Chapter 1
The morning sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Romano estate’s breakfast room, casting a brilliant, cinematic light across the polished hardwood. There was no dull yellow tint to the morning; the light was a crisp, blinding white that illuminated the vibrant colors of the room. The long mahogany dining table gleamed perfectly under the crystal chandelier. Against the far wall stood a freestanding antique map rack, filled with heavily rolled parchment maps and leather cases. Beside it sat a luxurious leather ottoman flanked by two low side tables adorned with decorative trays and plush cushions. It was a room designed for kings, yet the scene unfolding upon the expensive rug was a grotesque display of cruelty.
Bianca Romano, thirty-four years old and possessing a fair, rosy complexion that currently flushed with malicious amusement, stood near the edge of the table. She wore an elegant designer morning outfit, her engagement ring flashing brilliantly in the sunlight, her sharp heels clicking against the floorboards.
"You are absolutely pathetic," Bianca sneered, her sharp American accent cutting through the quiet room.
At her feet, shivering on a pet feeding mat, was three-year-old Lucy Romano. The little girl, heir to the Romano empire, was dressed in torn, filthy clothes that smelled of damp earth and neglect. Her fair skin was smudged with dirt, her blue eyes wide with pure, unadulterated terror.
Bianca reached down and picked up a heavy ceramic dog bowl containing a disgusting slurry of leftover, cold breakfast scraps. With a cruel, dismissive gesture, she slammed the bowl down onto the pet feeding mat directly in front of the sobbing toddler.
"Eat it," Bianca commanded.
"Please, Bianca," Lucy whimpered, her tiny voice cracking. "I want my normal plate."
With a swift, aggressive motion of her designer shoe, Bianca forcefully kicked Lucy’s pristine porcelain plate across the room. It shattered against the baseboards, sending scrambled eggs and toast scattering across the pristine floor.
"I said eat it!" Bianca shouted, stepping closer.
Standing a few feet away, leaning casually against the doorframe, was Marcus Hale. At thirty-nine, Bianca’s brother and a trusted Mafia-family associate wore an expensive tailored suit, a luxury wristwatch gleaming on his wrist, and polished leather shoes. He let out a dark, mocking laugh, thoroughly enjoying the psychological torture of the Boss's daughter.
"You really need to break her in before the wedding, Bianca," Marcus chuckled, adjusting his cuffs. "She’s too soft. She needs to learn who runs this house now."
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"Exactly," Bianca agreed, a wicked smile crossing her face.
Hidden in the shadows near the secondary doorway, twenty-five-year-old Emma Clark stood frozen. The young housekeeper wore a crisp, professional maid uniform, a white apron, thick tights, and simple flats. Her fair, rosy hands were trembling violently as she held up her smartphone, her thumb pressing hard against the record button. She captured every horrifying second of the abuse, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs, terrified of what would happen if they caught her.
