Chapter 1 - The Mafia Boss Knelt in His Bleeding Maid’s Champagne-Soaked Apron—Then Demanded to Know What His Butler Had Been Hiding
Five of New York's wealthiest and most beautiful heiresses spent the entire evening fighting for the attention of the city's most feared Mafia Boss.
But the only woman he noticed was a young blonde housemaid kneeling in a pool of blood and shattered crystal.
Me.
And when Roman Castor ignored diamonds, designer gowns, and powerful family names to kneel in front of me, the entire ballroom fell silent.
I had no idea that one terrible accident was about to change my life forever.
My name is Emma Bennett.
I'm twenty-six years old.
I have long blonde hair, fair skin, blue eyes, and a slender figure.
And for the past eight months, I've worked as a housemaid inside the enormous Castor mansion in New York.
The estate stood behind towering iron gates.
Its marble floors were polished until they reflected the golden chandeliers overhead.
Expensive paintings decorated the walls.
White roses filled crystal vases.
And armed security guards patrolled the grounds day and night.
The mansion was beautiful.
But it was also intimidating.
Because it belonged to Roman Castor.
The most feared Mafia Boss in New York.
Roman was thirty-five years old.
Six feet four inches tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Muscular.
With dark wavy hair, piercing gray eyes, and black tattoos covering his powerful forearms.
He was handsome in a way that made people nervous.
Cold.
Dangerous.
And almost impossible to read.
Officially, he controlled shipping companies, warehouses, luxury hotels, and international import businesses.
Unofficially, everyone knew the Castor family ruled one of the most powerful criminal organizations on the East Coast.
His name was whispered in expensive restaurants.
In private clubs.
And behind the closed doors of powerful businessmen.
People said that crossing Roman Castor was the fastest way to destroy your future.
Some even whispered that people who betrayed him simply disappeared.
I didn't know which stories were true.
And I had no intention of finding out.
I only wanted to do my job.
Earn my salary.
And go home.
I needed the money.
My mother lived in Queens.
She had been sick for almost two years.
Her medical bills were growing.
And although I worked as many hours as possible, I was still struggling to pay everything.
So I cleaned bedrooms.
Polished silverware.
Carried trays.
Changed bedsheets.
And helped prepare enormous parties for people who could spend more money in one evening than I earned in an entire year.
I wore a simple black maid's dress.
A white apron.
And comfortable black shoes that had become worn from standing all day.
Most guests never noticed me.
To them, I was simply the help.
Someone who existed to carry their drinks, clean their messes, and disappear whenever they finished speaking.
And that evening, I was about to discover just how invisible they believed I was.
The Castor mansion was hosting the Grand Solstice Gala.
Four hundred wealthy guests had been invited.
Business executives.
Politicians.
Shipping magnates.
Luxury hotel owners.
And members of some of New York's most influential families.
The ballroom glittered beneath enormous crystal chandeliers.
Warm golden light reflected against the white marble floors.
A string quartet played near the grand staircase.
Waiters carried silver trays of champagne.
And security guards stood quietly along the walls.
Everything looked magnificent.
But behind the scenes, the household staff was exhausted.
I'd been working for eight hours without a proper break.
My feet hurt.
My stomach was empty.
And all I wanted was to finish my shift without making a mistake.
Unfortunately, the head butler had other plans.
“Emma!”
Mr. Gary Whitmore's sharp voice echoed through the service corridor.
I turned immediately.
“Yes, sir?”
Gary was the head butler.
A nervous man who became even more unpleasant whenever important guests visited the mansion.
He shoved a silver tray into my hands.
“VIP section. Now.”
I glanced at the champagne glasses.
“Yes, sir.”
He leaned closer.
“And listen carefully.”
I swallowed.
“Mr. Castor isn't just another guest at this party.”
I nodded.
“I know, sir.”
Gary's expression hardened.
“If his champagne glass stays empty for even one minute, every one of you will regret it.”
I lowered my eyes.
“Understood.”
“And don't make any mistakes.”
“Yes, sir.”
He stepped away.
I took a deep breath.
Then carefully lifted the tray.
The atmosphere inside the ballroom changed shortly after nine o'clock.
Conversations softened.
Businessmen straightened their jackets.
Several women turned toward the entrance.
And the security guards near the enormous doors moved aside.
Roman Castor had arrived.
He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal-gray suit.
His dark hair was neatly styled.
His broad shoulders filled the jacket.
And the black tattoos on his muscular forearms were partially visible beneath his cuffs.
Two bodyguards followed several steps behind him.
Roman didn't smile.
He didn't wave.
And he didn't appear interested in the attention surrounding him.
Yet every person in the room watched him.
Because Roman Castor didn't need to announce his power.
Everyone already knew.
Within seconds, five of New York's most beautiful heiresses surrounded him.
Victoria Hale led the group.
She was twenty-seven.
Tall.
Beautiful.
And the daughter of one of Manhattan's wealthiest real estate developers.
She wore a shimmering silver silk gown.
Diamonds glittered around her neck.
And her expensive perfume filled the air.
Beside her stood Madeline Crane.
The wealthy Whitcomb sisters.
And Chloe Beaumont.
All five women belonged to powerful families.
All five were accustomed to getting whatever they wanted.
And all five wanted Roman Castor.
“Roman!”
Victoria smiled brightly.
“You look incredible tonight.”
Roman gave a small nod.
“Victoria.”
She moved closer.
“My father was hoping you'd join us for dinner next week.”
“I'm busy.”
Victoria laughed.
“Oh, surely you can make time.”
Roman didn't answer.
Madeline immediately stepped forward.
“Roman, have you seen the new art collection my family acquired?”
Before he could respond, one of the Whitcomb sisters interrupted.
“My father just returned from Monaco. He brought something you'd absolutely love.”
The other sister smiled.
“You should come to our estate this weekend.”
Chloe Beaumont gently touched Roman's sleeve.
“I've been hoping to speak with you privately.”
Roman looked at her hand.
Chloe quickly withdrew it.
His expression remained unreadable.
For several minutes, the five women competed for his attention.
Smiling.
Laughing.
Flirting.
And trying to impress him with their wealth.
Roman barely responded.
Meanwhile, I stood several feet away holding a silver tray.
“Champagne?” I asked softly.
Nobody acknowledged me.
Victoria stepped closer to Roman.
Madeline laughed at something that wasn't funny.
The Whitcomb sisters continued talking over each other.
And Chloe adjusted her diamond necklace.
I waited.
Then quietly repeated:
“Would anyone like champagne?”
Victoria glanced toward me.
Her expression immediately became irritated.
“Can't you see we're talking?”
My cheeks burned.
“I'm sorry, ma'am.”
She waved one hand dismissively.
“Then move.”
I lowered my eyes.
“Yes, ma'am.”
To them, I wasn't a person.
I was part of the furniture.
And I was expected to disappear whenever they wanted.
Roman moved toward a private seating area near the enormous windows.
The five women followed.
I waited until they had settled around him.
Then approached with the champagne tray.
My hands were steady.
My steps were careful.
I had carried hundreds of trays during my time at the mansion.
I knew how to balance crystal glasses.
How to move through crowded rooms.
And how to serve guests without interrupting conversations.
But I couldn't have predicted what happened next.
Victoria Hale stepped backward.
Without looking.
Her razor-thin heel landed directly on my foot.
Pain shot through my leg.
I gasped.
My balance disappeared.
The silver tray tilted.
And suddenly, everything seemed to move in slow motion.
Crystal glasses slid toward the edge.
Champagne splashed over the tray.
I tried to steady myself.
But my injured foot twisted beneath me.
The tray slipped from my fingers.
And crashed against the marble floor.
CRASH!
The sound echoed through the ballroom.
Crystal shattered.
Champagne exploded across the marble.
And one nearly full glass tipped directly onto Roman Castor's custom suit.
Golden liquid soaked the front of his charcoal-gray jacket.
The music stopped.
Conversations died.
And the entire ballroom fell silent.
My stomach dropped.
Oh, God.
I had just spilled champagne on the Mafia Boss.
I fell to my knees.
Broken crystal surrounded me.
My face burned with humiliation.
“I'm so sorry!”
My voice trembled.
“I didn't mean to—”
Victoria gasped dramatically.
“Oh, my God!”
She stared at Roman's ruined jacket.
Then looked down at me.
“How can someone be this incompetent?”
Several guests turned toward us.
My hands shook.
“I apologize, sir.”
I reached for the towel tucked into my apron.
“I'll clean it immediately.”
But before I could touch his jacket, a large hand gently wrapped around my wrist.
“Don't.”
The voice was deep.
Calm.
And unmistakably Roman Castor's.
I froze.
I slowly looked up.
Roman stood directly in front of me.
His gray eyes were fixed on my face.
He didn't look angry.
He didn't look embarrassed.
And he didn't seem concerned about the expensive champagne soaking his suit.
Instead, he looked at my trembling hands.
“Don't touch the glass.”
I swallowed.
“Yes, sir.”
I tried to move backward.
But my palm pressed against a sharp piece of broken crystal.
Pain shot through my hand.
I gasped.
Then looked down.
Bright red blood spilled across the white marble.
My heart pounded.
“Oh, no.”
I pulled my hand away.
Blood ran between my fingers.
I grabbed the edge of my apron and pressed it against the wound.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered again.
Victoria hurried forward.
She pulled an embroidered silk handkerchief from her designer purse.
“Roman, darling!”
Her voice was suddenly sweet.
“Let me help you.”
She held out the handkerchief toward his ruined jacket.
“This maid should be fired immediately.”
Roman didn't look at her.
Victoria continued.
“Honestly, I don't understand why you keep such careless staff.”
Roman slowly turned his head.
“Quiet.”
One word.
That was all.
Victoria immediately stopped speaking.
Her smile disappeared.
And several nearby guests lowered their eyes.
Gary rushed across the ballroom.
His face was drenched in sweat.
“Mr. Castor!”
He stared at the broken crystal.
Then at the champagne soaking Roman's suit.
Then at me.
His expression twisted with fury.
“Emma!”
I flinched.
“Sir, I'm sorry—”
“Look what you've done!”
He turned toward Roman.
“Mr. Castor, I sincerely apologize.”
Roman remained silent.
Gary continued.
“She's finished.”
My stomach dropped.
“Sir, please—”
“I'll fire her immediately.”
My eyes filled with tears.
Gary pointed toward me.
“And she'll pay for the suit.”
Roman slowly turned.
“She'll do what?”
Gary froze.
“Sir?”
Roman's expression became cold.
“Repeat what you just said.”
Gary swallowed.
“I... I said she'll pay for the damage.”
Roman looked at the blood spreading across my apron.
Then back at Gary.
“And how exactly do you expect her to do that?”
Gary hesitated.
“We can deduct it from her wages.”
Roman stared at him.
For several long seconds, nobody spoke.
Then he asked quietly:
“Is that how you treat injured employees in my house?”
Gary's face turned pale.
Roman knelt in front of me.
The movement shocked everyone.
The most feared Mafia Boss in New York.
A man worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
Kneeling on a marble floor soaked with champagne.
In front of a bleeding housemaid.
He ignored the expensive suit.
Ignored the watching guests.
And gently took my injured hand.
“Let me see.”
I shook my head.
“It's nothing, sir.”
His eyes lifted toward mine.
“Emma.”
My heart skipped.
He knew my name.
I swallowed.
“Yes?”
“Let me see your hand.”
I slowly moved the bloodstained apron away.
Roman examined the cut.
His jaw tightened.
Then he looked toward one of his bodyguards.
“Matteo.”
A tall man in a black suit stepped forward.
“Yes, boss?”
“Get the medical kit.”
“Immediately.”
Matteo hurried away.
I tried to stand.
“Mr. Castor, please.”
Roman looked at me.
“What is it?”
“I can clean this up.”
He glanced toward the broken glass.
Then back at my bleeding hand.
“No.”
My throat tightened.
“But it's my fault.”
His expression changed.
“Is it?”
I hesitated.
Then whispered:
“It was an accident.”
Roman studied my face.
“Tell me what happened.”
I lowered my eyes.
“I lost my balance.”
“Why?”
I swallowed.
“Someone stepped on my foot.”
The words came out barely above a whisper.
Roman's gaze dropped toward my worn black shoe.
A dusty heel mark was clearly visible across the front.
His expression hardened.
Slowly, he looked toward the five women standing nearby.
“Which one?”
My heart nearly stopped.
Victoria stared at me.
Her expression was no longer sweet.
Her eyes narrowed.
And the smile on her face felt more like a threat.
I understood exactly what she was thinking.
Say my name.
And you'll regret it.
I looked down.
“It doesn't matter.”
Roman didn't move.
“Emma.”
My throat tightened.
“Yes, sir?”
“Which one stepped on your foot?”
I shook my head.
“Please.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“I don't want any trouble.”
Roman looked at my bleeding hand.
Then at the shattered crystal.
Then at the expensive suit I'd ruined.
I forced a weak smile.
“I could never afford your suit anyway.”
For the first time all evening, something changed in Roman's expression.
The cold boredom disappeared.
And genuine curiosity appeared in his gray eyes.
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then slowly stood.
His powerful frame towered over everyone around him.
The black tattoos on his forearms were visible beneath his sleeves.
He turned toward Gary.
“What's her name?”
Gary blinked.
“Sir?”
Roman's expression remained cold.
“The maid.”
Gary swallowed.
“Emma Bennett, sir.”
Roman repeated the name quietly.
“Emma Bennett.”
My heart pounded.
Then he asked:
“How long has she worked here?”
Gary hesitated.
“Eight months.”
Roman looked toward me.
“Eight months?”
I nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
He studied my face.
Then turned back toward Gary.
“And in those eight months, how many complaints have you received about her work?”
Gary opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Roman waited.
“Answer me.”
Gary swallowed.
“None, sir.”
The ballroom remained silent.
Roman's eyes narrowed.
“None?”
Gary shook his head.
“No, sir.”
Roman looked toward the broken crystal.
Then toward Victoria Hale.
“And yet you're prepared to fire her over an accident?”
Gary said nothing.
Victoria stepped forward.
“Roman, honestly!”
She forced a laugh.
“Why are we making such a big deal over a maid?”
Roman slowly turned toward her.
His expression became unreadable.
“A maid?”
Victoria shrugged.
“Yes.”
She gestured toward me.
“She's just hired help.”
The words hung in the air.
I lowered my eyes.
My cheeks burned.
But Roman didn't move.
He stared at Victoria for several seconds.
Then asked quietly:
“And what exactly does that make you?”
Victoria blinked.
“Excuse me?”
Roman stepped closer.
“You heard me.”
Her smile faltered.
“Roman, I'm Victoria Hale.”
“I know.”
“My father owns one of the largest real estate companies in Manhattan.”
Roman nodded once.
“And?”
Victoria looked confused.
“And...”
Roman's voice became colder.
“Does that give you permission to treat someone like she's beneath you?”
Victoria's face flushed.
“I didn't mean—”
“You stepped on her foot.”
She froze.
Roman continued.
“She fell.”
His eyes moved toward the blood on the marble.
“She was injured.”
Then he looked directly at Victoria.
“And instead of helping her, you demanded that she lose her job.”
Victoria's friends stepped backward.
Madeline Crane suddenly became very interested in her champagne glass.
The Whitcomb sisters looked away.
And Chloe Beaumont stopped smiling.
Because everyone could see what was happening.
Roman Castor was angry.
Not because his expensive suit had been ruined.
But because someone had humiliated his housemaid.
Victoria tried to recover.
“Roman, darling, it was just an accident.”
He stared at her.
“Then apologize.”
Her mouth fell open.
“What?”
Roman's voice remained calm.
“Apologize to Emma.”
Victoria looked horrified.
“You can't be serious.”
He didn't blink.
“I'm waiting.”
She glanced toward the surrounding guests.
Hundreds of people were watching.
Her cheeks turned bright red.
“Roman, you're embarrassing me.”
His expression hardened.
“No.”
He paused.
“You embarrassed yourself.”
I sat frozen on the marble floor.
My injured hand pressed against my apron.
My heart pounded.
I had never seen anything like this.
For months, I'd worked quietly in the mansion.
Cleaning rooms.
Carrying trays.
And trying not to attract attention.
Now the most powerful man in New York was defending me in front of four hundred wealthy guests.
I didn't understand why.
But I knew one thing.
My life was never going to be the same.
Matteo returned with the medical kit.
Roman took it from him.
Then knelt in front of me again.
“Emma.”
I looked up.
“Yes, sir?”
“Give me your hand.”
I hesitated.
“Mr. Castor, you don't have to—”
“I know.”
His voice softened.
“But I'm going to.”
My throat tightened.
Slowly, I placed my injured hand in his.
He carefully cleaned the cut.
Then wrapped a sterile bandage around my palm.
His large tattooed fingers moved with surprising gentleness.
I stared at him.
The Mafia Boss everyone feared.
The man whose name could silence an entire room.
Kneeling in front of a housemaid.
Bandaging her hand.
While five wealthy heiresses watched in disbelief.
When he finished, Roman looked toward Matteo.
“Have the doctor examine her.”
“Yes, boss.”
Then he turned toward Gary.
“Emma is not being fired.”
Gary swallowed.
“Yes, sir.”
“And no money will be deducted from her wages.”
“Of course, sir.”
Roman's expression hardened.
“Is that understood?”
Gary nodded quickly.
“Perfectly, Mr. Castor.”
Roman slowly stood.
Then looked toward Victoria.
“And Miss Hale?”
She straightened.
“Yes?”
His gray eyes became cold.
“Your apology.”
Victoria stared at him.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then she looked toward me.
Her lips tightened.
“I'm sorry.”
Roman didn't move.
“Louder.”
Victoria's cheeks burned.
She glanced toward the crowd.
Then back at me.
“I'm sorry, Emma.”
My breath caught.
She knew my name.
Roman nodded once.
“Good.”
But just as I thought the humiliation was finally over, something unexpected happened.
Roman turned toward Matteo.
“Clear the private dining room.”
Matteo blinked.
“Boss?”
Roman glanced at me.
“Have dinner brought in.”
I stared at him.
Dinner?
For whom?
Roman looked directly into my eyes.
“You haven't eaten tonight, have you?”
My stomach dropped.
I hesitated.
Then shook my head.
“No, sir.”
His jaw tightened.
“How long have you been working?”
“Eight hours.”
“And no meal?”
I lowered my eyes.
“I was busy.”
Roman said nothing.
Then he turned toward Gary.
His expression became terrifyingly cold.
“Eight hours?”
Gary swallowed.
“Sir, we were short-staffed—”
Roman raised one hand.
Gary stopped speaking.
The Mafia Boss looked toward the head butler.
Then asked one question.
“WHAT ELSE HAVE YOU BEEN HIDING FROM ME ABOUT THE WAY MY STAFF IS TREATED?”
The ballroom fell silent again.
Gary's face turned white.
And for the first time that evening, I saw genuine fear in his eyes.
Because Roman Castor had just discovered that something was wrong inside his own mansion.
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And judging by the look on his face, he wasn't going to let it go.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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