Chapter 4 - The Intruder in the Empire
Victoria Vance took two sharp, elegant steps forward, her high heels clicking rhythmically against the marble floor. Her gaze flicked from my worn-out sneakers up to Nathaniel’s hardened expression.
“Nathaniel, I asked you a question,” Victoria said, her voice dropping into a tone of icy entitlement. “Why is there a street rat standing inside the family residence? Security should have thrown her out into the alley.”
Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed into slits of dark fury. The temperature in the hallway seemed to drop ten degrees.
“Watch your tongue, Victoria,” Nathaniel warned, his voice dangerously low. “You are speaking about my daughter.”
Victoria froze. Her perfectly manicured hand paused mid-gesture. A look of utter disbelief washed over her features, quickly replaced by a bitter, mocking smile.
“Your daughter?” She let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Don't be ridiculous. Everyone knows you don't have any children. Some little con artist comes into your office with a sob story and a fake identity, and you bring her into our home? Have you lost your mind?”
“I have never been clearer in my life,” Nathaniel said, stepping defensively in front of me. He looked at Mrs. Gable. “Take Ruby to the Blue Suite. Draw her a warm bath, and have the stylist fit her for proper clothes. I will deal with this.”
“Yes, Mr. Graves,” Mrs. Gable whispered, gently taking my hand. I cast one last look backward as we walked down the corridor. Nathaniel and Victoria were standing face-to-face, their voices muffled by the heavy oak doors, but the tension radiating from them was palpable.
The Blue Suite was larger than our entire apartment on Fourteenth Street. A massive king-sized bed sat beneath a crystal chandelier, and floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean.
Mrs. Gable ran a bath in a tub made of solid porcelain, filling the room with the scent of lavender and eucalyptus. As I sat in the warm water, scrubbing away the dust of the bus ride and the lingering fear of the eviction notice, my mind raced.
I am the daughter of a mafia boss.
It sounded like something out of the movies mom used to forbid me from watching. But the cold steel of the towers, the armed guards, and the terrified look on the receptionist’s face were all too real.
An hour later, dressed in a soft cashmere sweater and pleated skirt that fit me like a glove, I sat at a mahogany desk while a team of stylists packed away a rack of designer clothes.
Just as Mrs. Gable was brushing my hair, the door swung open without a knock.
It wasn't Nathaniel. It was Victoria.
She dismissed Mrs. Gable with a wave of her hand. The elderly housekeeper hesitated, casting a protective glance at me, but ultimately bowed her head and slipped out of the room, closing the heavy door behind her.
May you like
Victoria walked slowly toward me, her heels making no sound on the thick Persian rug. She stopped right beside my chair, leaning down until her perfume—expensive, sharp, and overwhelming—filled my nose.
“Listen to me closely, little girl,” Victoria whispered, her voice venomous. “Nathaniel might be playing savior today, but this empire belongs to my family as much as it does to his. If you think you're going to waltz in here and take what is mine, you are gravely mistaken. I survived in this house a lot longer than you've been alive. Try me, and I will destroy you and your washed-up mother before the week is out.”
