Chapter 1 – THE SILVER WATCH BENEATH THE TABLE

“Vanessa, how many people working in my home have you made believe I don’t care whether their children have enough to eat?”

The silence in the dining room was absolute.

Thirty guests, some of the most powerful and dangerous men in the city, sat entirely motionless.

Vanessa’s face went pale, then flushed with hot, angry color. She looked at the guests, trying to maintain her polished, aristocratic smile.

“Luca, please,” she whispered, stepping closer to him. “You are embarrassing me in front of our friends. These are just maids and drivers. They are meant to serve us, not bleed us dry.”

Luca didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.

“Marco,” Luca said, his eyes never leaving Vanessa.

“Yes, boss.”

“Clear the table. The engagement dinner is over. Everyone is going home.”

A collective gasp swept through the room. Vanessa stumbled back as if she had been physically struck.

“You can’t do this,” she hissed. “My father is sitting right there. Our families have an arrangement.”

“Your father can leave through the front door,” Luca said coldly. “You can go pack your bags.”

I stood frozen, clutching the little blue lunchbox to my chest. My heart was hammering so hard it hurt. I had just ruined an alliance between two powerful families over a slice of vanilla cake.

Vanessa turned her furious eyes on me.

“You,” she spat, her voice trembling with venom. “You ruined this. You manipulative, lying little—”

She lunged forward, raising her hand to strike me.

I squeezed my eyes shut and braced for the impact.

It never came.

When I opened my eyes, Luca was standing between us. He had caught Vanessa’s wrist in mid-air. His grip was so tight her fingers were turning white.

“If you ever try to touch someone under my protection again,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper, “there will be nowhere in this city you can hide.”

He let go of her wrist.

Vanessa stumbled backward, her heel catching on the edge of the heavy Persian rug. As she fell against the serving station, her designer clutch slipped from her hands and hit the hardwood floor.

The purse popped open.

Lipstick, a gold compact, and a few credit cards scattered across the floor.

But there was something else.

Something heavy and silver rolled to a stop right at the tip of my worn-out shoes.

I looked down.

All the breath left my lungs.

It was a silver pocket watch. The casing was heavily dented on the left side, and the chain was broken.

I fell to my knees and picked it up. My hands shook violently.

“Claire?” Luca asked, noticing my sudden panic. “What is it?”

“Where did you get this?” I whispered, staring at Vanessa.

Vanessa scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide with sudden terror. “Give that back to me! It’s mine!”

“No, it’s not,” I said, my voice cracking. I turned the watch over. Engraved on the back were three initials: D.J.B.

David James Bennett.

The man who had walked out on us four years ago without a word, leaving us to drown in debt.

“He never took it off,” I whispered, looking up at Luca. The tears were spilling down my cheeks now. “This was my husband’s watch. He left four years ago. Why does your fiancée have it in her purse?”

Luca’s expression shifted from anger to a cold, calculated stillness. He looked at Vanessa.

Vanessa was backing away toward the grand staircase, her hands shaking.

“He sold it to me!” she cried. “I bought it at a pawn shop!”

Luca stepped toward her. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not! I don’t know who her deadbeat husband is!”

Luca stopped.

He didn’t yell. He just held out his hand to me.

“Claire. Give me the watch.”

I placed the heavy silver timepiece into his palm.

Luca pressed the small latch at the top. The casing popped open.

Inside was the clock face, frozen at 3:14. But tucked inside the lid was a tiny, folded photograph.

Luca pulled it out.

He looked at the picture. Then he looked at Vanessa.

“Marco,” Luca ordered, his voice echoing through the silent mansion. “Lock the doors. Nobody leaves.”

He turned the photograph around so I could see it.

It was a picture of my husband, David.

But he wasn’t alone.

Vanessa’s arms were wrapped around his neck, and she was pressing a kiss to his cheek.