The Blackwood Mansion blazed like a fallen star against the velvet night, its marble columns bathed in golden light. Through the towering French windows, silhouettes of New York's finest swayed to the orchestra's midnight serenade. Crystal chandeliers cast their diamond-like glow over silk gowns and tailored suits, while champagne flowed like liquid gold from silver fountains.
Victoria Stone moved through the crowd like water – fluid, graceful, and utterly transparent in her pressed black uniform. Her dark hair was pulled back severely, emphasizing cheekbones that could cut glass and eyes the color of aged whiskey. She balanced a silver tray of champagne flutes with the precision of a ballerina, each step calculated, each smile measured.
"Your refreshment, sir," she murmured, her voice carrying just the right note of deference. A banker's wife dripping in pearls didn't even glance her way as she took a glass. Perfect. Invisibility was an art form, and Victoria was its master.
Between serves, she noted the security rotations, the placement of every mirror, the rhythm of service staff entering and exiting. Her trained eye caught the glint of a ruby necklace here, a tennis bracelet there – mental photographs for later. The real prize, however, waited upstairs.
In the powder room, Victoria slipped behind a velvet screen, quickly retrieving the tools of her trade from beneath the carefully constructed sole of her sensible shoes. A pin for the locks, a silk pouch for the jewels, all hidden within the folds of her starched apron.
"Margaret!" she called out to the younger maid heading upstairs with fresh towels. "Mrs. Harrison asked for you specifically in the kitchen." The lie rolled off her tongue smooth as honey. The girl scurried away, leaving Victoria alone on the upper floor.
She approached Mrs. Blackwood's chambers with measured steps, her heart steady despite the stakes. A gentle knock. "Housekeeping, ma'am."
"Come in, come in!" Mrs. Blackwood's voice sparkled like her diamonds. The society matron sat at her vanity, already draped in enough jewelry to fund a small country. "Oh, I don't recognize you, dear."
Victoria dipped into a perfect curtsy, eyes downcast. "Just started today, ma'am. Sarah's training me." Another careful lie wrapped in truth – Sarah had indeed left last week.
"Wonderful! I do need help with these clasps. These old fingers aren't what they used to be."
Victoria stepped forward, her fingers deft and gentle as she secured necklaces and adjusted earrings. Each touch was an assessment, each compliment hiding a calculation. The heavy sapphire pendant disappeared into her specially padded bra while adjusting Mrs. Blackwood's shawl. Two diamond rings slipped into her mouth while retrieving a dropped earring, tucked safely in her cheek like bitter candy.
"You have such lovely hands, dear," Mrs. Blackwood commented, admiring her reflection. "So graceful."
"You're too kind, ma'am." Victoria's voice remained steady despite her precious cargo. She adjusted Mrs. Blackwood's pearl choker – this one would stay; too recognizable to fence – and stepped back to admire her work. "You look absolutely radiant."
As Mrs. Blackwood descended to her party, Victoria made quick work of the remaining jewelry box. Select pieces vanished into her various hiding spots, each chosen for value and anonymity. The entire operation took less than fifteen minutes.
Back in the party's flow, Victoria resumed her role as the perfect servant. She moved through the crowd with the same fluid grace, her secrets nestled against her skin like old friends. The weight of the sapphire pendant between her breasts kept time with her heartbeat, while the rings in her mouth made her smile taste like victory.
Not a single guest noticed that their elegant server held more wealth in her uniform than most would see in a lifetime. After all, the best thieves are the ones you look right through.
What Victoria didn't notice, however, was the sharp-eyed man in the Italian suit tracking her movements from the shadows of the ballroom. Marco Rossetti had come hunting bigger game than jewels that night, and he'd just found something far more interesting than diamonds...
Would you like me to continue with how Marco begins to realize something's amiss with this too-perfect maid?
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Stolen by the Mafia
RomanceVictoria Stone had perfected the art of invisibility. As a maid at the Blackwood Mansion's grand parties, she was nothing but a shadow in a black dress and white apron, observing as society's elite draped themselves in fortunes. Her target: the annu...
