Luca Ferraro was a man powerful enough to make entire companies disappear with one phone call, but the person who changed his life forever was a three-year-old maid’s daughter washing his expensive shirt in secret. He thought he had discovered a child playing with his belongings, until he learned she was trying to protect her sick mother from losing the only job keeping them alive.

The primary study of the Ferraro mansion was an imposing room lined with floor-to-ceiling dark mahogany bookshelves, bulletproof floor windows, and a massive leather-topped desk.

Richard Harland, dressed in a sharp three-piece suit, was shoved into the center of the room by two broad-shouldered security guards clad in tactical gear.

Harland adjusted his tie nervously, his face slick with sweat. He was a proud, arrogant man in his late fifties who believed he was indispensable to the Ferraro estate.

"Mr. Ferraro!" Harland exclaimed, forcing a professional, albeit trembling, smile as Luca entered the room. "I must protest! Your security team dragged me from my office like a common criminal! If this is about the delay in the wine cellar delivery, I assure you—"

Luca didn't say a word.

He walked behind his desk, picked up a heavy crystal glass, poured two fingers of bourbon, and took a slow sip. The silence in the room grew heavier with every passing second, until the air felt thick enough to choke on.

Luca set the glass down with a soft clack.

"How much do I pay you, Harland?" Luca asked quietly.

Harland blinked, confused. "Uh... two hundred and fifty thousand a year, sir. Plus lodging and health benefits."

"And what are your responsibilities?"

"To manage the domestic staff, maintain estate security protocols, ensure absolute discretion, and protect your privacy, Mr. Ferraro."

Luca leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "And does your job description include extortion? Embezzlement? Or forcing a three-year-old child to wash my clothes with freezing water until her hands bleed?"

Harland’s face drained of all color. His lips quivered. "Sir... I... I don't know what you're talking about! If the maid Clara told you something, she is lying! She is lazy, sick, and unproductive! I was simply enforcing high standards—"

BANG!

Luca’s fist slammed onto the mahogany desk with the force of a thunderclap. The crystal glass shattered into pieces.

Harland jumped back, squealing like a cornered rat, his knees hitting the floor.

"You threatened a sick mother," Luca growled, stepping away from the desk, his presence filling the entire room with terror. "You told a three-year-old orphan child that she had to work to earn her mother's place in this house. You used my name to build a dictatorship in my own basement."

"Mr. Ferraro, please!" Harland whimpered, raising his hands defensively. "I was doing it for the efficiency of the estate! She was slacking off!"

Luca gestured to Marco, his security chief standing near the door.

Marco stepped forward, tossing a thick leather binder onto the desk.

"We ran an immediate audit on Harland's accounts ten minutes ago, boss," Marco reported coldly. "For the last two years, he’s been pocketing half the medical allowance designated for the household staff. He’s been threatening employees with termination if they reported unsafe working conditions or illness. He’s embezzled over four hundred thousand dollars."

Harland began to sob frantically, crawling toward Luca’s shoes. "I’ll give it back! Every penny! Please, Mr. Ferraro, don't call the police! Don't ruin my reputation!"

Luca looked down at the pathetic man with absolute disgust.

"You think I’m going to call the police?" Luca asked softly, a terrifyingly cold smile appearing on his lips. "The police are for civilized men, Harland. You preyed on a child."

Luca turned his back on him. "Marco. Strip him of his credentials. Freeze every account associated with his name. Hand all financial evidence over to the federal prosecutor, and ensure he spends the next fifteen years in maximum-security detention. If he tries to speak to the press... remind him who owns the private transport companies in this state."

"No! Mr. Ferraro! Please! Mercy!" Harland screamed as the four security guards grabbed him by his collar and arms, dragging his kicking body out of the study and down the grand marble hallway.

When the doors slammed shut, the study fell silent once more.

Luca walked over to his tall window, looking down at the manicured gardens below.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, wet silk handkerchief—the one Nora had been using to wipe his shirt.