Chapter 2
Nerea’s breath hitched in her throat as she closed the distance, her expressive eyes wide with a frantic, protective urge. The dark stain on the pristine white fabric of Aurelio's cuff was a glaring insult, a physical manifestation of Soraya's venom.
"Sir, let me..." Nerea began, her voice trembling slightly as she reached for his wrist.
But before her pale fingers could make contact with the wet, black polish, Aurelio moved.
With a movement that was incredibly gentle, completely contrasting the lethal reputation he held, Aurelio drew his hand back. He didn't snatch it away in anger; he pulled it back just enough to ensure the wet polish did not touch her skin.
He looked down at her, his cold, observant eyes softening entirely.
"Nerea… careful," Aurelio said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register that carried a profound, genuine concern. "You’ll stain your hands."
The sheer, staggering juxtaposition of the moment—the terrifying mafia boss expressing worry over a housemaid's hands after being publicly assaulted—sent a shockwave through the room. Every nearby guest watched him in absolute, suffocating silence.
Soraya saw the exchange, and her face contorted with unadulterated fury. The fact that Aurelio was more concerned with the maid's hands than his own humiliation was a devastating blow to her ego.
"How pathetic," Soraya hissed, her voice vibrating with contemptuous rage. She looked down at the encrypted phone resting on the marble floor.
With a sharp, aggressive kick of her expensive high heel, Soraya sent the phone skidding across the polished floor. It slid rapidly until it bumped hard against the base of the tall glass cabinet filled with her own designer heels.
"Pick it up," Soraya commanded, pointing a diamond-clad finger at the floor, her eyes burning with malice. "Your little maid can train you how to serve."
The capos in the room tensed, their hands drifting toward their concealed weapons. No one spoke to Aurelio Grantham like that and lived.
Aurelio remained perfectly still for a fraction of a second. His sharp jaw tightened, the neat stubble casting a shadow over his angular face. He did not signal his men. He did not draw his weapon.
Slowly, deliberately, Aurelio crouched down. His tailored suit shifted over his powerful frame as he lowered himself to the marble floor, his eyes fixed on the heavy black device resting near the glass doors of the cabinet.
Nerea gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. She couldn't bear to watch him kneel.
As Aurelio’s tattooed hand reached out toward the phone, Soraya moved with vicious intent.
She stepped forward, lifting her leg, and raised her sharp, lethal stiletto heel directly above his reaching hand. Her face was twisted into a mask of pure cruelty, fully intending to drive the spike of her shoe straight through the back of his hand, intending to cripple him in front of his entire empire.
The bodyguards flanking her didn't move, anticipating the violence.
Nerea didn't scream. She didn't think. Driven by an instinctual, blinding fire that consumed her fear, the petite housemaid surged forward. She didn't go for Soraya's arms or her face.
Nerea dropped low, sweeping her body toward the floor. Her small, delicate hands shot out, catching Soraya’s raised ankle with a desperate, iron grip.
Before Soraya could drive the heel downward, Nerea gave ONE sharp, incredibly forceful upward pull.
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The physics of the movement were immediate and devastating. Soraya, already balancing precariously on one leg in a fitted ivory dress, completely lost her center of gravity.
Her supporting heel slipped wildly on the polished marble.
