**THE MAFIA BOSS STOPPED HIS ENGAGEMENT TOAST WHEN HE SAW ME SERVING DINNER WITH PINK FROSTING SMEARED ACROSS MY BLACK MAID'S UNIFORM AND A BROKEN NUMBER-EIGHT BIRTHDAY CANDLE IN MY APRON POCKET—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE DROPPED HER DAUGHTER'S CAKE BEHIND THE KITCHEN FREEZER,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY I WAS CRYING.**

“What did she say, Mom?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. I stood frozen in the middle of our cramped kitchen, one hand resting on the smooth white cardboard of the bakery box Luca had given me.

My mother, wearing her faded blue cardigan, looked incredibly old in the harsh overhead light. She wrung her hands together, a nervous habit she’d had since I was a child.

“Rachel, I didn't want to tell you while you were upset,” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “But that woman… Miss Bellini. When she came to the door, she was furious. She shoved that little sugar flower into Sophie’s hand and told her it was a lesson.”

“A lesson in what?”

“In knowing your place,” my mother said, her eyes welling with tears. “And then, when Sophie ran to her room crying, Vanessa looked right at me. She said, ‘Tell Rachel she doesn't just lose her job on Monday. She loses her reputation. I’m going to call every estate management agency in Chicago and tell them she was caught stealing from my purse. Nobody will hire a thief.’”

The kitchen tilted.

A thief.

In the world of high-end domestic service, trust was the only currency that mattered. If Vanessa Bellini started a rumor that I stole from the guests, I wouldn't just be fired; I’d be blacklisted. I wouldn't be able to clean houses, work in hotels, or even get a job scrubbing floors in a restaurant. She was going to cut off my only source of income, my only way to feed Sophie.

“She can't do that,” I whispered, panic rising in my throat. “I’ve never taken a dime from the Moretti estate. Mrs. Carter knows that. Luca knows that.”

“Rachel, she’s his fiancée,” my mother said, stepping closer and taking my cold hands in hers. “Rich people protect their own. If she says you stole, who are they going to believe? A wealthy socialite or a single mother making minimum wage?”

I looked down at Sophie, who was now happily inspecting the perfect strawberry cake, completely unaware that our entire livelihood was hanging by a thread.

Vanessa’s cruelty was staggering. She hadn't just wanted to punish me for wanting to be with my daughter; she wanted to destroy me for having the audacity to disobey her.

“Mom, stay here with Sophie,” I said, a sudden, cold resolve settling over me. “Eat the dinner. Light the candles. I have to go back.”

“Rachel, no!” my mother gasped. “It’s past eight o'clock. The engagement party is over. You can't go back there tonight. They’ll call the police!”

“Luca told me to take tomorrow off,” I said, moving toward the door and grabbing my coat. “If I wait until Monday, Vanessa will have already made the calls. The agencies open at eight A.M. I have to tell him tonight.”

“He won't listen to you over her!” my mother pleaded.

I paused with my hand on the doorknob. I thought about the way Luca had looked at Vanessa when he realized she had lied. I thought about the way he had gently placed the broken candle back in my hand.

“He broke the engagement, Mom,” I said quietly.

My mother blinked in shock. “What?”

“Before I left. He broke it off. He told her to pack her things.”

I opened the door and stepped out into the chilly October night. I didn't have a car—Luca’s driver had dropped me off, and I usually took the bus. The nearest bus stop was three blocks away, and the ride back to the Gold Coast would take forty minutes.

I ran the entire way to the bus stop.

The ride was agonizingly slow. The city lights blurred past the dirty windows as I sat in the back, clutching my purse, my mind racing. If Vanessa was packing her things, she might already be gone. If she was gone, she could start making calls tonight. I needed Luca to intervene. I needed him to protect my name.

When the bus finally hissed to a stop three blocks from the Moretti estate, I practically leaped out the doors.

The mansion looked entirely different than it had two hours ago. The catering vans were gone. The florists’ trucks were gone. The grand circular driveway was empty, save for Luca’s sleek black sedan parked near the front steps. The engagement dinner had ended abruptly.

I hurried up the wide stone steps and hesitated before the massive oak doors. I didn't have my staff keys; I had left them in my locker when I changed out of my uniform.

I took a deep breath and pressed the brass doorbell.

For a long moment, nothing happened. I was about to ring it again when the door clicked and swung open.

It wasn't Mrs. Carter or Daniel, the security chief.

It was Vanessa.

She wasn't wearing the red silk gown anymore. She was wearing a tailored black trench coat, holding a leather designer overnight bag. Her blonde hair was slightly messy, and her makeup was smudged beneath her eyes.

When she saw me standing on the porch, her expression shifted from miserable to absolutely venomous.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed, stepping out onto the porch and pulling the heavy door almost completely shut behind her.

“I need to speak to Mr. Moretti,” I said, keeping my voice steady despite the way my heart was pounding.

“Mr. Moretti isn't speaking to anyone,” Vanessa snapped. “Especially not the pathetic little maid who ruined my life.”

“I didn't ruin your life,” I replied, standing my ground. “You did. And I know what you told my mother. I know you’re planning to blacklist me with the agencies.”

Vanessa’s eyes flashed with a cold, triumphant light. She stepped closer to me, her expensive perfume clashing with the crisp night air.

“You think because he dumped me tonight, you’ve won?” she laughed bitterly. “I made three calls from the guest room while I was packing. You’re already flagged as a theft risk, Rachel. By Monday morning, you won't even be able to get a job cleaning public toilets.”

My stomach dropped. She had already done it.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, my voice cracking. “I just wanted to go home to my daughter.”

“Because you made him look at me like I was nothing,” she spat, her face contorting with rage. “You think Luca cares about you? He felt sorry for you. But tomorrow, he’ll wake up and realize what he lost. My family has connections he needs. He’ll come begging me to come back. And when he does, the first thing I’m going to demand is that he presses formal theft charges against you to make the rumor stick.”

She smiled, a cruel, ugly expression.

“Go home, Rachel. Go tell your little brat that her mother is a criminal.”

Vanessa turned and walked down the steps toward the street, where a black town car was idling by the gates, waiting to take her away.

I stood on the porch, paralyzed by panic. A formal theft charge. If Luca agreed to press charges just to get her family’s connections back, I could lose custody of Sophie.

I reached for the brass handle of the front door. It wasn't locked.

I pushed it open and stepped into the grand foyer.

The house was dead silent. The chandeliers had been dimmed. The remnants of the engagement dinner were still visible in the dining room—half-empty champagne flutes, discarded napkins, and the large, untouched, three-tiered engagement cake sitting in the center of the table.

“Mr. Moretti?” I called out softly.

No answer.

I walked quietly toward the library, where Luca usually spent his evenings. The double doors were slightly ajar. A warm glow from the fireplace spilled out into the hallway.

I approached the doors, preparing to knock, but the sound of Luca’s voice stopped me.

He was on the phone.

“I don't care what the Bellini family threatens,” Luca was saying, his voice low and dangerous. “The merger is off. If her father tries to pull the supply chain, remind him who owns the shipping routes. He breathes because I allow it.”

I froze. Supply chains? Shipping routes?

I had always known the Morettis were wealthy, but the way he spoke—the absolute, chilling authority in his voice—sounded like something much darker than corporate business.

There was a pause as the person on the other end spoke.

“No,” Luca said sharply. “Vanessa is out. And tell the cleaners to sweep her guest room. I want to make sure she didn't take anything that belongs to me before she left.”

My blood ran cold.

Tell the cleaners to sweep her guest room. I want to make sure she didn't take anything.

Vanessa’s threat echoed in my mind. She wanted Luca to press theft charges against me. And right now, Luca was already looking for missing items. If Vanessa had planted something of his in my locker, or in my coat, the rumor she started would become a reality.

I turned and bolted toward the staff quarters in the back of the house. I needed to check my locker before Daniel or Mrs. Carter did.

I reached the small, dimly lit staff hallway and hurried to my locker, number 14. I spun the combination dial with shaking fingers and yanked the metal door open.

My spare uniform was there. My comfortable shoes. A bottle of hand lotion.

And sitting right on top of my shoes was a heavy, velvet jewelry box.

I didn't buy it. I had never seen it before.

I reached out with trembling fingers and flipped the velvet lid open.

Inside, resting on black satin, was a massive, flawless diamond tennis bracelet. The exact bracelet Vanessa had been wearing earlier that evening.

“Looking for something, Rachel?”