She Begged Not to Be Fired After Dropping the Coffee Tray — Then the Mafia Boss Saw the Broken Arm She’d Been Hiding.

PART 2

The Castellan estate stood behind iron gates on eight acres overlooking the Sound. Its owner officially operated an international shipping company, several warehouses, and a chain of upscale restaurants.

Unofficially, Dante Castellan controlled much of New York’s waterfront.

Priya had worked in his household for three years. She had never seen him raise his voice. She had also never seen anyone disobey him twice.

In the staff locker room, she struggled into a uniform two sizes too large. The loose sleeve covered most of the swelling.

Odalys Ferro, another housekeeper, glanced at her through the mirror.

“You look awful.”

“I caught a cold.”

“You’re sweating.”

“Fever.”

Odalys capped her lipstick. “Mr. Castellan’s been in his study since six. Silas — sorry, Marcus says there’s trouble at the docks. Stay out of their way.”

Priya nodded.

Remaining unnoticed had always protected her. That morning, it almost killed her.

She cleaned two guest rooms using only her left hand. She polished a banister while waves of nausea rolled through her. By nine, black spots drifted across her vision.

Her final assignment was Dante’s private study.

The oak door stood slightly open.

Inside, Dante sat behind his desk while Everett Reyes paced beside the windows. Dante was thirty-nine, broad-shouldered and impeccably dressed, with black hair graying at the temples and eyes that seemed to register every movement around him.

“O’Shea’s — Kade’s crew is shaking down businesses outside its territory,” Everett was saying. “Fifteen idiots who think they own Queens.”

“As long as they stay away from my docks, they are irrelevant,” Dante replied.

Priya knocked softly.

Both men looked at her.

“I can come back.”

“Finish the shelves,” Dante said. “We’re almost done.”

She entered with her head lowered.

Her right arm hung uselessly beneath the loose fabric. She dusted the bookshelves with her left hand, praying neither man would notice how badly she was trembling.

Everett continued discussing missing freight invoices. Dante listened without interrupting, but his attention had shifted.

He watched Priya reach for a silver tray holding four espresso cups.

She lifted it with her left hand. The tray tipped. Without thinking, she used her injured arm to steady it.

The pressure against the fracture tore a strangled cry from her throat.

The tray fell.

Priya hit the floor moments later.

She saw porcelain fragments and expensive coffee soaking into the rug. Panic overwhelmed the pain.

“I’ll clean it,” she sobbed, grabbing at the broken pieces with her good hand. “I’ll pay for everything.”

A shard sliced her palm.

“Stop moving,” Dante said.

She froze.

“Everett, leave us.”

“Boss—”

“Now.”

The door closed behind him.

Dante crossed the room and knelt among the shattered cups. Priya had seen senators and business executives wait outside his office for hours. She had seen armed men lower their eyes when he passed.

Now the most feared man she had ever known was kneeling in front of her.

“Show me your arm.”

“It’s only a sprain.”

His expression did not change.

“Do not lie to me, Priya.”

The fact that he knew her name frightened her more than his anger would have.

Slowly, she pulled the swollen arm from beneath her apron and rolled up the sleeve.

Dante’s gaze hardened.

Purple and black bruises covered her forearm. The wrist bent at an unnatural angle, and the skin near the fracture had risen into a sharp peak.

“Who did this?”