Chapter 1
Everyone at the billionaire charity gala treated the mafia boss’s autistic son like a disgrace, but I was the only waitress who dared to approach him. When I knelt beside the terrified boy and tapped four times on the marble floor, his ruthless father ordered his men to find out who I was. I had no idea that one act of kindness would soon make me a target, with people calling me a traitor.
The chandeliers inside New York’s Pierre Hotel glittered above millions of dollars in diamonds, designer gowns, and expensive champagne.
But all I could feel was the stabbing pain in my feet.
My name is Sophie Vance. I'd been serving drinks for six exhausting hours, wearing cheap black flats and a uniform stained with someone else's wine.
Our supervisor had given us three strict rules.
""Don't make eye contact. Don't speak unless spoken to. And whatever you do, don't spill a single drop.""
I needed the money desperately, so I kept my head down.
Until I noticed him.
Dante Moretti.
The most feared mafia boss in New York stood beside the grand staircase, dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo.
Nobody approached him without permission. Even powerful businessmen lowered their voices when he looked their way.
But it wasn't Dante who made me stop.
It was the little boy sitting alone nearby.
He couldn't have been older than eight. His tiny tuxedo matched his father's, but his bow tie hung crookedly around his neck.
Both hands pressed tightly against his ears.
His body rocked violently back and forth.
And nobody helped him.
Then a woman wearing a shimmering silver gown brushed against his knee.
The boy flinched and released a heartbreaking cry.
""For heaven's sake!"" she snapped. ""Can't someone control that child? He's ruining the atmosphere!""
Her husband grabbed her arm.
""Quiet! That's Moretti's son.""
She scoffed. ""Then he should teach the boy some manners.""
The man leaned closer.
""People say the child is defective. Imagine having all that power and producing such a weak heir.""
My fingers tightened around the champagne tray.
I knew that rocking.
I knew those frightened eyes.
Three years earlier, my little brother Danny had struggled with overwhelming noise at a family birthday party.
Our father had laughed at him.
""Stop acting like a spoiled brat!""
But I'd sat beside Danny for forty minutes, humming softly until his breathing steadied.
Danny had been dead for three years.
And suddenly, looking at that little boy, I remembered exactly how it felt to hold my brother when the world became unbearable.
I couldn't stand there another second.
I lowered my tray.
Then I stepped toward the boy.
""Miss!"" another waitress hissed. ""Don't go near him! That's Dante Moretti's son!""
I ignored her.
But just as I reached the velvet bench, someone knocked into my arm.
Champagne spilled across my shoes.
A glass shattered against the marble.
The boy screamed.
Every conversation stopped.
I dropped to my knees beside him, ignoring the broken glass, and gently tapped the floor.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four.
Then I heard heavy footsteps behind me.
A man's terrifying voice cut through the silence.
""Who gave you permission to touch my son?""
I looked up.
Dante Moretti was standing directly over me.
May you like
And his eyes were locked on my face.
""Get her name,"" he ordered.
