Chapter 1
The grand drawing room of the Harrington estate was a magnificent spectacle, entirely flooded with a bright, luminous, and warm golden light that entirely lacked the heavy yellow cast common to lesser mansions. The opulent space felt bright, airy, and breathtakingly vast. Enormous tiered crystal chandeliers hung suspended from the painted ceilings, their myriad prisms catching the light and throwing golden reflections across the meticulously carved walnut furniture. The cream marble columns stood like silent sentinels along the perimeter, framing the fifty elite guests, capos, and relatives seated on plush velvet sofas or mingling near the silk drapes. At the far end of the room, a towering Christmas tree glowed with dense warm fairy lights, heavy gold ornaments, and rich burgundy ribbons. Ivory candles flickered steadily in gilded candelabras, nestled perfectly among thick evergreen garlands and bright red berries that adorned the mantles and tables.
At the center of this majestic display stood Victor Harrington. Thirty-three years old, he possessed the rugged, undeniably masculine presence of a mafia boss. His broad shoulders effortlessly filled out a flawlessly tailored dark three-piece suit. His face was a landscape of harsh, aristocratic angles, featuring a sharp jawline dusted with very short, neat stubble. His dark hair was naturally swept back, framing a face that commanded absolute, terrifying authority. A heavy family signet ring and a luxury wristwatch glinted under the chandeliers. Artistic tattoos utilizing negative space decorated his hands and fingers with generous spacing, and a small, distinct artistic tattoo peeked just above his crisp white collar. He spoke slowly in a deep, controlled voice that instantly quieted any room he entered.
Beside him stood his twenty-nine-year-old fiancée, Estelle Vane. She was a vision of high-society perfection in an elegant, luxurious emerald satin evening gown that clung perfectly to her curves, her fair, rosy skin glowing beneath the lights. Dazzling diamond earrings swayed gently from her lobes. A small brass key hung conspicuously from the chain of her designer evening clutch. Her public manner was flawless, radiating a polished smile that masked a cold, calculating ambition underneath.
"The holiday decorations are absolutely exquisite this year, Estelle," an older capo remarked, raising his crystal glass with a wide, approving grin.
"Thank you, Marcus," Estelle replied smoothly, her American accent dripping with practiced charm. "I believe Christmas should be a time of overwhelming beauty and generosity. We have so much to be thankful for."
Moving through the periphery of the room, near the towering Christmas tree, was Marin Cole. At twenty-five, the maid possessed a breathtaking, gentle beauty. Her delicate features and highly expressive, clear eyes were framed by fair, rosy skin. But tonight, she looked exhausted, moving with a deeply vulnerable manner. She wore a fitted black maid dress, but it was deeply creased. Her pristine white apron was rumpled, and her white ruffled maid headband sat slightly askew in her disheveled hair.
Marin knelt beside a low table where six-year-old Sadie Hawthorne was playing. Sadie, dressed impeccably in a cream Christmas dress and a burgundy cardigan, was meticulously decorating a large wooden dollhouse with tiny, shiny paper stars.
May you like
Marin gently guided the little girl's hand, helping her attach a paper star perfectly above the miniature wooden door. Marin offered a small, hopeful smile, trying to shield the child from the dark reality of the mansion.
"One star for each room, sweetheart," Marin whispered softly.
