Chapter 1 - The Wrath of the Don
The silence in the grand master suite was so thick I could hear the erratic pounding of my own heart. The designer, a chic Parisian woman named Madame Laurent who only minutes ago had treated me like garbage, had lost every ounce of color in her face. Beside the doorway, Mrs. Gable, the haughty head housekeeper who had sneered at my threadbare clothes and called me a stray, was trembling so violently that the silver keys clipped to her apron chimed like warning bells.
Vincent Moretti did not shout. He didn’t need to. Power radiated off him like an invisible electric current, lethal and absolute. He took one slow step forward, his Italian leather shoes striking the polished mahogany floors. In his tailored dark charcoal suit, broad shoulders towering over everyone in the room, he looked less like a human being and more like a predatory god deciding which sinner to strike down first.
""You thought you were speaking to a beggar,"" Vincent said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated right into my bones. He tapped the glass screen of his smartphone and turned it toward the two women. An audio recording began to play.
It was crystal clear. It was the exact audio from the front foyer cameras, capturing Mrs. Gable’s mocking laugh: “Apparently, Mr. Moretti brought home a stray.” Followed by the designer’s cruel comment from just moments ago in the dressing chamber: “I was told to dress a lady, not manufacture a circus tent.”
Madame Laurent choked on a sob. ""Signor Moretti, please! I—I was merely jesting, a poor choice of words, an artistic temperament—""
""Silence,"" Vincent commanded softly. The air froze. ""You came into my home on a six-figure contract to serve the lady of this house. Instead, you insulted the woman who bled on the Chicago pavement less than three hours ago to save my twin daughters. A woman with more courage and honor in her smallest finger than your entire bloodline possesses.""
He turned his piercing slate-gray eyes toward Mrs. Gable. The housekeeper sank to her knees, weeping onto the plush carpet. ""Master Vincent, please have mercy! I served your mother for twenty years!""
""And you have dishonored her memory in twenty seconds,"" Vincent replied without a shred of pity. ""My mother taught me that a person’s dignity is sacred. You called my wife a stray. Pack your belongings. You have exactly twenty minutes to leave my estate. If your feet are still touching Moretti land after sunset, my guards will remove you in a trunk. Every reference, every pension, stripped. You will never work in this city, or any city within five hundred miles, ever again.""
Mrs. Gable let out a strangled wail, crawling out of the room on her hands and knees before scrambling to her feet to run down the hallway.
Vincent turned his razor-sharp gaze back to Madame Laurent, whose lips were trembling blue. ""As for you. Your Parisian boutique exists in Chicago because I own the retail block on Michigan Avenue. By tomorrow morning, your lease is terminated. Your credit lines are frozen. Take your measuring tape, take your arrogant tongue, and get out of my sight before I forget that you are a woman.""
Madame Laurent dropped her golden measuring tape, grabbed her leather handbag, and fled as though the devil himself was snapping at her heels.
I stood frozen in the center of the room, still wrapped in the cheap, torn cotton dress that was stained with street dust and dried drops of my own blood from the dog bite. My heart was racing. In my twenty-eight years of life, no one had ever stood up for me. My former boss had ridiculed me. Landlords had mocked me. My former fiancé had abandoned me when my family went bankrupt and my weight climbed from untreated grief and stress. I was used to being the punchline.
Now, Chicago's most terrifying kingpin had destroyed two powerful people just because they hurt my feelings.
Vincent walked toward me. The chilling coldness on his handsome, scarred face melted away into something gentle, almost tender. He crouched down before me, taking my rough, calloused hands into his large, warm ones.
""Evelyn,"" he murmured, his voice soft enough that only I could hear. ""Look at me.""
May you like
I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked into his intense gray eyes.
""No one will ever make you feel small in this house again,"" he vowed, his thumb gently brushing across my knuckles. ""You are Evelyn Moretti now. You saved my world today. It’s my turn to protect yours.""
