Chapter 1

My adoptive father is the head of one of the most powerful Mafia families in the country, and he raised me with one rule: never start trouble, but never back down from it either.

When the Morelands finally bring me home as their long-lost biological daughter, Sloane, the girl they raised in my place, greets me with a warm smile and a cup of tea. The moment my fingers touch the cup, she suddenly collapses with blood running down her wrist and cries, “Why did you cut me?”

My supposed brother immediately turns on me and orders me out of the house, but instead of defending myself, I crouch beside Sloane, pull out a knife, and hold the blade just above her wound.

“The cut is deeper on the left, shallow on the right, and the edges are clean.”

I look straight into her trembling eyes.

“You made this cut yourself with your right hand.”

-

Julian presses a handkerchief against Sloane’s wrist and shoves me back.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Sloane leans into him, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Julian, don’t blame her. Maybe I really did it to myself by accident.”

He turns on me.

“This is the Moreland house, not the DeLuca family. Put the knife away and stop acting like some thug. Apologize to Sloane.”

I look at the two of them and say nothing.

That only makes him angrier.

Before he can slam his hand against the table, Catherine Moreland steps between us and catches his arm.

“Enough. Your sister just got home.”

Then she calls for the housekeeper and tells her to show me to my room.

Just like that, Sloane’s little setup is brushed aside.

The housekeeper leads me through most of the mansion, farther and farther from the main rooms, until we reach a narrow guest wing near the back of the property.

She opens the door.

The room is clean but barely furnished, with an old bed, a narrow dresser, and none of the flowers, fresh linens, or expensive details I passed on the way here.

The housekeeper gives me a thin smile.

“Miss Sloane thought you might prefer somewhere quiet. Somewhere you won’t disturb anyone while you train.”

I glance back toward the main house.

Sloane’s suite is upstairs, bright and spacious, with a private sitting room and a balcony overlooking the garden.

I almost laugh.

So this is how the Morelands welcome their “lost daughter.”

I kick my duffel beside the bed, set the case holding my knives against the wall, and lie down without changing.

Dinner is worse.

The dining table is long enough to seat twenty people, but there are only five of us.

I walk in wearing the same fitted black tactical jacket and combat pants I arrived in and take the empty seat without asking.

Julian looks me over and frowns.

“I don’t care what you wore with the DeLucas. Now that you’re here, you represent this family. Stop dressing like that.”

I pick up my fork.

Across from me, Sloane dabs the corner of her mouth with her napkin.

“You’ll get used to it,” she says softly. “Women in our circle grow up learning how to dress for galas, what to wear to formal dinners, and how to behave at events like these.”

I swallow my food and look at her.

“I haven’t spilled anything. I’m not chewing with my mouth open. What exactly am I doing wrong?”

Her smile tightens.

“I’m only trying to help.”

“Then eat.”

Her eyes widen.

I gesture toward her plate.

“You’re the one giving me a lecture about dinner manners while talking through the entire meal.”

Sloane’s eyes immediately turn red.

Catherine lets out a tired sigh.

“Tessa, she means well.”

She places a piece of fish on my plate.

I stare at it for a second.

Back with the DeLucas, nobody cared which fork I used or whether my clothes came from a designer store. We ate together after long days, argued across the table, stole food off each other’s plates, and nobody ever made me feel like I had to earn the right to sit there.

They may not share my blood.

But right now, they feel more like family than anyone in this house.

Before I can answer Catherine, footsteps sound outside the dining room.

A staff member appears at the door.

“Mr. and Mrs. Moreland, Preston Hayes is here.”

The room goes still.

A moment later, a tall man walks in, impeccably dressed, with the polished confidence of someone born into old money.

His eyes find me first.

They pause on my clothes, and his mouth tightens with open disgust.

Then he takes a folded document from inside his jacket and places it on the table.

“Mr. and Mrs. Moreland, I know finding your biological daughter should be a happy occasion.”

His gaze shifts back to me.

“But I won’t honor the engagement.”

Catherine’s face changes.

Preston doesn’t even look at her.

“She was raised by the DeLucas. She has no manners, no understanding of our world, and no place in the Hayes family. The Moreland name doesn’t make trash respectable.”

Silence drops over the table.

Everyone looks at me.

Maybe they expect me to be humiliated, or even beg.

I pick up the papers, skim the first page, and toss them back across the table.

“Good.”

Preston’s jaw tightens.

I meet his eyes.

“I don’t marry cowards.”