Chapter 1 - The Waitress He Couldn't Ignore
The first time Adriano Costello looked at me, I was carrying a tray of champagne worth more than my monthly rent.
The second time, I spilled one of those glasses all over a billionaire's girlfriend.
And the third?
He ordered his men to bring me upstairs.
If someone had told me that morning that a single evening at the Belmont Hotel would change everything I believed about my family, I would have laughed.
But by midnight, I would discover that the most feared man in New York knew something about my dying mother that even I didn't know.
My name is Eliza Brennan.
I was twenty-seven years old, working two jobs, surviving on instant coffee, and desperately trying to keep my mother alive.
That evening, my entire world was balanced on a silver serving tray.
"Eliza! Table fourteen!"
Mrs. Winters's sharp voice cut through the noise of the Belmont Hotel ballroom.
I straightened my black vest, adjusted my bow tie, and lifted another tray from the service counter.
"Coming."
Six hours in narrow black heels had left my feet numb, but I kept my shoulders straight and offered champagne with the same practiced smile.
Above me, enormous crystal chandeliers illuminated a sea of expensive dresses, tailored suits, diamonds, and champagne glasses.
The Harrington Foundation's annual charity gala was supposedly raising money for families who couldn't afford medical treatment.
I found that painfully ironic.
My mother, Nora Brennan, was lying in a hospital bed three miles away, waiting for a treatment our insurance company had repeatedly refused to cover.
The hospital wanted another eighteen thousand dollars before proceeding with the next stage of her care.
I had thirty-six dollars in my checking account.
At the far end of the ballroom, a group of wealthy donors laughed about a vacation in Monaco.
One woman wore a diamond necklace that probably could have paid every outstanding medical bill in our neighborhood.
I forced myself to stop looking.
Envy didn't pay rent.
Neither did anger.
"VIP section needs the special reserve," another server whispered as we passed. "Mrs. Winters wants you there."
I glanced toward the raised platform behind the velvet ropes.
Several men stood around an enormous circular table. Their black suits were immaculate, their shoulders unusually broad, and discreet earpieces disappeared beneath their collars.
I knew who they guarded.
Everyone working the Harrington charity gala knew Adriano Costello was attending.
His name appeared in newspapers with words like investigation, organized crime, and untouchable.
Some people called him a businessman.
Others called him the unofficial king of New York's underworld.
Nobody called him harmless.
At the service bar, I steadied my hands long enough to arrange fresh flutes.
"Careful with this batch," Mrs. Winters warned. "Special reserve. Mr. Costello's table."
"Understood."
She studied my face.
"You look pale."
"Just tired."
"Have you eaten?"
I shook my head.
Something resembling sympathy crossed her expression.
"Take five minutes before going over there."
I didn't need to be told twice.
After setting down the tray, I slipped through a side door onto the balcony.
Cold October air brushed my cheeks.
For the first time all evening, I could breathe.
Below me, waterfront traffic moved in thin streams of light. Somewhere beyond the buildings was St. Catherine's Hospital.
I took out my phone.
Three missed calls.
All from the hospital billing department.
My stomach tightened.
I opened the latest message.
Miss Brennan, please contact Patient Financial Services regarding the outstanding balance on your mother's account.
I closed my eyes.
"Please," I whispered to nobody. "Just give me another week."
"Shouldn't you be working?"
My eyes snapped open.
A man stood near the opposite railing.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair brushed back from an angular face. A white scar ran from his temple toward the corner of his mouth.
A cigarette rested between his fingers.
Even before he stepped into the light, I recognized him.
Adriano Costello.
My heart began beating harder.
"I was just leaving, sir."
His gaze moved briefly toward my phone.
"You came out to breathe."
I didn't answer.
He extinguished his cigarette against the metal stand beside him, carefully placing the butt inside.
"I won't report that."
Something about his tone surprised me.
He wasn't smiling.
He wasn't threatening me, either.
He spoke as though he had simply noticed something other people had overlooked.
"Thank you," I said.
He turned toward me.
"What's your name?"
"Eliza."
"Eliza what?"
"Brennan."
For a fraction of a second, his expression changed.
It was so subtle I nearly missed it.
His fingers stopped moving.
"Brennan?"
"Yes."
He studied my face.
"Are you from New York?"
"Brooklyn originally."
"And your parents?"
I stiffened.
"With respect, Mr. Costello, I should probably return to work."
Silence stretched between us.
Then he opened the balcony door and stood aside.
"Of course, Miss Brennan."
I walked past him, painfully aware of his eyes following me.
I told myself I was imagining it.
I wasn't.
Twenty minutes later, I entered the VIP section carrying the special reserve.
Adriano sat at the center of the table.
Two enormous bodyguards stood behind him.
Beside him was a glamorous blonde woman in a fitted red evening gown. She wore diamond earrings and an expression suggesting the entire ballroom had disappointed her personally.
Vanessa Harrington.
Daughter of Conrad Harrington, the billionaire hosting the charity event.
I'd heard enough gossip in the staff room to know she had been pursuing Adriano for months.
"Finally," Vanessa muttered when I approached. "Does the staff here always move this slowly?"
"I'm sorry for the wait, ma'am."
I reached forward.
Then disaster struck.
My right heel caught against the edge of the thick carpet.
I recovered my balance.
The tray didn't.
One crystal flute tipped sideways.
A stream of golden champagne poured directly across Vanessa's lap.
For one terrible second, the entire table fell silent.
Then Vanessa screamed.
"You stupid girl!"
She jumped to her feet so quickly her chair struck the platform rail.
I reached instinctively for a linen napkin.
"I'm terribly sorry. Let me—"
"Don't touch me!"
She struck my hand aside.
Several guests turned toward us.
My cheeks burned.
"Do you have any idea what this dress costs?"
"No, ma'am. I—"
"More than you'll earn in five years!"
Mrs. Winters appeared beside me.
"Miss Harrington, please accept—"
"I want her fired!"
Vanessa pointed directly at my face.
"And I'll personally make sure she never works at another respectable establishment in this city again."
My stomach dropped.
Not because of the humiliation.
Because of my mother.
Losing this job meant losing the extra money I'd spent three weeks desperately trying to earn.
I lowered my eyes.
"Please. It was an accident."
Vanessa laughed without humor.
"Did you hear that? She's begging now."
A man's voice interrupted her.
"Enough, Vanessa."
Two words.
Quietly spoken.
But Vanessa immediately stopped talking.
Adriano hadn't even risen from his chair.
He looked at the champagne spreading across the expensive red fabric, then at me.
"Are you hurt?"
I blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"Your ankle. You nearly fell."
"No, sir."
"Good."
He turned toward Vanessa.
"Mr. Reynolds will arrange for the dress to be cleaned or replaced."
"Adriano, she ruined—"
"It was an accident."
His tone didn't change.
Somehow, that made it more intimidating.
Then he addressed Mrs. Winters.
"Miss Brennan has been on her feet all evening. Give her a break."
Mrs. Winters nodded quickly.
"Of course, Mr. Costello."
Vanessa's mouth remained open.
I didn't wait to hear anything else.
I followed Mrs. Winters away from the platform, fighting the tears gathering behind my eyes.
In the staff room, I washed champagne from my fingers.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
I stared at myself in the small mirror above the sink.
Dark circles.
Loose strands of brown hair.
A face I barely recognized anymore.
My phone vibrated.
This time, it was my mother.
Did you eat dinner, sweetheart? Don't work too hard. Love you.
I pressed the phone against my chest.
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
When Mrs. Winters entered, I expected her to hand me my final paycheck.
Instead, she closed the door behind her.
"Eliza."
I turned.
"Mr. Costello has made a request."
My throat tightened.
"What kind of request?"
"He wants you upstairs."
"Upstairs?"
"Suite 512. He's holding a private meeting and requires someone to serve refreshments."
I stared at her.
"Why me?"
"He requested you specifically."
Something cold moved through my stomach.
Mrs. Winters hesitated.
"He's offering triple pay."
Triple pay.
For a moment, all I could see was the hospital notice waiting on my kitchen table.
"Am I required to go?"
"No."
She answered so quickly that I looked up.
"Eliza, listen carefully. If you're uncomfortable, I'll send another server. You won't lose your job."
I appreciated her kindness.
But kindness wasn't going to pay for chemotherapy.
"How long is the meeting?"
"Perhaps an hour."
I looked down at my aching feet.
Then I thought about my mother's message.
"I'll go."
Suite 512 occupied the end of a silent, carpeted hallway.
A guard opened the door before I knocked.
Inside, the atmosphere was completely different from the ballroom.
No music.
No laughter.
No crystal chandeliers.
Just several men standing around a low table covered with documents, folders, and half-finished drinks.
Adriano Costello stood beside the window.
When I entered, he turned.
"Miss Brennan."
"Good evening, Mr. Costello."
His gaze moved toward my empty hands.
"Before you start, there's something I need to ask you about your mother."
My fingers tightened around each other.
"My mother?"
"Her name is Nora Brennan. Correct?"
Every muscle in my body went rigid.
"How do you know that?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he reached for a cream-colored folder resting on the table.
On its front was a photograph.
My mother.
Younger.
Smiling.
Standing outside a building I didn't recognize.
I took one involuntary step forward.
"Where did you get that?"
Adriano watched me carefully.
"Your mother worked for the Harrington Foundation seventeen years ago."
I shook my head.
"No. She worked as an accountant for a medical supply company."
"That's what she told you?"
Something in his expression made my heart sink.
"Mr. Costello, what is this?"
He placed another photograph on the table.
This one showed my mother standing beside a handsome man with dark hair and a familiar smile.
My father.
Daniel Brennan.
The man who had supposedly abandoned us when I was ten.
My breath caught.
"That's my dad."
"I know."
Adriano slowly pushed the photograph toward me.
"Eliza, your father didn't abandon your family."
I looked up.
"Then where is he?"
The mafia boss's expression darkened.
"That's what I've spent seventeen years trying to find out."
May you like
And before I could ask another question, he said something that made my blood run cold.
"Your mother is the last surviving witness to what happened to my father."
