Chapter 1 THE MAFIA KING’S FIANCÉE CALLED THE MAID’S LITTLE GIRL A SERVANT’S BRAT—THEN HE PUT HIS RING IN THE MAID’S PALM AND SAID, “TOUCH MY WIFE AGAIN AND LOSE EVERYTHING”
THE MAFIA KING’S FIANCÉE CALLED THE MAID’S LITTLE GIRL A SERVANT’S BRAT—THEN HE PUT HIS RING IN THE MAID’S PALM AND SAID, “TOUCH MY WIFE AGAIN AND LOSE EVERYTHING”
Maria Delgado knew better than to bring a child into a room full of wolves.
But that night, she had no choice.
Her sister was sick. The babysitter canceled. Her manager at the Belladonna Club told her if she left, she should not bother coming back Monday.
So Maria stood near the service entrance of the forty-second-floor ballroom with her three-year-old daughter on her hip, praying the richest and most dangerous people in Chicago would not notice them.
The room glittered like a jewel box.
White roses.
Champagne towers.
Diamonds.
Soft voices discussing judges, contracts, senators, and shipments like all of it was polite dinner conversation.
At the center stood Marcus Elliot.
Billionaire.
Security empire founder.
King of Chicago’s underworld, though no one said that word aloud.
Maria feared him.
Respected him.
And hated herself for noticing the way he crouched when he spoke to Lily.
That was the dangerous part.
Lily wore a secondhand red velvet dress Maria had altered after midnight. In one small fist, she held a folded drawing for “Mr. Mar,” because she still could not say Marcus.
Then Marcus appeared beside them.
His gray eyes moved from Maria’s face to Lily’s dress.
“What happened?” he asked.
Maria forced a smile. “Only a scheduling problem.”
His gaze sharpened.
He heard the lie.
Before he could answer, the room turned.
Victoria Hargrove had arrived in silver silk and diamonds, Marcus’s fiancée, beautiful as cut glass and twice as cold.
Her eyes landed on Lily.
“Marcus,” she said, her smile still perfect. “Why is there a child at our engagement party?”
Maria’s arms tightened.
Marcus said, “Maria had an emergency.”
“Maria,” Victoria repeated. “The maid.”
“I’m his house manager,” Maria said before she could stop herself.
Victoria looked at her like she had stepped on something.
“A distinction that matters only to you, I imagine.”
The ballroom went quiet enough to hear Maria’s breath catch.
Then Lily slid from her mother’s arms and walked across the marble floor, holding up her folded drawing.
“I made a picture,” she said.
Victoria looked down.
“Do not touch my dress.”
Lily’s hand lowered.
Maria felt something inside her crack.
She had swallowed insults before.
But her daughter did not know how to be small yet.
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