Chapter 2
Noah stumbled against the heavy linen of the dessert table, barely keeping his balance in his tiny dress shoes. The violent shove had terrified him, and the sheer hostility in Victoria’s voice made the three-year-old’s chest heave with sudden, ragged breaths. His rosy cheeks flushed with a deep, embarrassed red as tears instantly welled in his bright eyes.
Victoria did not soften at the sight of the crying child. Instead, her irritation only seemed to mount. She glanced around quickly to ensure none of the high-ranking Mafia capos were looking her way. Satisfied that they were distracted by the bar, she reached onto the edge of the dessert table and grabbed a towering stack of empty porcelain dessert plates.
"If you are going to linger around like a stray, make yourself useful," Victoria commanded, her voice a harsh, impatient whisper.
She forced the large, heavy stack of porcelain plates directly into Noah’s small arms. The sheer weight of the dishes was entirely too much for a three-year-old boy to handle. Noah gasped, his small arms buckling instantly under the uneven load. The stack wobbled dangerously, the porcelain clinking loudly as it threatened to shatter all over the immaculate stone terrace.
"Hold them properly!" Victoria snapped, refusing to take the plates back.
"I can't!" Noah sobbed, tears spilling hot and fast down his fair cheeks.
Suddenly, Margaret Reed burst through the nearby service doors. The fifty-six-year-old estate housekeeper wore a crisp, professional uniform and a starched white apron, her sensible flats carrying her across the patio with desperate speed. Margaret had practically raised Noah since he was an infant, and the sight of the struggling child sent a spike of pure adrenaline through her veins.
"Oh, sweet heavens, let go!" Margaret cried out, rushing over just in time.
She threw her arms under Noah’s, taking more than half of the heavy porcelain plates before they could crash to the floor. Margaret quickly set them down on the edge of the table, pulling the weeping toddler securely against her apron.
"What in the world is going on here?" Margaret demanded, her voice shaking with protective fury as she glared at the future bride. "He is a baby! He cannot carry these!"
"Mind your tone, Margaret," Victoria warned, her eyes flashing with cold arrogance. "He needs to learn obedience. And you need to remember who signs your paychecks."
"Mr. Marconi signs my paychecks," Margaret fired back, her American accent thick with maternal defiance. She knelt down on the stone terrace, wrapping her arms around the trembling boy. "Are you alright, my sweet boy? Did she hurt you?"
Noah buried his tear-stained face into Margaret’s shoulder. His small frame shook with violent, uncontrollable hiccups.
"Dad... Dad said..." Noah sobbed, struggling to catch his breath. "Dad said this party was for both of us."
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"It is for both of you, honey. It is," Margaret hushed him, glaring up at Victoria. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Miss Hale. Bullying a child at his own home."
Victoria let out a short, dismissive laugh. "This is my home now, Margaret. And I suggest you take the boy inside before I have security escort you both off the property."
