“You honestly believe a man like Luca would look twice at a woman like you?”
Camille Russo made sure her voice carried across the entire table.
The plus-size maid standing nearby didn’t flinch.
“The embarrassing part is that you think every woman standing near a man is applying for the position.”
Luca Moretti almost laughed.
And that single almost-laugh changed everything.
Camille’s face went cold. She turned to Luca, the feared mafia boss she had spent weeks trying to impress.
“You’re defending the maid?”
“Actually,” Luca said, his voice dangerously calm, “she’s the reason you’re here.”
Before Emma could demand an explanation, a new voice cut through the silence like a blade.
“So this is the woman you’ve been hiding from me.”
Teresa Moretti stood at the edge of the room. Silver hair. Sharp eyes. Decades of reading people the way most people read menus.
Emma turned toward Luca with a look that should have warned him not to say another word.
Unfortunately, warning Luca Moretti not to do something had never guaranteed sensible results.
“There is no woman. She’s his maid,” Camille said quickly, standing abruptly. Her chair scraped against the floor.
Teresa looked from Camille to Emma to her grandson.
“Yes,” Emma said fast. “Exactly. I work for Mr. Moretti.”
“And yet you were arguing with his date.”
“There was a reason for that.”
Luca’s mouth twitched.
“Don’t,” Emma whispered.
Teresa caught it. Her eyes narrowed with deep interest.
Camille pointed at Emma. “She has spent this entire evening sabotaging me. She interrupted our conversation to tell me Luca hates opera.”
“You asked what music he enjoys,” Emma said calmly.
“You told me he fell asleep during La Traviata.”
“He did.”
“Emma,” Luca sighed.
“You told me to be convincing.”
Teresa went very still.
Something shifted behind her eyes.
