THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE TOLD ME TO SEAT HIS SEVENTY-EIGHT-YEAR-OLD FORMER HOUSEKEEPER IN THE KITCHEN—BUT WHEN I BROUGHT HER TO THE ENGAGEMENT TABLE, LUCA MORETTI STOOD UP AND CALLED HER “MAMA ROSA.”

"She is not sitting with the guests."

Vanessa Bellini said it without looking at me. She turned slightly in front of the ornate gilded mirror in the foyer, adjusting a massive diamond earring that caught the ambient light of the chandeliers.

Across the marble foyer stood a tiny elderly woman wrapped in a faded navy coat. She held a wax-paper-wrapped pie in both hands like a fragile treasure, alongside a worn leather purse tucked firmly under her arm. Her silver hair was pinned neatly behind her ears, and her eyes were bright despite the cold autumn wind blowing outside. She had taken two city buses across Chicago just to attend Luca Moretti’s engagement dinner.

And Vanessa wanted her hidden in the kitchen.

"Mrs. Alvarez was invited, ma’am," I said, keeping my voice quiet and neutral.

"By Luca’s secretary," Vanessa replied smoothly, tapping her manicured nails against her pearl clutch. "That was a mistake."

I glanced toward the old woman again. She was shifting her feet patiently on the welcome mat, not wanting to track dirt onto the polished floor.

"She worked for Mr. Moretti’s family for forty years," I reminded her.

Vanessa finally turned to face me. Her eyes were as sharp and unyielding as glass.

"Exactly," Vanessa murmured, her lips curling into a cold, practice-perfect smile. "She was the help."

My name is Emma Reed. I was twenty-seven years old and worked housekeeping in Luca Moretti’s Gold Coast mansion. Usually, when Vanessa gave me an order, I followed it without question. I needed the paycheck. My father was recovering from a severe stroke, and every single month brought another medical bill we simply couldn't afford.

But Mrs. Rosa Alvarez didn’t look like "the help." She looked like someone’s beloved grandmother who had carefully dressed in her Sunday best for the most important night of her young boy's life.

Vanessa lowered her voice, taking a step toward me.

"Put her in the staff dining room. Give her dinner. Be polite," she commanded softly. Then her eyes flicked down to the pie in Rosa's hands. "And throw that thing away before Luca sees it."