Chapter 2
Keira Finch stood perfectly still behind Annie’s velvet chair, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. At twenty-seven, the housemaid possessed a beauty that rivaled the wealthy socialites in the room. She had a softly heart-shaped face, delicate cheekbones, and expressive brows. Her fair, rosy skin was pale tonight, reflecting a deep, internalized dread. Her hair was gathered meticulously into a smooth low bun, and her sophisticated black maid dress—featuring a cinched waist, a fitted silhouette, and a short A-line skirt—was immaculate. A neatly tied white apron, paired with a crisp white collar and cuffs, completed her elegant posture.
But Keira’s focus was entirely on the little girl seated before her. Eight-year-old Annie Cross wore an ivory party dress, a soft cardigan, and simple flat shoes. Annie was deaf, living in a world of profound silence, yet she navigated the treacherous waters of her father's syndicate through spoken English and expert lipreading. She was a quiet, highly observant child, and right now, she was absolutely terrified.
"Annie, sweetheart, you are trembling," Keira whispered, leaning down to keep her American accent soft and close to the child. "What is it? What did you see?"
Annie did not look at her caregiver. Her wide, frightened eyes were locked onto the emerald silk of Maribel Shaw’s gown across the table. Just twenty minutes earlier, during the cocktail hour, Annie had been sitting quietly on a window seat. Keira had watched the little girl’s gaze track Maribel across the room. Maribel had been speaking to one of the underbosses near the marble fireplace, keeping her voice low and her back to Silas.
But Maribel had not accounted for the deaf child watching her mouth from thirty feet away.
"I saw her," Annie whispered back, her voice incredibly soft but articulate. "I saw what she said."
"What did she say, Annie?" Keira urged gently, placing a steadying hand on the girl's small shoulder. "You have to tell me."
"She said it," Annie repeated, her lower lip quivering. "She told Mr. Vance that the champagne was ready. She said..." The little girl choked on a small sob, unable to finish the sentence.
Keira’s blood ran cold. She looked across the polished walnut table. Maribel was currently smiling her carefully reassuring smile, gesturing gracefully toward a passing server holding a silver tray of fresh champagne flutes.
"Annie, look at me," Keira said, her voice urgent. "Did she say something about your father?"
Annie finally tore her eyes away from Maribel and looked up at Keira. The absolute, unadulterated terror in the child's eyes confirmed Keira's worst fears.
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"We have to stop him," Annie whispered, her tiny hands curling into fists against the fabric of her ivory dress. "We can't let him drink."
Keira straightened her elegant posture, her mind racing. To interrupt the Mafia boss during his own engagement dinner was a dangerous breach of protocol, but to let him consume whatever Maribel had prepared was a death sentence. She nodded once to the child.
