Chapter 1
The cascading crystal chandeliers suspended from the ceiling bathed the entire dining hall in a bright, airy, and luminous warmth. It was a space designed to impress and intimidate, yet tonight it radiated a soft, elegant golden glow. Carved walnut paneling lined the expansive walls, interrupted only by towering marble columns and gilded mirrors that reflected the splendor of the evening. The room was crowded with the city’s elite, all fair-skinned Americans with rosy, flushed complexions, their laughter and distinct American accents filling the luxurious space.
At the center of this opulent world stood Atticus Rowan. He was a mafia boss of unparalleled power, yet he possessed the movie-star handsome, deeply masculine features of a classical statue. His powerful shoulders filled out a tailored dark three-piece suit to perfection. He had an angular face, a high-bridged nose, and a sharply defined jawline shadowed by extremely short, neatly trimmed stubble. His thick, slightly wavy hair was naturally swept back, with just a few loose strands falling carelessly over his forehead. Refined artistic tattoos graced his hands and fingers, utilizing generous negative space, while a small, intricate neck tattoo peeked from beneath his crisp white collar. A heavy family signet ring and a polished wristwatch caught the shimmering candlelight as he stood at the head table, his polished leather shoes planted firmly on the intricate rug.
Opposite him stood Cressida Blake, his fiancée. She was thirty-two, fair and radiant, enveloped in a sculpted silk evening gown that highlighted the subtle curve of her four-month pregnancy. Diamond earrings sparkled brilliantly against her rosy skin, matching the heavy engagement ring on her finger. She smiled warmly at the passing guests, though the expression rarely reached her eyes.
A few steps away, bathed in the same golden illumination, Maren Ellis knelt to the floor. The twenty-seven-year-old housemaid was breathtakingly beautiful, her softly oval face, expressive brows, and delicate cheekbones evoking the glamour of a bygone cinematic era. Her fair skin caught the ambient light as she worked. She wore a sophisticated black maid dress with a cinched waist and a fitted silhouette that flared into a short A-line skirt. A neatly tied white apron, paired with a pristine white collar and cuffs, completed her polished look. Her hair was arranged in an elegant, loose braided chignon.
Maren’s slender, graceful fingers made quick work of straightening the small bow tie belonging to six-year-old Evan Rowan. The boy, dressed in a miniature formal dinner suit and polished dress shoes, stood as still as a statue.
"There you go, sweetheart," Maren whispered, her voice a gentle, melodic American lilt. "You look incredibly handsome tonight. Are you ready?"
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Evan looked up, his rosy cheeks lifting into a small, hopeful smile. He had been adopted by Atticus four years ago, and he worshipped the ground his father walked upon. A professional photographer had just positioned his heavy camera on a tripod near the head table, waiting to capture a family portrait to commemorate the engagement.
Evan nodded to Maren. He turned his gaze toward Atticus, his eyes shining with pure adoration. Taking a deep breath, the little boy began stepping closer to the magnificent table where his father stood. Maren, smiling softly, gently released her hold on his small lapel, letting him step forward to join his father in the luminous spotlight.
