Dante Moretti had signed a hundred contracts without lifting his eyes from the page. He was forty-two, boss of all bosses of the five eastern families, and no man in a room spoke until he spoke first. Then the cook's daughter walked into his study — three years old, one ribbon lost, a gray stuffed cat crushed against her chest — and said it out loud. *Your fiancée is a thief.* He did not shout. He did not move for three full seconds. He let the ink bleed across the signature he had almost finished. And when the room was empty again, he went to a drawer that only two living men knew existed, and found the bronze seal sitting three millimeters to the left of where it had sat that morning. Children say foolish things. In the Moretti family, no sentence — not even one spoken by a child — is ever ignored twice.

The following morning, the estate hummed with the frantic energy of the impending wedding. Caterers, florists, and decorators swarmed the grounds, preparing the massive white tents on the rear lawn.

Victoria moved through the chaos like a queen directing her subjects, barking orders with a sharp, aristocratic entitlement.

Dante watched her from the second-floor balcony. He noticed that she constantly kept her sleek, leather handbag clutched tightly against her side. She hadn't let it out of her sight since she arrived yesterday. The cloned hard drive was inside.

He needed to know who she was delivering it to.

At noon, Victoria slipped away from the wedding planners. She moved down the east corridor, glancing over her shoulder before approaching the heavy oak doors of the restricted west wing.

She placed her hand on the brass knob, attempting to turn it. It was locked.

"Looking for something, Victoria?"

Victoria gasped, spinning around on her expensive heels.

Elena was standing at the end of the hallway, holding a stack of freshly pressed linens. Sophia was standing beside her, clutching her gray stuffed cat, staring unblinkingly at the blonde woman.

Victoria’s eyes narrowed into vicious slits. She recovered her composure instantly, smoothing the front of her designer blouse.

"I was simply looking for a quiet bathroom," Victoria sneered, stepping away from the locked doors. "This house is a circus today."

"The guest bathrooms are in the east wing, Miss," Elena said politely, though her hands gripped the linens tightly. "This wing is strictly off-limits to everyone but Mr. Moretti."

Victoria stalked down the hallway, stopping inches away from Elena. The smell of her heavy, expensive perfume was suffocating.

"You have a very sharp tongue for a woman who scrubs pots for a living," Victoria whispered, her voice dripping with venom. She looked down at Sophia. "And you need to learn to keep your brat on a leash. If she wanders into the wrong room again, she might get hurt."

Elena’s blood ran cold. She stepped protectively in front of her daughter. "Is that a threat?"

"It’s an observation," Victoria smiled coldly. "I'll be the lady of this house in three days. I suggest you start looking for new employment. Your services will no longer be required."

Victoria turned on her heel and walked away.

Elena held her breath until the woman disappeared around the corner. She looked down at Sophia.