Chapter 2
Nora didn't answer immediately. The heavy silver cloche seemed to weigh a thousand pounds in her injured hand. The bright, airy light of the dining room beat down on her, exposing the terrified tremor running through her arms. She kept her eyes averted from the intense, perceptive gaze of the Mafia boss sitting beside her, focusing entirely on the rim of the polished porcelain plate.
She took a shallow, shaky breath and attempted to lift the cover to present Dominic’s main course.
As the heavy silver dome rose a few inches from the table, a sharp, searing pain shot up Nora's arm from her bandaged wrist. Her hand faltered violently. The cloche slipped from her grasp, tilting dangerously toward the expensive cream damask linens.
Before the heavy silver could crash onto the table, a large, heavily tattooed hand shot out with terrifying speed.
Dominic caught the edge of the cloche perfectly, his powerful fingers steadying the cover effortlessly before it could slip any further. He didn't look at the food. His cold eyes were locked entirely on the maid's trembling arm.
"Are you injured?" Dominic asked, his deep voice barely above a whisper.
Nora gasped, quickly withdrawing her hand in a mixture of pain and profound embarrassment. "I... I apologize, Mr. Ashford."
But as she hastily pulled her arm back, the loose white cuff of her maid's uniform caught the edge of her apron. The fabric snagged, and the hidden compartment she had carefully constructed was compromised.
A small, dull-silver key fell from the sleeve.
The key hit the polished mahogany table with a sharp, distinct clink that cut through the polite murmur of the dinner party. It bounced once before settling onto the pristine white tablecloth directly between Dominic’s water glass and Vivienne’s plate.
The silence that followed was immediate and suffocating.
Vivienne Shaw moved with lightning speed. The polished, affectionate smile she had worn all evening vanished for a fraction of a second, replaced by sheer, unadulterated panic. She immediately lunged forward, reaching her manicured hand across the table toward the small key.
"Oh, goodness," Vivienne laughed, the sound short and entirely dismissive. It sounded like crystal shattering on marble. She forced the radiant smile back onto her face, looking directly at Dominic.
"She stole my jewelry-box key," Vivienne stated smoothly.
Her smile suggested an embarrassing, perhaps pitiable misunderstanding regarding the hired help, but her eyes studied Dominic’s reaction entirely too closely. She was desperately searching his angular, masculine features for any sign that he believed the lie.
"Did she?" Dominic murmured, not moving a muscle.
After speaking the accusation, Vivienne’s eyes darted toward the maid standing beside the chair. She fixed Nora with a hard, venomous warning look—a silent, unambiguous promise of severe retribution if the young woman dared to contradict her.
Nora caught the glare, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. She cradled her bandaged wrist against her apron, her fair, rosy cheeks flushing with absolute terror. She knew the power Vivienne wielded. She knew what Vivienne had done to Dominic’s elderly mother upstairs, and she knew the agonizing pain in her wrist was the result of trying to stop it.
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"I'll just take that," Vivienne said, her fingers closing in on the key.
But before Vivienne could retrieve it, Dominic moved.
