The Mob Boss’s Fiancée Humiliated a Plus-Size Maid Before 200 Guests—But the Silver Locket at Her Throat Exposed a Secret No One Saw Coming

Elena shook her head frantically, stepping back from the towering man. "No. No, my mother wasn’t your sister. We lived in a tiny apartment on the South Side. She worked in a laundromat."

"What was her full name?" Adrian demanded, ignoring her protests.

"Maria Elena Morris."

Adrian’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Did she have a scar?"

Elena froze. The breath hitched in her throat.

Adrian’s breathing changed, becoming shallower, faster. "On her left shoulder."

Elena stared at him, her eyes wide with shock. "Yes."

The people closest to them completely stopped whispering. The silence was absolute.

Adrian took a step closer, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "Small. Crescent-shaped. Like a half-moon."

Elena’s eyes widened even further. She clutched the locket against her chest. "How could you possibly know that?"

Cassandra’s face suddenly lost all of its color. She looked from Adrian to the maid, a new, unidentifiable panic setting into her features.

Adrian saw the shift in his fiancée's face out of the corner of his eye. He immediately understood that whatever was happening tonight, Cassandra Vance knew significantly more than she was saying.

But his attention remained entirely focused on the terrified woman in the gray maid uniform.

"My sister had that exact same scar," Adrian said quietly.

Elena shook her head again, tears welling in her eyes. This had to be a mistake. A cruel joke. "No. That's impossible."

"She got it when she was six years old," Adrian continued, his voice tight with old memories.

"No."

"She was playing in the garden. She fell through a greenhouse window."

Elena’s lips began to tremble violently. She remembered sitting on her mother's bed when she was a little girl, tracing the strange, curved scar on her mother's shoulder.

"My mother told me she got hers falling through glass," Elena whispered, a tear finally escaping and rolling down her cheek.

Cassandra interrupted loudly, desperate to break the tension. "This proves absolutely nothing, Adrian!"

Adrian slowly turned his head toward her. Nobody in the ballroom missed the distinct panic bleeding into Cassandra’s usually composed voice now.

She continued quickly, talking too fast. "Scars happen all the time. Lockets can be easily copied or bought at pawn shops. She could have found this somewhere or stolen it from an estate sale!"

Elena looked deeply offended, wiping her cheek. "I didn't steal anything. My mother wore this every single day of her life. She never took it off."

"And how incredibly convenient," Cassandra sneered, stepping forward, "that you just happen to work in Adrian’s house."

"I didn’t even know who his family was when I applied to the catering agency," Elena shot back, finding a sliver of bravery. "I just needed the extra shifts."

Cassandra let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "Of course you didn’t."

Adrian raised one hand.

Silence instantly fell over the room again.

He looked intently at Elena. "Did your mother ever mention the name Moretti?"

Elena thought hard, her mind racing back through years of quiet, impoverished living. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember any clue, any slip of the tongue.

Then, something faint came back to her.

"One time," Elena breathed out.

Adrian's eyes sharpened like a hawk spotting prey. "When?"

"She was very, very sick," Elena’s voice became quieter, the painful memory surfacing.

"She woke up in the hospital a few days before she passed. She was delirious from the medication, and she kept saying a name over and over."

"What name?" Adrian demanded.