Chapter 1 - blood on the marble
The crystal chandeliers of the Ferraro estate trembled under the weight of three hundred guests, but near the grand buffet, the room went dead silent.
Vivienne Ferraro stepped forward, her crimson silk gown rustling against the polished floor. Her diamond bracelets clinked as she grabbed the porcelain dessert plate from seven-year-old Noah Reed’s small hands. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she hurled it to the floor. The china shattered into twenty jagged pieces, scattering lemon tart across the polished white marble.
Vivienne placed her manicured hand firmly against Noah’s chest and shoved him backward. The boy stumbled, his sneakers squeaking against the slick stone, nearly losing his balance.
"You should know your place," Vivienne said, her voice dripping with venom.
Anna Reed dropped her silver serving tray. It clattered against the cloth, but she did not care. She dropped to her knees between her son and the woman who ruled this wing of the mansion, pulling Noah tightly against her black-and-white uniform.
"I am so sorry, Mrs. Ferraro," Anna whispered, her voice trembling as she tucked Noah's head into her shoulder. "He was only looking for a glass of water."
"He is the help's brat," Vivienne snapped, smoothing the front of her gown. "He does not belong near this table. Neither do you."
Heavy footsteps echoed from the archway. The air in the ballroom shifted instantly, growing colder, heavier.
Dominic Ferraro walked in.
At fifty-two, the head of the Ferraro syndicate was built like an iron pillar in a hand-tailored tuxedo. His silver-streaked dark hair was cut sharp, his jaw carved from granite, and his hazel eyes moved across the room with terrifying calm. Two armed bodyguards stopped at the threshold, but Dominic did not slow his stride. Every guest in the room parted like water before a warship.
He saw Anna huddled on the floor. He saw the boy trembling beneath her apron.
Dominic walked directly toward them, his leather dress shoes clicking with steady precision.
As Noah shifted to bury his face deeper into Anna’s neck, the thin cord around his collar caught on the brass buckle of Anna’s apron. With a sharp snap, the worn leather string broke.
Something heavy and metallic fell, bouncing twice before rolling across the smooth marble floor. It wobbled and came to rest right at the tip of Dominic’s polished shoe.
Dominic looked down. His body froze.
It was an antique silver signet ring, tarnished at the edges, heavy and thick. On its face was the crest of a roaring wolf beneath three stars, and along the inner curve, carved into the silver, were two bold initials: *D.F.*
Dominic knelt down slowly. He picked up the ring with calloused fingers. His breath hitched in his chest.
"Where did you get my ring?" Dominic asked. The gravel in his voice was so low it vibrated through the floorboards.
Vivienne’s eyes went wide. She lunged forward, her crimson hem trailing, reaching desperately for the floor. "Dominic, don't touch that! The little thief must have taken it from your private study—"
Dominic didn’t look at her. Without shifting his balance, he drove a hard backhand across Vivienne’s face.
The crack of skin on skin echoed like a gunshot.
Vivienne spun violently to the side and slammed into the corner of the banquet table. The mahogany legs buckled under her weight. Towering pyramids of champagne flutes crashed down in a thunderous roar of breaking glass, showering her crimson gown in dark red wine and wet foam. She hit the floor among the wet shards, clutching her bleeding lip, gasping for breath.
Not a single soul in the ballroom dared to move.
Dominic stayed on one knee, his eyes locked entirely on Anna. The ring rested in his palm like a brand.
Anna stared at him, her chest heaving, tears spilling down her pale cheeks. The absolute terror in her wide hazel eyes was unmistakable.
"Where did the boy get this, Anna?" Dominic repeated, softer this time, but far more dangerous.
"You gave it to me," Anna whispered, her voice shaking violently. "Eight years ago. In Chicago."
Dominic’s jaw clenched so tight the muscle twitched beneath his skin. He slowly turned his head away from Anna and looked directly at seven-year-old Noah.
The boy had the exact same hazel eyes. The same high cheekbones. The same line of the jaw.
"Who is the boy’s father?" Dominic asked, his voice ice-cold.
On the floor beneath the broken glass, Vivienne’s face went completely, utterly pale.
Noah shrank back, but Dominic reached out a steady hand, stopping inches from the boy’s trembling shoulder.
May you like
"Look at me, Anna," Dominic commanded quietly. "Who is his father?"
"You know who he is, Dominic," Anna whispered. "You just thought I was dead."
