Chapter 1

I attended my boyfriend's company year-end gala as his guest — and it was the last place I expected trouble to find me.

His "best buddy," Stella Vance, leaned into Damian's side and sneered at me with a smile.

"Miss Aria, I've heard some interesting things about you." She tilted her head. "Your mother clawed her way up as a mistress, and after you came of age, you continued the family tradition — bouncing from one sugar daddy's bed to the next. Only recently did you manage to snag Damian."

She paused, as though savoring the moment, then added sweetly, "Oh, and I'm very close with your plastic surgeon, by the way."

She pressed her fingers to her lips in mock horror, cutting a glance at Damian.

"Oops. I forgot — women who claw their way up through surgery and seduction hate having their past dragged out. Damian, don't be mad at me, I just can't help being honest."

Damian's smile froze on his face. A second ago he'd been bragging to his colleagues about my looks and my so-called "good family background."

I looked at Stella Vance more carefully. The longer I stared, the more familiar she seemed.

Then it clicked.

Wasn't this the woman who'd simultaneously strung along over a dozen high-ranking Mafia bosses — scheduling conflicts and all — until their wives put out a joint hit on her? She'd shown up on her knees outside my family estate, begging for her life. I'd taken pity on her and had the contract lifted.

I wonder, I thought, how thrilled those bosses' wives would be to know she was here tonight.

I quietly reached into my clutch and switched on my voice recorder.

As the next head of the Philadelphia Mafia, I had one rule: run things like a legitimate operation. Evidence first. Always.

The moment Stella finished her little speech, every admiring glance that had been directed at Damian curdled into something else.

A colleague laughed awkwardly to ease the tension.

"You must have the wrong person. Miss Aria comes from serious money — she'd never need to be anyone's mistress."

Stella didn't deny it. She only sighed, slowly and deeply.

"True. Credit where it's due — her mother was clever. Selling herself to a rich man, becoming his mistress for the money. Not everyone has that kind of forward-thinking."

She smiled. "Though, honestly? I wouldn't want that kind of 'old money.' It's tainted."

I felt a cold jolt in my chest.

She actually dared. If my father — the man who had built an empire just to spoil my mother — ever found out what she'd just said, Stella Vance wouldn't be safe anywhere in Philadelphia.

Noticing my expression shift, Stella curled further into Damian's side.

"Did I say something wrong again?" she murmured up at him, all soft eyes and helpless shrugs. "I'm sorry, I'm just not as calculating as some people. I say what I think."

I bit down on every urge to slap her. I had just issued a directive that the family was not to strike women without cause.

While I was distracted, my wine glass tilted. Red wine splashed across Stella's white dress.

She shrieked. Her eyes filled with tears on cue.

"Sis-in-law — you'd get violent just because I told the truth?" She shook her head in disbelief. "You should be impressed that you pulled it off, honestly. I'm almost jealous of how convincingly you've fooled everyone."

Damian's face went cold in an instant. He picked up the napkin from the table and began carefully dabbing at Stella's dress.

Then he turned his glare on me.

"Stella's always been blunt — she doesn't mean any harm. What the hell is wrong with you?" He pointed at me, jaw tight. "Apologize. Now."

I almost laughed.

Stella had spent the last ten minutes spreading slander about me, and Damian had stood by without a word. But the second his precious "buddy" got a wine stain, he was ready to go to war.

Stella wiped her eyes and pressed her cheek against Damian's shoulder.

"It's fine. I probably mistook her for someone else. I was just joking around."

I looked at her, my voice flat.

"Claims require evidence. I don't have a sense of humor. I don't understand jokes."

The words were also for Damian — a quiet reminder. Don't believe things without proof.

Damian blinked. His hand, still holding the napkin to Stella's dress, slowly stilled.

Stella stiffened almost imperceptibly. She was losing her grip on him.

But she recovered fast, her eyes going wide with wounded innocence.

"I'm sorry. That's what your surgeon told me. I shouldn't have repeated it without checking."

I rested my chin on my hand and studied her.

"Which clinic? Which surgeon?"

If she named one, it was evidence.

I expected her to stumble. Instead, she looked at me with sudden, earnest sincerity.

"Sis-in-law, even without surgery, you wouldn't be that bad-looking. There's really no need to go in for touch-ups a dozen times a month."

The table went quiet. Colleagues exchanged glances, disgust flickering across their faces.

A female colleague sitting beside Stella gave a long, knowing smile.

"The world really does belong to women like her — get a little work done, spread your legs, and suddenly you're rich and untouchable."

"Not like Stella and me." She gestured between them with false modesty. "We're all natural. We believe in marrying for love."