Chapter 1
The grand ballroom of the Moretti estate was bathed in bright, cinematic colors. Natural, flawless lighting poured from the towering crystal chandeliers, completely devoid of any dull yellow tint. It was a pristine, luminous glow that highlighted the wealth and power of the families gathered within. Every guest in the room was a white American adult, their fair and rosy skin glowing beautifully against the dark, tailored fabrics of their formal Mafia-family engagement-dinner clothing. The air was filled with the low, confident hum of sharp American accents as powerful men and elegant women discussed the impending union.
At a quiet corner of the massive engagement table, mostly hidden from the bustling crowd, sat three-year-old Eira Moretti. The little girl was a vision of innocence amidst a den of wolves. She wore a simple formal dress, a soft white cardigan, and immaculate little flats. Her fair, rosy cheeks were flushed with a quiet sadness that did not belong at a celebration. In her tiny hands, she held a small, antique silver keepsake locket that had belonged to her late mother.
"I miss you, Mommy," Eira whispered softly to herself, her voice barely audible over the clinking of champagne glasses.
Eira quietly opened the delicate clasp of her late mother’s keepsake locket. Inside the silver pendant was a tiny, faded photograph of a woman with a bright, loving smile. Eira stared at it, her small thumb gently tracing the edge of the metal.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over the little girl. Ainsley Vale, the thirty-six-year-old fiancée of the Mafia boss, loomed above her. Ainsley was stunning, her fair skin flawless, dressed in an elegant, sweeping evening gown. She wore heavy, expensive earrings, a glittering diamond bracelet, an enormous engagement ring, and sharp designer heels. Despite her beauty, her eyes were completely devoid of warmth.
"What do you think you are doing?" Ainsley demanded, her American accent sharp and dripping with absolute venom. "Why are you hiding in the corner like a stray dog?"
"I'm looking at my Mommy," Eira replied softly, her innocent blue eyes looking up at the towering woman.
Ainsley’s rosy face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. She did not hesitate. Ainsley violently snatched the silver locket away from the three-year-old's hands. The fragile chain snapped, scratching the back of Eira's neck.
"Hey! Give it back!" Eira cried out, reaching desperately for the only piece of her mother she had left.
Instead of returning it, Ainsley pulled her arm back and delivered a vicious, stinging slap directly across Eira’s face. The sharp, cracking sound echoed over the nearby tables.
The force of the blow was horrific. Eira was thrown completely off balance, her small body tumbling from her chair. She fell heavily onto the polished marble floor beside her seat, gasping in pain and shock, her tiny hand flying up to cover her rapidly bruising cheek.
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Ainsley stood over the weeping child, clutching the stolen locket in her manicured fist, her chest heaving with arrogant rage. She glared down at the three-year-old, her eyes flashing with a cold, sociopathic cruelty.
"Listen to me very carefully, you pathetic little brat," Ainsley hissed coldly, ensuring her words sliced through the air like a knife. "Dead women don’t belong at my wedding."
