Chapter 1

Rosa Moretti had come in from the old country for the feast day, so I took her to dinner at the Family's newest social club, the flagship establishment my husband had opened only a few weeks earlier.

I ordered Rosa's favorite, braised fish. But the moment she took a bite, her expression changed.

The center was still cold, with tiny ice crystals clinging to the flesh.

I called over the woman managing the floor.

She barely glanced at the plate.

"Oh. Someone must've forgotten to heat it through."

I frowned. "Heat it through? You're serving frozen, prepackaged food here?"

She immediately grew defensive.

"So what if we are? It gets heated before it's served. You think we have time to prepare every dish from scratch?"

I looked toward the polished brass plaque near the entrance. Beneath the Moretti name was the club's promise: fresh ingredients, prepared daily.

"Your own sign says everything is prepared fresh. Yet you're serving frozen food under the Moretti name. Is this how the owner told you to run his club?"

For a second, something flickered across her face.

Then she planted a hand on her hip, tossed her hair over one shoulder, and gave a sharp little laugh.

"I am the one who runs this place."

Her eyes swept over Rosa and me with open contempt.

"And from where I'm standing, the two of you came in here looking for trouble. What is this? You eat half the food, complain about it, then expect to walk out without paying?"

I stared at the untouched fish.

She didn't seem to care.

"The dish was served and opened, so it's yours. No refunds. And since you've disrupted my staff and caused a scene in my club, there'll be a service charge too."

She tapped a few buttons on the register.

"Three thousand dollars."

I almost laughed.

"Three thousand dollars for a frozen fish?"

"For the meal, the private table, and the trouble you've caused." She folded her arms. "Pay it, or neither of you leaves."

That was when something finally clicked.

I'd wondered why Salvatore, of all men, had suddenly become so interested in opening a social club.

Now I was beginning to understand.

Someone was using the Moretti name to run a filthy little racket behind a respectable front.

And judging by the way this woman carried herself, Salvatore had given her far more confidence than any employee should have.

I reached for my phone.

Before I could call him, she pulled out hers.

The moment the call connected, her entire voice changed.

"Baby, get down to the club."

She glanced at me, smugness curling at the corner of her mouth.

"I've got two freeloaders here making trouble and trying to walk out without paying."

——

As if the phone call had given her all the confidence she needed, the woman grew even bolder. She pointed first at me, then at Rosa.

"Do you two have no men at home to keep you in line? You walk into my club, cause trouble over a plate of food, and now you think you can leave without paying?"

Her eyes swept over Rosa's worn coat before returning to me.

"This is a respectable establishment. People like you don't belong here."

Then she smiled.

"My man is on his way. Once he gets here, we'll see how brave you are."

Her raised voice had already drawn attention from across the dining room. Several waiters stopped what they were doing, while a few men who worked security for the club wandered over, forming a loose circle around our table.

One of them nodded toward the bill.

"Lady, just pay it. Whoever's backing you isn't worth making trouble with this house."

Another gave a humorless laugh.

"Someone tried causing a scene here last week. Didn't end well for her."

"You're standing in a Moretti establishment," a third man added. "Think carefully before you make this worse."

Beside me, Rosa had gone completely still.

She had spent most of her life in a quiet village in Sicily and had only recently come to the city for the feast day. She wasn't accustomed to being spoken to this way, much less surrounded and humiliated in public.

Her face had gone pale.

One hand pressed against her chest while the other caught the edge of my sleeve.

"Francesca," she whispered, "are you sure this is Salvatore's place?"

The question made something tighten inside me.

Rosa would sooner believe we'd walked into the wrong club than believe her own son would allow his name to be used this way.

And until today, so would I.

To both of us, Salvatore Moretti had always been a decent man. He respected his mother, protected his family, and for all the ugliness that came with the Moretti name, he had always drawn certain lines.

At least, that was what I'd believed.

A month ago, despite already having more than enough business to occupy him, Salvatore had suddenly announced that he was opening an upscale social club with a restaurant at its center.

I'd asked him why.

He told me he was tired of watching restaurants charge outrageous prices while serving frozen meat and spoiled produce. He wanted one place under the Moretti name where people knew exactly what they were paying for.

Fresh food. Proper service. No cheating customers.

I'd actually been proud of him.

Now, standing in the middle of that same club with a half-frozen fish on the table and a three-thousand-dollar bill in front of me, I wondered how much of that story had ever been true.

Maybe Salvatore hadn't opened this place because he suddenly cared about honest food.

Maybe he'd opened it for her.

I stepped in front of Rosa, shielding her from the woman's stare.

"Fine."

I looked directly at her.

"Since you've already called him, I'll wait."

A faint smile touched my lips.

"I'd very much like to see what your man plans to do with us."

Her expression immediately hardened.

"You really are shameless."

She stepped closer, eyes narrowing.

"Why are you so desperate to see my man?"

I didn't answer.

Around us, the dining room had gradually fallen quiet.

Conversations died away. Forks paused halfway to mouths. A few guests discreetly raised their phones, sensing that whatever happened next would be worth recording.

The woman crossed her arms, still wearing that smug smile.

She had no idea who Rosa was.

And she clearly had no idea who I was either.

All she knew was that Salvatore Moretti was on his way.

So we waited for him to walk through the door.