Chapter 1
The private dining room of the Morretti estate was flooded with brilliant, unfiltered afternoon light, illuminating the gilded cornices and hand-carved mahogany panels with razor-sharp clarity. Crystal carafes sparkled atop the banquet table, but the air inside was thick with calculated cruelty. At forty-three, Lavinia Morretti looked radiant in a champagne-toned designer dinner dress, her diamond earrings catching the glare of the recessed spotlights. In her manicured hand, she held the braided loop of a heavy leather dog leash.
The opposite end of the strap was coiled tight around the frail, rounded shoulders of seventy-nine-year-old Estelle Morretti.
With a sudden, violent jerk of her wrist, Lavinia snapped the leather backward.
Estelle let out a pained gasp as her knees struck the parquet floor beside a wicker dinner basket that had overturned moments earlier. Stale bread rolls and cold broth spilled across the immaculate wood. The matriarch wore a threadbare, stained cotton housedress, her stockings torn at the knees, her silver hair unwashed and wild.
Lavinia stepped closer, her stiletto heels clicking sharply against the floorboards. She tilted her head, her rosy cheeks dimpling with pure, poisonous mockery.
“Bark a few times, then I’ll feed you,” Lavinia laughed cruelly, tugging the leash until Estelle’s collar dug into her throat. “Come on, old woman. Show me you still remember what a pet does when it’s hungry.”
From the arched pantry door, twenty-eight-year-old Greta Lane gasped, dropping a stack of linen napkins. The housekeeper’s face burned with horror. She broke into a run, her flat shoes squeaking across the floor.
“Stop it! Mrs. Morretti, please, let her go!” Greta screamed, reaching out with both hands to cushion Estelle’s trembling shoulders.
Before Greta could close the distance, forty-year-old Brennan Morretti stepped into her path. Tall, broad-shouldered, and impeccably tailored in a dark three-piece suit, Cassian’s younger brother moved with practiced violence. He caught Greta by the upper arm, his fingers digging into her flesh, and violently shoved her backward into the sideboard. Silverware clattered and rolled across the marble counter.
“Know your place, maid,” Brennan snarled, straightening his gold family lapel pin. “Family business doesn’t concern the hired help. Sit down and shut your mouth before I have you thrown out the service gates.”
“She’s his mother!” Greta cried, clutching her bruised arm. “You’re treating her like an animal!”
“She’s a senile nuisance,” Brennan snapped, adjusting his cuffs. “And Cassian isn’t here to coddle her anymore. He won't be back from Chicago until midnight.”
Behind them, the heavy double doors of Cassian’s private study swung open without a sound.
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The air in the dining room dropped twenty degrees.
Cassian Morretti stood in the threshold. At fifty-four, he was a monolithic presence—broad-chested, severe, his thick dark hair salted with silver at the temples. His tailored charcoal suit sat perfectly over his wide shoulders, and the gold signet ring on his pinky caught the bright white light. His ice-blue eyes swept across the room, taking in the overturned basket, Greta pressed against the counter, and his elderly mother kneeling on the floor with a dog leash looped around her neck.
