Chapter 1 - THE CONTRACT
The ballroom did not recover after Damiano took Mia’s hand.
Whispers followed them across the marble floor.
Some guests sounded amused.
Others sounded offended.
The most powerful man in New York had interrupted a gathering of the five families for a maid’s daughter.
To them, kindness was not kindness.
It was weakness displayed beneath a chandelier.
Damiano stopped near the grand staircase.
He looked down at Mia.
“Where is your mother?”
Mia pointed toward the service corridor.
“She told me to wait in the kitchen.”
“And you did not.”
Mia lowered her eyes.
“I waited for a long time.”
“How long?”
“Until the cake came out.”
Damiano almost smiled.
“That is not a measurement of time.”
“It is when you are eight.”
Rafael covered a cough.
Damiano gave him a warning look.
Then he led Mia through the service doors.
The kitchen fell silent when he entered.
Chefs stopped cutting vegetables.
Servers lowered silver trays.
A young woman wearing a plain black housekeeping dress stood near the pantry.
Her face became white when she saw Mia holding Damiano’s hand.
“Mia.”
She rushed forward.
“I told you not to leave the kitchen.”
“I found a daddy.”
The woman’s steps stopped.
Damiano studied her.
She was perhaps thirty.
Dark hair was pinned at the back of her neck.
A pale scar crossed her right wrist.
Her name badge read SOFIA BELLINI.
“You are the child’s mother?”
Sofia pulled Mia toward her.
“Yes.”
“Why was she alone?”
“I was working.”
“You brought her to a gathering of armed men?”
“I had no one to watch her.”
Rafael entered behind Damiano.
“You should have informed the house manager.”
Sofia looked at him.
“I did.”
Rafael’s expression changed.
“Who denied the request?”
“Mr. Marchetti.”
Damiano became still.
Silvio controlled none of the staff inside the Verrone estate.
He had no authority to decide whether Mia could remain in the kitchen.
Yet someone had obeyed him.
Damiano glanced toward the security camera above the pantry door.
“Rafael.”
“I’ll pull the footage.”
Sofia tightened one arm around Mia.
“We will leave.”
“No.”
The word stopped her.
Damiano crouched until he was level with Mia again.
“You asked to borrow me tomorrow.”
Mia nodded.
“A contract is not canceled because adults become nervous.”
Sofia stared at him.
“You cannot come to her school.”
“I gave my word.”
“You do not understand.”
“Then explain.”
Her eyes moved toward the kitchen workers.
“Not here.”
Damiano stood.
He ordered the kitchen cleared.
Within seconds, only Damiano, Rafael, Sofia, and Mia remained.
Sofia removed the red construction-paper heart from Mia’s hand.
She turned it over.
Something had been written on the back in blue ink.
A name.
ISABELLA VERRONE.
Damiano stopped breathing.
Isabella had been his wife.
Three years earlier, her car exploded on a road outside Westchester.
She had been seven months pregnant.
The doctors told him neither she nor the baby survived.
Damiano took the paper from Sofia.
“Why does my wife’s name appear on my child’s drawing?”
Sofia looked toward Mia.
The little girl was humming quietly as she traced the crooked edge of the heart.
“She found that name inside an old photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“One Isabella gave me.”
Damiano’s voice became colder.
“You knew my wife?”
“I worked for her.”
“You were not listed among her staff.”
“I was not her maid.”
Sofia touched the scar on her wrist.
“I was her nurse.”
Rafael slowly reached inside his jacket.
Not for a weapon.
For his phone.
Damiano raised one hand.
“No calls.”
Rafael stopped.
Damiano looked directly at Sofia.
“Why would Isabella give you a photograph?”
“Because she believed someone inside your family wanted her dead.”
The kitchen seemed to lose all warmth.
Mia moved closer to Sofia.
Damiano’s fingers tightened around the paper heart.
“Who?”
Sofia’s eyes filled with fear.
“She never told me the name.”
“She only told me what to do if the baby survived.”
Damiano looked at Mia.
The child stared back with Isabella’s brown eyes.
For three years, he had dreamed of those eyes.
He had watched them disappear each morning when he woke.
Now they were standing in his kitchen.
Alive.
Hope was more dangerous than any gun pointed at his chest.
“Say it clearly,” he ordered.
Sofia’s voice broke.
“Mia is not my biological daughter.”
Damiano did not move.
May you like
Sofia placed both hands on the little girl’s shoulders.
“She is yours.”
