Isabella's arms ached as she scrubbed the marble floor. Five hours of cleaning, and Mrs. Bianchi still wasn't satisfied.
"Missed a spot," the housekeeper said, pointing to a corner with her ruler. "Do it again."
Isabella bit her lip and dunked her cloth back into the bucket of soapy water as her knees burned against the hard floor.
"The De Luca family will be here in three hours," Mrs. Bianchi announced to the staff assembled in the grand entrance hall. "Everything must be perfect."
Maria, who was polishing a large mirror nearby, caught Isabella's eye and gave her a sympathetic smile.
"You," Mrs. Bianchi said, jabbing her ruler at Isabella. "You'll be serving drinks tonight."
Isabella's stomach dropped. "But I've never"
"Did I ask for your opinion?" Mrs. Bianchi's eyes narrowed. "You'll wear the black uniform. And pull your Hair back. No jewelry. No talking unless spoken to. Understand?"
Isabella nodded, keeping her eyes down. "If you embarrass this house in front of the De Lucas," Mrs. Bianchi continued, lowering her voice, "you'll regret it."
As the housekeeper walked away, Maria slid over to Isabella. "Don't worry," she whispered. "Just keep your tray steady and your eyes down. You'll be fine."
"What if I drop something?" Isabella asked, remembering Mario's bruised face. "Don't." Maria's expression was deadly serious.
The staff worked frantically for the next two hours. Isabella's hands were raw from cleaning by the time Mrs. Bianchi ordered everyone to change into their serving uniforms.
The black dress Mrs. Bianchi gave her was slightly too big, hanging loosely on her thin frame. Isabella stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she pulled her dark hair into a tight bun. Dark circles shadowed her eyes.
"You look fine," Maria said, appearing behind her. "Remember, be invisible."
A bell rang somewhere in the house as Maria's face paled.
"They're here. Come on." The staff lined up in the kitchen. Mr. Vincenzo's chef barked orders as waiters arranged appetizers on silver trays.
Isabella's hands trembled as Mrs. Bianchi thrust a tray of champagne flutes at her. "Don't spill a drop," the housekeeper warned. "Wait in the parlor until they arrive, then offer drinks. Start with Mr. De Luca."
Isabella nodded, carefully balancing the tray. The champagne glasses clinked dangerously as she walked.
The parlor was bigger than her entire apartment back home. Crystal chandeliers hung from high ceilings. Expensive paintings covered the walls. Isabella positioned herself in a corner, as Maria had instructed.
Voices echoed from the entrance hall as Isabella's heart pounded so loudly she was sure everyone could hear it.
Mr. Vincenzo entered first a short, round man with slicked-back gray hair and a fake smile. Behind him was a younger man who looked like his son, Luigi. "Where are they?" Luigi muttered, checking his watch.
"Patience," Mr. Vincenzo hissed. "De Lucas always makes an entrance."
As if on cue, the butler announced from the doorway: "Mr. Matteo De Luca and Mr. Luca De Luca."
Isabella nearly dropped her tray.
Two men strode into the room. The first was tall and lean, with dark wavy hair and a face that belonged on a magazine cover. He looked around the room with obvious boredom.
But it was the second man who made Isabella's breath catch. Broad-shouldered and imposing, Matteo De Luca moved with the confidence of someone who owned everything and everyone in sight. His face was all sharp angles high cheekbones, strong jaw, straight nose. His eyes, dark and cold, swept the room in one calculating glance.
"Matteo!" Mr. Vincenzo exclaimed, rushing forward. "What an honor to have you in my humble home."
Matteo barely acknowledged him, giving only a slight nod. His brother, Luca, smiled more warmly, shaking Mr. Vincenzo's hand.
"Drinks?" Mr. Vincenzo motioned to Isabella. She stepped forward, trying to keep her hands from shaking. She approached Matteo first, as instructed.
His eyes met hers for a brief moment. There was no warmth in them, no humanity. Just emptiness. "Sir," she said quietly, offering the tray.
Matteo took a glass without looking at her again. Isabella moved to Luca next, then to Mr. Vincenzo and his son.
"Let's move to the dining room," Mr. Vincenzo suggested. "Dinner is ready."
Isabella returned to the kitchen, legs wobbling as Maria grabbed her arm. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I'm fine," Isabella lied. Something about Matteo De Luca had triggered another flash of memory: a dark room, shouting, a gunshot.
The dinner service was a blur as Isabella moved between the kitchen and dining room, serving food and clearing plates. She kept her eyes down and her movements silent, just as she'd been told.
The men discussed business at the table. Isabella caught fragments of conversation about territories, shipments, and payments.
"The port situation is under control," Matteo said, his voice deep and emotionless. "My men have dealt with the problem."
"Excellent," Mr. Vincenzo said, too eagerly. "And the police commissioner?"
"No longer an issue." Matteo's tone made it clear what had happened to the commissioner.
As Isabella leaned in to refill Matteo's water glass, Luigi arm shot out, knocking into her elbow. Water splashed onto the tablecloth, barely missing Matteo's expensive suit.
The room fell silent.
"I am sorry," Isabella stammered, horror washing over her. Luigi smirked. "Clumsy girl."
Mr. Vincenzo's face reddened with anger and embarrassment. "Are you stupid"
"It wasn't her fault," Matteo interrupted, his cold eyes fixed on Luigi. "Your son bumped her arm. Deliberately, it seems."
Luigi's smirk vanished. "I didn't"
"Don't lie to me." Matteo's voice was soft but dangerous. "I don't appreciate liars at my table." Isabella stood frozen, water still dripping from the pitcher.
"Of course," Mr. Vincenzo said nervously. "Luigi, apologize to our guest."
"Sorry," Luigi muttered, glaring at Isabella.
Matteo turned his attention to her for the first time. His dark eyes studied her face with unsettling intensity.
"What's your name?" he asked.
Isabella's throat went dry. "Isabella, sir." Something flickered in Matteo's eyes—recognition? Surprise? It was gone so quickly she thought she'd imagined it.
"Isabella," he repeated, as if testing the name. "You may go." She nodded and hurried back to the kitchen, heart racing.
"What happened?" Maria whispered when Isabella returned. "Everyone in there went quiet."
Before Isabella could answer, Mrs. Bianchi stormed in. "You!" she hissed, grabbing Isabella's arm. "Mr. Vincenzo wants to see you after dinner. In his office."
Fear clawed at Isabella's chest. "But it wasn't my fault. Luigi"
"I don't care whose fault it was!" Mrs. Bianchi tightened her grip. "You embarrassed this house in front of Matteo De Luca!"
After the guests moved to the study for drinks, Isabella was summoned to Mr. Vincenzo's office. Her legs felt like lead as she climbed the stairs.
She knocked softly on the heavy wooden door. "Enter," called a voice that wasn't Mr. Vincenzo's.
Isabella pushed open the door and froze.
Matteo De Luca sat behind the desk, alone, his jacket removed and sleeves rolled up. A large tattoo of a lion covered his right forearm.
"Close the door," he commanded. Isabella obeyed, her pulse pounding in her ears.
Matteo studied her face again, his expression unreadable. "Do I know you?" he asked finally.
"No, sir," Isabella whispered. "I don't think so." He leaned forward. "You look familiar."
Another memory flashed a younger Matteo, smiling, holding out his hand to her across a garden. "Come on, Izzy. Father's waiting."
Isabella gasped, the image so vivid it made her dizzy. "What is it?" Matteo demanded, rising from his chair.
"Nothing," she said quickly. "It's just that I have never met you before."
His eyes narrowed. "You're lying." Before Isabella could respond, the door burst open. Mr. Vincenzo rushed in, stopping short when he saw them.
"Matteo! I was looking for you," he said, glancing nervously between them. "Is everything alright?"
Matteo didn't take his eyes off Isabella. "I've decided to take this girl with me when I leave tonight."
Mr. Vincenzo's mouth fell open. "But"
"Is that a problem?" Matteo's voice was silky but threatening.
"No, of course not," Mr. Vincenzo stammered. "She's yours." Isabella's blood turned to ice as Matteo's lips curved into a cold smile.
"Good," he said. "I think Isabella and I have much to discuss."