Chapter 2
The continuous, muted clatter of silver cutlery against porcelain plates provided a rhythmic backdrop to the elegant dinner party. The tall ivory candles flickered gently, casting warm reflections across the gilded mirrors. The luxurious, intimate atmosphere of the dining hall felt entirely secure to the wealthy guests, but the air immediately surrounding the head of the table was thick with an unspoken, suffocating tension.
Fiona approached the space directly to the right of Dante’s chair, holding little Ruby’s hand tightly. The three-year-old girl pressed herself against the crisp white fabric of the maid's apron, seeking comfort in the only person who had shown her kindness in the massive, terrifying estate.
With meticulous care, Fiona gently drew out the empty, cream velvet chair beside the Mafia boss.
"Here you go, sweetheart," Fiona murmured, her voice a soft, reassuring whisper.
But Ruby did not move to sit. The little girl stayed standing firmly against Fiona’s leg. She gripped the white apron with her tiny hands instead of sitting down, her large, frightened eyes darting around the room full of strangers before settling on the beautiful woman standing directly across the table.
Dante remained perfectly still. His cold, perceptive eyes tracked every micro-expression, every subtle movement. He noticed the painful wince that crossed Fiona’s softly heart-shaped face as she shifted her weight on her injured leg. Then, his gaze dropped to the child. He saw the tear-filled, terrified eyes of the three-year-old girl, and the desperate, white-knuckled grip she maintained on the maid's uniform.
Across the table, Aurelia Hart stopped cutting her steak.
The polite, radiant smile vanished from Aurelia’s face for a fraction of a second when she saw them. Her fair, rosy skin paled slightly under the warm golden light. She had explicitly concealed her daughter’s existence from Dante, terrified that a child from a previous, messy relationship would ruin her chances of marrying into the immense wealth and power of the Winslow syndicate. She had locked Ruby in the guesthouse before the dinner, warning the child never to call her "Mommy" in front of strangers.
But the panic only lasted a microsecond.
Aurelia’s sharply honed survival instincts kicked in. She quickly plastered a brittle, plastic smile back onto her face. She smoothed the front of her sculpted emerald satin gown, projecting an aura of complete, unbothered calm.
Looking directly into Dante’s cold, observant eyes, Aurelia spoke. Her American accent was perfectly modulated, smooth, and casually certain.
“That’s Fiona’s daughter.”
Aurelia gave a small, reassuring smile, leaning slightly forward to command the intimacy of the moment. Her voice sounded light and entirely unconcerned, designed to paint the situation as a trivial domestic inconvenience caused by a struggling servant.
Her eyes carefully and frantically searched Dante's angular face for any sign of acceptance, any indication that he had bought the carefully constructed lie. Only after delivering her explanation did she shift her gaze toward the housemaid.
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Aurelia shot Fiona a brief, venomous warning glance. It was a silent, absolute promise of severe retaliation—a threat to destroy the young woman's life if she dared to contradict her narrative.
Fiona saw the glare. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she kept her hand firmly resting protectively over Ruby’s tiny fingers.
