there a while longer. Two people with broken pieces, finally brave enough to let one show.
When Sofia left to return to her rounds, she glanced back at him once.
Luca didn’t move.
But the half-full coffee cup still sat beside him on the railing.
Untouched, but no longer alone.
Chapter 7: The Dance Lesson
The storm hit just past midnight, swallowing the city in a curtain of rain. Thunder rattled the Romano Club’s windows like distant gunfire, and the lights flickered once… twice… then died.
Sofia stood in the ballroom holding her mop like a sword, the darkness stretching wide around her. The backup lights buzzed to life a moment later—dim golden glows from sconces along the walls. The grand chandelier above remained lifeless, casting eerie shadows over the glossy floor.
She sighed. “Of course. The one night I leave my flashlight in the supply closet.”
She turned to leave, only to find Luca standing in the doorway, the storm’s reflection dancing across his soaked jacket.
“You good?” he asked, his voice softer than the thunder but deeper somehow in the quiet room.
“Fine,” she said, wringing water from the hem of her sleeve. “Just me and my mop enjoying the mood lighting.”
He stepped inside, glancing around the cavernous ballroom. The rain tapped gently against the high windows, and somewhere in the distance, a branch knocked against the glass like a forgotten rhythm.
Sofia pulled out her phone and pressed play on her music. A slow, jazz-infused ballad floated through the silence.
“What are you doing?” Luca asked warily.
She offered a hand, eyebrows raised. “Teaching you something.”
He blinked. “I don’t dance.”
She stepped closer. “That explains the permanent scowl. Come on. It’s just one song. No blood, no bleach, just… this.”
Luca hesitated, then—almost against his will—took her hand. She placed his palm gently on her waist and guided his other hand to hers.
“Don’t look like I’ve just handed you a grenade,” she teased.
“I’ve held grenades with more confidence,” he muttered.
She laughed and started swaying them gently, her movements slow and easy. He was stiff at first, as if unused to touching anything with care. But her hands were patient, her smile disarming.
“You’re doing fine,” she said, voice low.
He exhaled. “You make it seem simple.”
“It is. It’s just one step… then another. Like breathing. Or cleaning. The rhythm finds you.”
They moved quietly under the dim glow, their shadows slipping across the polished floor like echoes of a softer life. The storm outside faded to a hush, the thunder now distant murmurs.
Her head tilted up toward his, their eyes meeting.
For a long moment, neither of them said a word. Her fingers were warm in his. His grip had softened. The song played on, something about falling too fast and not being afraid to land.
Luca leaned in—just slightly.
Sofia’s breath caught—but she didn’t pull away.
Then, just as their lips nearly met, the emergency lights flickered off… then on again, brighter this time.
The song ended.
And they both stepped back.
No words. Just a look. Loaded, unsure, impossibly gentle.
Sofia cleared her throat and bent down to grab her mop again.
“Well,” she said, trying to sound casual, “now you can’t say you’ve never danced.”
Luca said nothing.
But as he turned to leave, his lips curved into something rare—a smile.
And even though the ballroom lights had returned, neither of them noticed how much brighter the room suddenly felt.
Chapter 8: Cleaning with Secrets
Luca didn’t usually follow people.
He was the one who got followed—the one watched, whispered about, obeyed in silence. But tonight, he walked four careful paces behind Sofia Marquez as she weaved through the city’s backstreets in her oversized hoodie and janitor sneakers, her curly hair tucked under a knit cap like she wanted to disappear.
It wasn’t paranoia that made him tail her.
It was curiosity.
No—concern. That’s what he told himself.
She wasn’t on her usual route to the train. Instead, she moved through alleys with practiced ease, avoiding cameras, eyes down, phone off. Luca trailed her through narrow corridors between closed storefronts, across cracked sidewalks, and finally to a flickering neon sign above a tired-looking building: St. Jude’s Community Hospital.
She slipped through a side door without hesitation.
Luca waited ten minutes before stepping into the shadow of the loading dock, tucked behind an ambulance that hadn’t moved in weeks. From there, he watched her enter a ward through a glass-paneled hallway—her expression softer, slower, like the mask she wore at the club had cracked.
She greeted the nurse at the front desk with a familiarity that spoke of routine. Not obligation.
Care.
After thirty minutes, she emerged from the room at the far end, wiping her eyes. A nurse handed her a brown paper bag. Sofia hugged her, then tucked the bag under her arm and left the same way she came.
Luca didn’t follow her home. He didn’t need to.
Back at the Romano Club, he waited in the ballroom where they had danced just days before. When she arrived, her expression was guarded. Tired. Less spark, more shadow.
“You followed me,” she said without preamble.
He nodded once. No excuses.
“Why?”
“Because I needed to know,” he said. “You said you needed the job. You didn’t say your mother was dying.”
Sofia froze.
The silence stretched.
“Don’t,” she said finally, voice shaking with quiet steel. “Don’t you dare use her as a reason to pity me.”
“I don’t pity you,” Luca replied. “I respect you.”
She blinked, taken aback. Then narrowed her eyes. “You don’t get to dig through my life like it’s just another mess you’re cleaning up.”
He stepped closer. “You’re hiding something. You’ve been hiding it for weeks. I needed to know how deep you’re in.”
“In what?” she snapped. “Debt? Desperation? A system that doesn’t give a damn about people like us?”
He didn’t answer.
Sofia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She’s all I have. I’m not ashamed of that. And if it means I mop up blood in a gilded club filled with men like you, so be it.”
Luca looked at her then—really looked. She was trembling, not from fear, but from the weight of carrying too much for too long.
He nodded. “Then let me help.”
She laughed bitterly. “You? Help? What, are you gonna threaten the cancer cells with a gun?”
“No. But I know people. I know money. And I know how to make things move that are stuck.”
She stared at him, defiant tears glistening in her eyes.
And for the first time, she didn’t have a comeback.
Just silence.
Just breath.
Just two broken people standing in a ballroom where secrets echoed louder than footsteps.
She turned to leave, then paused at the door.
“Next time you want to know something about me,” she said, voice tight, “just ask. I’m not your problem to solve, Romano.”
He didn’t stop her.
But as the door swung shut behind her, Luca felt something inside him shift.
This wasn’t just curiosity anymore.
It was care.
And care was far more dangerous.
Chapter 9: A Soft Spot in the Shadows
The Romano Club never slept, but it knew how to hold its breath. Tonight, the hallways were quiet in that tense, stretched-thin way—like even the ghosts were listening.
Luca stood in the surveillance room, the glow of monitors flickering across his face. His eyes weren’t on the poker tables or the high-rollers sipping bourbon. They were fixed on the janitor’s closet near the staff lounge, where Sofia was curled up on an overturned bucket, forehead resting against her knees.
She hadn’t noticed the camera above her. Or maybe she had, and just didn’t care anymore.
He found her there fifteen minutes later, silent as a shadow. She didn’t flinch when he entered.
“You come here to check on the mop inventory?” she asked, not lifting her head.
“I came because I figured you’d be here.”
Sofia looked up slowly. Her face was pale, her eyes swollen from crying she hadn’t wanted anyone to see.
Luca crouched beside her, forearms resting on his knees. “What happened?”
She shook her head. “Bad news from the hospital. Mom’s… not responding to treatment. They want to start talking about options.”
He didn’t speak. He didn’t offer empty comfort.
He just stayed.
Sofia wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her uniform. “You ever have someone who was your entire world? Like… without them, you’re not sure who you are?”
Luca nodded, slowly. “I did.”
She looked at him then, really looked. “What happened to them?”
For a long beat, he didn’t answer.
Then: “I lost them. In a fire. I was a kid. I couldn’t save them.”
Sofia’s breath caught.
He kept his eyes down. “That’s why I started cleaning up messes. Because there was one I couldn’t fix. Not when it mattered.”
A silence settled between them, not heavy, but full. Like shared grief that didn’t need to be explained.
She placed a hand on his forearm.
Not dramatic. Not lingering. Just warm and human and real.
“It’s still beating,” she whispered.
His eyes met hers. Confused. Vulnerable.
“Your heart,” she clarified. “Under all the stone. It’s still beating.”
For a man used to blood and silence, the softness in her voice landed like a punch.
He swallowed hard, then nodded once.
They stayed like that for a while—two people used to being alone, finding something steady in each other’s presence. Not passion. Not flirtation.
Just peace.
And for Luca Romano, that was far more intimate than any kiss could’ve been.
Chapter 10: The Don’s Warning
The Don rarely summoned anyone twice in one week.
So when Luca entered the study and found Don Marcello seated behind his antique desk, cigar smoldering, expression unreadable, he already knew this meeting wouldn’t be about logistics or cleanup schedules.
It would be about Sofia.
“Sit,” the Don said without looking up, fingers turning a silver lighter over in his hand like a coin.
Luca remained standing.
The Don’s eyes lifted slowly. “I said sit.”
Luca obeyed, settling into the chair opposite him, jaw tight.
Marcello took a long drag from his cigar. “Tell me something, Luca. You remember why I chose you all those years ago?”
Luca said nothing.
“You were loyal,” the Don continued. “Efficient. And most importantly… invisible. A man who knew his place in the shadows. Who kept emotion out of the business.”
He leaned forward now, elbows on the desk. “So imagine my surprise when I hear from three different sources that our stoic little cleaner has developed a… fondness for the janitor girl.”
Luca’s jaw twitched. “She keeps her mouth shut.”
“Does she?” Marcello asked, cocking a brow. “Or are you too blinded to see the risk?”
Luca stayed silent.
Marcello sat back with a sigh. “I’m not heartless, Luca. I understand temptation. God knows we all crave softness in this life. But you… you don’t get to have distractions. You chose this path. You’re part of the machine.”
“She’s not a distraction,” Luca said, voice low.
The Don’s gaze sharpened. “Then what is she?”
Luca looked him square in the eye. “She’s the first thing in years that makes me feel like I’m not already buried.”
A tense silence followed.
Marcello stubbed out his cigar. “Then bury her. Or walk away.”
Luca stiffened.
The Don’s voice lowered. “If she keeps hovering near our business, it won’t be me who makes that call. There are men here who don’t ask questions. Men who wouldn’t hesitate.”
The implication was clear.
“Don’t put me in a position to clean up her mess, Luca. You understand?”
Luca nodded once. Stiff. Controlled.
But inside, a war had begun.
That night, as he stood on the rooftop of the club, overlooking the city, rain misting down, Luca replayed the warning over and over. Walk away. Protect her. Keep her safe by breaking her heart.
The problem was… Sofia had already gotten too close.
And Luca Romano didn’t know how to un-feel what had already taken root.
Chapter 11: The Clean Break
Sofia was humming softly to herself in the linen closet, folding fresh towels with the precision of someone desperate for normalcy. The scent of lemon cleaner clung to the air, warm and familiar. She was trying not to think about hospitals, about bills piling up in her coat pocket, or about Luca Romano’s steady gaze that lingered a second too long the night before.
When she turned around, he was standing in the doorway.
He looked different.
Too composed. Too cold.
Like the man she’d first met in that blood-soaked room, not the one who’d danced with her in the shadows or held her gaze like it meant something.
“Hey,” she greeted, smiling cautiously. “You here for a towel? Sorry, only got the fluffy kind.”
He didn’t smile.
Sofia’s own dropped. “What’s wrong?”
Luca stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His hands stayed in his coat pockets. His eyes wouldn’t meet hers.
“I need you to stop talking to me.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“This—” he gestured vaguely between them “—was a mistake. It can’t happen again.”
Sofia let out a stunned laugh. “What are you talking about? Is this some kind of weird mood swing, or—?”
“You don’t belong in this world,” he cut in, voice clipped. “You were never supposed to. I let my guard down, and that was a failure. On my part.”
Her face paled. “A failure?”
“I clean up messes, Sofia. That’s it. And you… you were becoming one.”
The words sliced like knives. Too sharp. Too calculated.
Her heart pounded. “You’re doing this to protect me, aren’t you?”
“I’m doing this because I don’t care about you,” he said flatly.
Silence. Crushed. Absolute.
She stared at him, lips parting, but no words came.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Message received.”
She brushed past him, the scent of bleach trailing behind her like a curtain falling. But just before she stepped out, she looked back once.
“Funny thing is… I never asked you to care. I just thought you did.”
The door clicked shut.
And Luca stood alone in the linen closet, fists clenched in his coat pockets, staring at the folded towels like they might undo what he’d just said.
They wouldn’t.
Because some stains don’t wash out—no matter how hard you scrub.
Chapter 12: A Janitor’s Uprising
The ballroom was quiet again, unnervingly so. Sofia hadn’t stepped foot into the private wings since Luca’s cold dismissal. But tonight, something tugged at her—a whisper of unease, a pull she couldn’t explain.
She had returned to cleaning like nothing had happened, like her heart hadn’t cracked in a utility closet under fluorescent lights. But the way Luca had looked at her before shutting it all down… it hadn’t matched the words he said. It never did.
So when she saw a trail of muddy footprints leading into the Don’s restricted office—a place even most made men avoided—curiosity edged out caution.
She knocked once. No answer.
Inside, the room was dim, lit only by a desk lamp. Papers were scattered across the surface, half-buried beneath thick ledgers. A drawer sat half-open, just enough for her to glimpse a stack of invoices, and a familiar logo stamped in the corner: St. Jude’s Medical Finance Division.
Her heart stopped.
She reached in, hands trembling, and pulled the ledger free. It was filled with scribbled names, untraceable accounts, payment schedules—and line items for medical supply “donations” to various clinics. Including St. Jude’s.
Blood money. Disguised as generosity.
Her mother’s care, her chemotherapy, the discounted hospital bills—paid by the Don. Or more accurately, laundered through the Don’s empire.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, her breath thick with fury, before footsteps echoed down the hallway. Heavy. Purposeful.
Sofia shoved the ledger into her cleaning bag and stepped behind the door just as it opened.
One of the Don’s lieutenants strode in, muttering into his phone. “Yeah, she doesn’t know anything. Just some poor girl working nights. If Romano’s still sweet on her, he better handle it before someone else does.”
Sofia’s stomach twisted.
She waited until he left.
Then she ran.
Back in the janitor’s lounge, her hands shook as she dropped the ledger onto the table and stared at it. Proof. Dangerous proof.
There was only one person who could make sense of it—who might actually do something before someone did something to her.
Against every ounce of pride, she picked up the burner phone Luca had slipped into her locker weeks ago.
One number. One chance.
When he picked up, she didn’t wait.
“I found something,” she said. “Something bad. About the Don. About my mom. And about you.”
A pause on the line.
Then his voice, calm and terrifying in its focus: “Where are you?”
She hesitated. “Why?”
“Because if what you found is real… you’re already in danger.”
Her heart thudded.
“Then come quick, Romano,” she whispered. “Because I’m not going down without a fight.”
Chapter 13: Bleach, Guns, and Heartbeats
The Romano Club no longer felt like a fortress—it felt like a trap.
Luca arrived within twenty minutes of Sofia’s call, the tension in his shoulders like coiled steel. He said nothing as she thrust the ledger into his hands, her eyes burning with equal parts fear and fury.
“They’ve been using medical donations to funnel money,” she said, her voice tight. “To hospitals. Including mine. Including my mom’s.”
Luca’s fingers tightened around the ledger.
“You knew?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Tell me you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t,” he said, eyes flicking through the pages. “But I should have.”
That was all it took to confirm her worst fear—that she had been nothing more than a pawn in the Don’s game. Her dignity, her desperation, her trust—all wrapped in the blood money that had kept her mother alive.
Suddenly, the hallway outside filled with movement. A rush of voices. Boots.
Luca’s head snapped up. “They know.”
He grabbed her wrist. “Come with me. Now.”
They ran.
Through the back corridors, past linen closets and private rooms, through the kitchen where two sous chefs paused mid-argument to stare. The emergency exit was blocked—two armed men stationed there already.
“They’re boxing us in,” Luca muttered, pulling Sofia behind a rack of dry goods in the pantry. “The Don must’ve gotten wind the ledger was missing.”
Sofia’s voice trembled. “What do we do?”
Luca reached beneath his coat and pulled out a pistol, handing her a smaller one. “We make a mess. Then we clean it up.”
She stared at the weapon like it might explode in her hand. “I mop floors. Not people.”
“You’re not going to use it. You’re just going to hold it and look like you mean it.”
Her hands trembled, but she nodded.
Luca moved first, a silent ghost in a place he knew too well. One man fell with a single strike—clean, efficient. Another was disarmed and shoved into the freezer. Sofia followed close, heart hammering, the weight of the gun and the truth pressing equally heavy on her chest.
By the time they reached the underground garage, the club was in chaos—alarms ringing, doors slamming, confused voices on radios.
A black SUV waited near the exit. Luca threw open the door and motioned for her to get in.
“Where are we going?” Sofia asked as he slammed the gas pedal.
“Somewhere they can’t find you,” he said. “Somewhere quiet.”
Sofia turned to him, eyes wide. “You’re leaving everything behind for this?”
“For you,” he said. “For the only person who ever looked at me like I wasn’t already damned.”
The city lights blurred around them, a streak of gold and fear and freedom.
They didn’t speak again until they crossed the city limits.
And when Sofia finally exhaled, it felt like the first real breath she’d taken in years.
Chapter 14: A Cottage and a Mop
The cottage was nothing like the Romano Club.
There were no chandeliers, no velvet curtains, no whispers of power in the walls. Just old wooden beams, creaky floorboards, and the distant sound of waves rolling onto the rocky shore.
Sofia stood barefoot in the tiny kitchen, sunlight spilling across the counter as she poured coffee into mismatched mugs. One had a chip in the handle; the other had a faded cartoon mop printed on it. She’d found it at a roadside thrift store and insisted it was destiny.
Luca entered from the back door, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. His sleeves were rolled up, hair tousled from the wind, a smear of oil across his cheek.
“You fixed the generator again,” Sofia said, handing him the mug.
He took it with a nod. “For now. It’s temperamental. Like someone else I know.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Was that a joke, Romano?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
They sat on the porch steps, looking out at the quiet stretch of coastline. The salty breeze tugged at her curls. She closed her eyes and let it wash over her.
“I still don’t know how this is real,” she murmured. “A month ago, I was scrubbing blood off marble. Now I’m… here. With you. Eating fresh bread and arguing over laundry detergent.”
Luca glanced sideways. “You still use too much of it.”
“It smells like lemons. That’s the whole point.”
He gave the faintest smile. It wasn’t the smirk he wore at the club—the one layered in control. This one was soft. Honest.
They had no phones. No ties. Just enough cash stashed in a floorboard to keep them going and a little white truck that Luca repaired with quiet satisfaction on the weekends.
Sofia had found work cleaning a cozy seaside inn. The kind of place where guests left thank-you notes and chocolate tips. She liked it there. No blood. No secrets. Just dust and warm sun on clean sheets.
And Luca… he was learning how to live.
He built shelves. He planted herbs. He fixed things that didn’t scream or bleed. Sometimes, he watched her mop the floors and said nothing—but in the quiet way he smiled, she knew he saw the poetry in it now too.
They didn’t talk much about the past. The Don. The club. The escape.
But some nights, when the wind howled through the cracks in the windows and she stirred in her sleep, Luca would wrap his arms around her and whisper, “You’re safe.”
And every morning after, she’d wake up to fresh coffee, folded laundry, and the quiet certainty that whatever mess they’d left behind—this was the life they’d chosen to build.
One quiet morning. One soft mop. One new beginning at a time.
Chapter 15: Clean Slate, Full Heart
The morning sun poured through the cottage windows, casting golden light across the wooden floor. Sofia was on her knees by the fireplace, humming quietly as she scrubbed soot from the brick with a worn brush. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, and her sleeves were rolled past her elbows. She looked peaceful. Content. Home.
Luca stood in the doorway, watching her with a small, quiet smile tugging at his mouth.
“You’re going to clean the soul out of that fireplace,” he said.
She looked up, mock-offended. “It’s called elbow grease. You should try it sometime.”
“I do. Weekly. On your truck.”
“My truck?” she laughed. “Please. That hunk of metal is basically yours now.”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he stepped closer, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans.
“I, uh…” He cleared his throat, suddenly uncharacteristically unsure. “I wanted to ask you something.”
Sofia sat back on her heels, brow raised. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to confess to a crime.”
“Technically, I already have. Multiple.”
“True. Carry on.”
He knelt in front of her and held out a small, carefully wrapped package. Inside was something shiny and ridiculous—a gold-plated mop handle, polished and gleaming like a trophy.
Sofia blinked, then burst into laughter. “What is this?”
“Your engagement gift,” he said quietly.
She looked up, heart catching.
Luca’s voice was steady now. “You once said we both clean up messes. I want to keep doing that—with you. Not just blood and floors. But the kind that builds a life. The kind that makes things better.”
She stared at him, eyes wide and wet. “Is this your way of proposing?”
“I don’t have a ring,” he admitted. “But I figured this was more your style.”
Sofia threw her arms around him, nearly knocking the mop handle out of his hands.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Of course, yes.”
They stayed like that for a long while—knees pressed into the warm wood floor, her laughter tangled with his quiet sigh of relief, the gold-plated mop glinting beside them like a ridiculous, perfect symbol of everything they had survived.
Later, as the waves rolled gently onto the shore and a breeze carried the scent of lemon cleaner through the open windows, Sofia whispered, “We really did clean up the Don’s mess, didn’t we?”
Luca kissed her temple. “And built something beautiful out of it.”
Their past would always be there—bloodstained and shadowed—but their future was bright, real, and warm. And in each other, they had found the one thing neither of them ever expected:
A clean slate.
And a full heart.
THE END
