Chapter 1

My sister's boyfriend decided to interrogate me at our Christmas Eve dinner, right in front of the entire Moretti family.

"So, Glenda," Eric DeLuca asked, swirling the wine in his glass, "what do you do these days?"

I kept my expression calm. "I'm not working. I've been studying full-time for the federal judicial service exam."

He raised an eyebrow.

"No job?" His gaze swept over my dress and the diamond earrings I was wearing. "Then how exactly can you afford all that?"

A few relatives glanced at me.

Eric smirked.

"Actually, forget it. I'll just say it." He leaned back in his chair. "I've seen you at one of the Kingsbury clubs."

The room went quiet.

Everyone at the table knew what Kingsbury meant. It was one of the private nightclubs controlled by the DeLuca family, the kind of place where wealthy businessmen and made men went when they didn't want questions asked.

Eric pointed lazily toward my chest.

"You've got a heart-shaped mole right here."

My fingers tightened around my fork.

His smile widened.

"Go ahead. Prove me wrong. Take it off."

More than twenty relatives were seated around the table.

Every pair of eyes turned toward me.

Shock quickly became contempt.

The weight of their stares felt like fire against my skin.

I looked at my parents.

Neither of them spoke.

My father lowered his head. My mother stared at her plate.

Then I looked at my sister, Anne.

Eric was her boyfriend.

She should have been the first person to tell him to shut up.

Instead, she sat beside him in silence.

For five years, I had stayed away from the Moretti family's businesses and connections. I had studied until dawn, turned down every job my father offered me, and prepared for one exam after another because I wanted a life that had nothing to do with the family name.

And I had finally made it.

First place in the written exam.

First place in the interview.

My final background check was scheduled right after New Year's.

At this stage, even a rumor connecting me to one of the mafia's private clubs could destroy everything.

"Watch your mouth," I snapped.

Eric calmly pulled out his phone.

"Don't believe me?"

He tapped the screen and played a video.

"Princess Number Thirty-Six. Kingsbury private club."

A woman in a tight red dress appeared beneath the dim lights, moving between private booths.

My heart sank.

She looked like me.

Not completely, but enough.

At least seventy percent.

Eric turned the phone toward the table.

"My buddy booked her once. Said she was pretty popular."

The table immediately erupted.

"No wonder Glenda always comes home with expensive gifts."

"So that's where the money comes from."

"I knew something was wrong. She hasn't worked in years."

My parents still said nothing.

I looked toward the Christmas tree.

The gifts I had brought for everyone were stacked neatly beneath it.

I suddenly laughed.

"You all want to know where those gifts really came from?"

The room fell quiet.

I turned toward my parents.

"Mom. Dad. If you won't tell them, then I will."

My mother's face changed instantly.

"Glenda!"

She rushed toward me before I could say another word and grabbed the front of my coat.

Then, to my disbelief, she pulled it open in front of everyone.

"Sweetheart," she said quickly, reaching toward the neckline of my dress, "just take off your top and show them."

I stared at her.

She wouldn't meet my eyes.

"If you don't have that mole," she whispered, "then everyone will know you're innocent."

……

Never, not once in my life, had I imagined my own mother would be willing to humiliate me in front of the entire Moretti family just to keep certain secrets buried.

Her words were like throwing gasoline onto a fire.

The whispers around the dining room instantly turned vicious.

"Even her own parents are telling her to strip. What else are we supposed to think?"

"Laurence has spent half his life teaching law at Kingsbury University, and this is the daughter he raised?"

Someone laughed coldly.

"What a disgrace to the Moretti name."

My father, Laurence Moretti, had always been one of the most respected men in the family.

Publicly, he was a university law professor.

Privately, everyone at that table knew he had spent years handling legal problems for the Moretti organization.

He rarely raised his voice.

He almost never lost his temper.

But that night, he crossed the room in three furious strides.

Before I could react, his hand struck my face.

The slap was so hard my head snapped to the side.

For several seconds, all I could hear was a sharp ringing in my ears.

"Glenda Moretti."

My father's voice was colder than I had ever heard it.

"Apologize for what you've done. Admit it in front of the family, and swear you'll never disgrace us like this again."

He pointed toward the doors.

"Otherwise, leave this house tonight. From this moment on, you have nothing to do with the Moretti family."

I slowly turned back toward him.

My cheek burned.

But the pain was nothing compared with the disbelief twisting inside my chest.

"Dad?"

My voice shook.

"On what grounds are you forcing me to confess to something I never did?"

I looked directly into his eyes.

"When did I ever admit that I sold myself at a nightclub?"

He didn't answer.

I turned toward the relatives crowding around the long dining table.

Then I pointed straight at Eric.

"All of you are condemning me because of a video that barely looks like me and a few accusations from someone who isn't even part of this family."

Eric's expression darkened.

"Do any of you understand what he's doing?" I continued. "He's publicly accusing me of prostitution without evidence. That's slander."

Anne suddenly surged forward.

She grabbed the front of my blouse.

"Eric DeLuca is the man I love!"

Her voice echoed through the dining room.

"He is not an outsider."

She shoved me once.

"And don't act innocent. You haven't held a real job in five years. You've spent all that time supposedly studying for government exams."

Her eyes swept over my clothes.

"So tell us, Glenda. Where does the Chanel come from? The jewelry? The gifts? The money?"

Rage rushed through me.

Everyone else might have believed her question was reasonable.

But Anne knew better.

"Other people at this table might not know," I said through clenched teeth, "but you do."

For the first time, something flickered across her face.

Then she released my shirt without warning.

I stumbled backward.

My heel caught against the edge of the rug, and I went down hard onto the marble floor.

Pain shot through my wrist.

More than twenty relatives stood around me.

Not one person moved.

No one offered me a hand.

No one even asked whether I was hurt.

Anne looked down at me and gave a short, mocking laugh.

"Oh, right."

Her lips curled.

"You did tell me something once."

My stomach tightened.

She folded her arms.

"You said you'd found yourself a man."

A few people immediately leaned closer.

Anne noticed and became even more pleased with herself.

"You said the two of you were very close."

She smiled cruelly.

"Apparently so close you could barely keep your hands off each other."

Before I realized what she intended to do, Anne bent down and ripped the silk scarf from around my neck.

The fabric slid away.

The marks underneath were exposed.

A collective gasp swept through the room.

My entire body went rigid.

Several faint red marks ran along the side of my neck and disappeared beneath the collar of my blouse.

Eric reacted almost instantly.

He raised his phone.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The sound of the camera shutter made my blood boil.

"Look at that."

He laughed while taking another picture.

"That many hickeys, and she still expects us to believe she isn't working in one of those clubs."

I slapped the phone from his hand.

It hit the floor and skidded beneath the dining table.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

I shot to my feet.

"You think you can photograph a woman's exposed body without her permission just because you're dating my sister?"

Eric's smile disappeared.

I stared him down.

"I'm an adult. If my partner leaves marks on me, that's between the two of us."

My voice rose.

"It's legal. It's consensual. And it is absolutely none of your business."

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Anne's voice cut through the silence.

"Fine."

She stepped closer.

"If you're really telling the truth, this should be easy."

Her eyes locked onto mine.

"Tell everyone who your boyfriend is."

I clenched my jaw.

There was one name I had deliberately kept away from my family for a long time.

But they had pushed me too far.

"Jarvis Sanchez."

Silence.

For half a second, the entire dining room froze.

Then someone burst out laughing.

Another person followed.

Within seconds, the room was filled with mocking laughter.

"Wait. Did she seriously just say Jarvis Sanchez?"

"As in Jarvis Sanchez, the eldest son of the Sanchez family?"

"The Sanchez family that controls half of Kingsbury?"

Someone shook his head in disbelief.

The Sanchez name sat above nearly every other organization in the city.

Shipping routes, casinos, private clubs, political connections.

Even families like the Morettis and DeLucas measured their words carefully around them.

And Jarvis Sanchez was the eldest son.

The man everyone expected to inherit the entire empire.

One of my uncles laughed until his face turned red.

"Glenda, at least make your lie believable."

Another relative sneered.

"The Sanchez family sits at the top of Kingsbury's food chain."

Her eyes traveled over me with open contempt.

"Why would their heir look twice at a woman from a family like ours?"