The Mafia Heir Forgot the Woman Who Saved Him

"Being seen with him would drag his blood standing down."

One of the young men reached out and patted my shoulder, the pressure neither light nor rough, the casual touch of someone who'd never once feared consequence.

"Cinderella, this isn't a place for the likes of you. Get lost."

Then the three of them turned and walked away, arrogance in the very set of their backs, the way only men born under a Family name could carry themselves.

The banquet was halfway through when a sudden commotion shattered the calm.

Camilla Salvatore stood in the center of the crowd, her face pale.

"My rosary is gone! The Salvatore heirloom, the one my mother left me!"

The room erupted in an instant.

A dozen soldiers moved from the walls without a word, sealing the exits, and began searching every guest at the sit-down.

My heart dropped hard, a sense of dread rising in me.

Sure enough, a moment later two enforcers crossed the floor straight to me, their voices flat and cold. "Ma'am, cooperate with the search."

Before I could react, a hand had already reached into my bag.

The next second, it pulled out the heirloom signet and rosary, the chain snapped clean into two pieces.

The whole room drew a single breath.

Camilla rushed over, and the instant she saw the broken pieces, her eyes reddened.

She cradled them in trembling hands, her voice choking.

"This is the only thing my mother left me!"

"Why would you break it?"

The stares around me stabbed like knives, and the whispers rose from every side, low and venomous, the murmur of a room that had already passed sentence.

"I thought there was something off about her from the start. A woman with no name, no Family, wouldn't speak to anyone, just sat in the corner the whole night."

"So she's a thief. No wonder she was skulking around the walls."

"You can tell just by looking she's no good."

"How did an outsider like that even get through the doors at a Family banquet?"

"Stealing is bad enough. But seeing she couldn't slip out, she goes and destroys it. That's beyond forgiving."

My mind went blank, a ringing in my ears.

Just then, Lorenzo came back.

He pushed through the crowd, took in the scene before him, and once he understood it, his face went livid in an instant.

He strode up to me and slapped me hard across the face.

"Serafina!" His voice was cold to the bone, low enough that the whole room leaned in to hear it. "You've disappointed me beyond words."

My cheek burned, but it was nothing next to the pain in my chest.

I looked at him, searching his eyes for a shred of trust.

Even just a shred.

But all I found in his gaze was anger and disgust.

"Apologize to Camilla."

Camilla stood off to the side, the corners of her mouth curving up a half-beat too fast.

I knew that no matter what I said now, in this room bound by their code, no one would believe an outsider over a Salvatore.

Still, I drew a deep breath and spoke slowly. "I didn't do it. Why should I apologize?"

Lorenzo let out a cold laugh. "The proof is right there in your hands. You still want to argue your way out?"

I looked at him, and he felt more and more like a stranger. I pressed my thumb flat against the inside of my bare left wrist, where every other woman in this room wore a Family's gold, and I wore nothing at all.

I turned, pushed through the crowd, and walked toward the exit.

Behind me came Lorenzo's furious roar. "Serafina! Stop right there!"

I didn't look back. My steps were steady and resolute.

This time, I would not stop for him again.

But just as I was about to walk out the doors, Camilla's two soldiers suddenly closed on me and smashed a chair hard against my legs.

Caught off guard, I dropped to my knees, curses screeching in my ears.

"You broke the heirloom your mother left her, and you think you can just walk off without even an apology?"

One of them swung a club down against my back.

"There's no getting off that easy in this world, not in ours."

The blows rained down, and I curled up, hands clamped over my head.

A pain like snapping ribs tore through me, and warm liquid slid down my forehead, blurring my vision.

The crowd burst into cries of alarm, yet not one person in that room of made men and their women stepped forward to stop it.

Instead, plenty of gloating jeers drifted my way.