"THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE CALLED ME “A STUPID LITTLE MAID” WHEN I PULLED A HALF-BURNED WOODEN BOX FROM THE FIREPLACE—BUT WHEN LUCA SAW WHO HAD CARVED “FOR DAD” INTO THE LID, HE STOOD UP.

Vanessa Bellini walked slowly into the library, her high heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor before she stepped onto the thick Persian rug. She looked at the smoldering box pressed against my chest, and then down at my right hand, which was shaking violently from the burns.

“Put that back in the fire,” she demanded, her voice low and laced with poison.

I stayed on my knees, clutching the box tighter. “Mrs. Bellini, please. It’s for Mr. Moretti. His son made it.”

“I told you to destroy it,” she hissed, stepping so close I could smell her expensive perfume mingling with the smoke.

Through the open doors of the library, I could hear the faint sound of the string quartet beginning to play in the grand dining room. Twenty-nine of Chicago’s elite were already taking their seats, waiting for the happy couple to make their grand entrance.

“It’s cheap,” Vanessa sneered, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at the box. “It’s ugly. And I am not having some ridiculous little craft project sitting beside the Baccarat crystal and the Rolexes tonight. I will not be embarrassed by that brat’s pathetic attempts for attention.”

She pointed a rigid finger toward the blazing hearth. “Put it back.”

I didn't move. I looked down at the lid. Despite the soot and the scorched corner, the crookedly carved words were still clearly visible.

FOR DAD. LOVE, MATTEO.

“No,” I said, my voice shaking but resolute.

Vanessa’s eyes widened in genuine shock. No one on the staff ever told her no. She let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Excuse me?”

“I said no,” I repeated, slowly standing up to face her. “It’s a gift from a son to his father. I won't burn it.”

Vanessa’s face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. She stepped forward, invading my space, looking at me as if I were an insect she was about to crush under her designer heel.

“You desperate little maid,” she spat. She looked at my blistering hand, a cruel smile forming on her lips. “You injured yourself over a child’s piece of junk? How pathetic.”

I swallowed the pain radiating up my arm, holding my ground. “It isn't junk.”

Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “You are done in this city. You’re fired. Get your things and get out of my house before I have security throw you onto the street.”