Chapter 1 - The Mark on the Wrist
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The foyer was deathly silent.
Nicholas Caruso remained on one knee, his broad hand cradling the tiny, bruised wrist of three-year-old Lucy. The four dark red marks curved sharply against her pale skin, unmistakably the imprint of adult fingers applied with brutal force.
“Who did this?” Nicholas asked again.
His voice wasn’t loud. It didn't need to be. In the Caruso empire, a whisper from Nicholas carried more weight than a gunshot.
Lucy pressed her face against his neck, shivering violently.
“The pretty lady,” she whimpered into his coat. “She grabbed me when I took the cookie from the tray.”
Nicholas didn’t flinch, but his dark eyes slowly shifted upward, locking onto Vivienne Hart.
Vivienne took an involuntary step back, her expensive silk dress rustling against the marble stairs. Her cheeks flushed red, contrast against her pristine blond hair.
“Nicholas, don’t be ridiculous,” Vivienne said, her voice tight with forced laughter. “The child was sticky. She was running around contaminating the grand hall right before our dinner guests arrived. I merely caught her by the arm to lead her back to the kitchen.”
“You didn’t catch her,” Nicholas said softly, rising to his full height of six-foot-two. “You crushed her.”
“She’s a maid’s child!” Vivienne snapped, her composure slipping. “She doesn't belong in the foyer! Maria should have been keeping her locked away in the servant quarters!”
Across the room, Maria Santos flinched as if struck. She kept her head bowed, her hands trembling over her apron.
“Maria,” Nicholas commanded quietly, not looking away from his fiancée. “Take Lucy upstairs to my private wing. Have the house physician look at her wrist immediately.”
“Mr. Caruso, please—” Maria began, her voice choked with tears. “We can leave. I’llpack our things right now—”
“You’re not going anywhere, Maria,” Nicholas cut her off, his eyes cold as glacier ice. “Arthur, escort them.”
Arthur Bell, the ancient butler, stepped forward with surprising speed. “Right away, sir.”
Once the heavy oak doors of the inner hallway clicked shut behind Maria and Lucy, Nicholas turned his full attention to Vivienne.
“You have three minutes to pack your things,” Nicholas said.
May you like
Vivienne gasped. “What? Nicholas, are you insane? We are getting married in five weeks! The invitations have been sent to every major family in the city!”
“Then send them cancellation letters,” Nicholas replied evenly. “Because you will never step foot inside this house again.”
