CHAPTER 1 — THE SLAP THAT WOKE THE FIGHTER INSIDE ME
The second Vanessa Whitmore raised her hand, I knew exactly what was going to happen.
I also knew I wasn't going to let it happen twice.
Her fingers were still in the air when the room changed.
Sixty people stopped talking.
The music died.
Even the rain outside seemed to disappear behind the thick glass walls of the Moretti mansion.
Vanessa looked down at me.
I was still on my knees.
Cake covered my black delivery jacket.
Frosting stained my palms.
A smear of chocolate ran across my cheek.
And my right hand was shaking.
Not from fear.
From restraint.
Because eight years ago, before hospital bills and rent notices and delivery apps had consumed my life, I had been very good at fighting.
Very good.
Vanessa didn't know that.
She only saw a broke woman kneeling on expensive marble.
Someone who had spent seven weeks delivering food through the service entrance.
Someone who wore the same black jacket every night.
Someone whose car was older than most of the watches in the room.
Someone she believed could be humiliated without consequences.
She smiled.
“You should apologize.”
I looked at the cake on the floor.
Then at her.
“For what?”
Her eyebrows lifted.
The room became even quieter.
“For ruining my fiancé's birthday.”
I slowly stood.
Vanessa stepped backward.
I noticed something immediately.
She wasn't afraid.
Not yet.
But the people behind her were.
Especially the man standing near the fireplace.
Dominic Moretti.
He had been watching me since the cake hit the floor.
He hadn't moved.
He hadn't spoken.
His black suit was perfectly pressed.
His expression was unreadable.
But his eyes had changed.
They were no longer looking at me like a delivery driver.
They were studying me.
Like he was trying to remember where he'd seen me before.
Vanessa turned toward him.
“Dominic.”
Nothing.
“Tell her to apologize.”
Dominic's gaze remained on me.
“Why?”
Vanessa blinked.
“Why?”
“Yes.”
“She dropped the cake.”
Dominic glanced at the shattered plate.
Then at the wet footprints leading from the service entrance.
Then back at Vanessa.
“Did she?”
Vanessa's face tightened.
“You're seriously taking her side?”
“No.”
Dominic finally looked at her.
“I'm asking a question.”
Vanessa folded her arms.
“She shoved me.”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Because there were sixty witnesses in the room.
And at least twenty of them had seen exactly what happened.
Vanessa had grabbed the delivery tray.
I had tried to keep it from falling.
She had pushed my shoulder.
The tray had slipped.
The plate had shattered.
Then she had looked at me as though I had intentionally destroyed her birthday cake.
But nobody spoke.
Because Vanessa Whitmore was the woman standing beside Dominic Moretti.
And people were afraid of Dominic.
Very afraid.
I'd heard stories.
Everyone in Chicago had.
Businessman.
Investor.
Real-estate billionaire.
Philanthropist.
Those were the words printed in newspapers.
But there were other words whispered in restaurants.
Broker.
Enforcer.
Kingpin.
Mafia.
Nobody could prove anything.
Nobody wanted to.
Dominic controlled too many companies.
Too many properties.
Too many people.
And tonight, I was standing in his mansion covered in cake.
Vanessa pointed at me.
“She needs to leave.”
Dominic said nothing.
Vanessa stepped closer.
“You heard me.”
I picked up the broken plate.
My hands were steady now.
“I'll leave.”
Vanessa smiled.
“Good.”
I turned.
Then she said it.
The sentence that changed everything.
“People like you should be grateful anyone lets you through the front gate.”
I stopped.
She laughed.
“Actually, your mother should be grateful too.”
My fingers tightened around the broken ceramic.
“Don't.”
Vanessa tilted her head.
“Don't what?”
“Talk about my mother.”
Something flickered in Dominic's eyes.
Vanessa noticed.
But instead of stopping, she continued.
“I heard she's sick.”
My heart dropped.
“How do you know that?”
She smiled.
“I have people.”
I turned fully toward her.
“She needs dialysis, doesn't she?”
The room disappeared.
My mother.
The tiny kitchen.
Her chipped coffee mug.
The dialysis center.
The medication bottles.
The nights I sat beside her bed pretending I wasn't terrified.
All of it rushed through my mind.
Vanessa took another step.
“Three times a week.”
My voice became quiet.
“How did you get that information?”
She shrugged.
“Chicago isn't as big as you think.”
Then she smiled.
“Maybe if you spent less time pretending you're important, you'd have more money to take care of her.”
Something inside me broke.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Enough for the old Avery to wake up.
The girl who had trained before sunrise.
The girl who had fought until her knuckles bled.
The girl who had once dreamed about national championships.
The girl who had believed she could become someone.
Then my father died.
And dreams became luxuries.
I had buried that girl.
Tonight, Vanessa dug her up.
She raised her hand again.
This time, I caught her wrist.
The entire room gasped.
Vanessa stared at me.
I stared back.
“You're going to let go.”
“No.”
Her voice dropped.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes.”
“Then let go.”
I slowly released her.
But I didn't step back.
“I know exactly who you are.”
Vanessa rubbed her wrist.
“You're fired.”
“I don't work for you.”
“You deliver for a company that has a contract with Dominic.”
I looked toward Dominic.
He hadn't moved.
Vanessa smiled.
“Dominic can make sure you never get another delivery job in this city.”
I waited.
Dominic finally spoke.
“No.”
Vanessa turned.
“What?”
“No.”
His voice was calm.
“She doesn't work for me.”
Vanessa stared.
“So?”
“So you don't get to fire her.”
Her face reddened.
“But she embarrassed me.”
Dominic looked at the cake.
“You embarrassed yourself.”
Nobody breathed.
Vanessa looked stunned.
“Dominic…”
He ignored her.
He looked at me.
“What is your name?”
“Avery Carter.”
“Carter.”
He repeated my last name slowly.
Something about the way he said it made my stomach tighten.
“You know my family?”
Dominic didn't answer.
Instead, he asked:
“Where did you learn to fight?”
My heart stopped.
I looked at him.
“I don't fight.”
He glanced at Vanessa's wrist.
“Yes, you do.”
I said nothing.
Dominic stepped closer.
Not threatening.
Just curious.
“Your grip was wrong for someone who had never trained.”
I swallowed.
“Maybe you're mistaken.”
“Maybe.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
Then he said something that made the blood drain from my face.
“Your father trained you, didn't he?”
I couldn't breathe.
Nobody had mentioned my father in years.
Not like that.
Not with certainty.
“How do you know my father?”
Dominic's expression changed.
For the first time that night, the billionaire looked genuinely surprised.
“I don't.”
I stared at him.
“Then how do you know?”
Before he could answer, a man in a dark suit hurried into the room.
He whispered something into Dominic's ear.
Dominic's face became cold.
“What?”
The man whispered again.
Dominic looked toward me.
Then toward the entrance.
“Get her out of here.”
My heart jumped.
“Why?”
He didn't answer.
The security team moved.
I stepped backward.
“What happened?”
Dominic looked at me.
“Your mother.”
Everything inside me froze.
“What about her?”
His jaw tightened.
“Someone just tried to enter her apartment.”
I dropped the broken plate.
The ceramic shattered again.
My phone was already in my hand.
I called Linda.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
A third time.
Nothing.
“Mom…”
I ran toward the door.
Dominic grabbed his coat.
“I'll drive you.”
“I don't need your help.”
“This isn't about help.”
He looked at me.
“It's about whoever just discovered you're here.”
I stopped.
“What does that mean?”
Dominic's voice became dangerously quiet.
“It means the person who attacked your father eight years ago…”
He paused.
“…may have finally found you.”
I stared at him.
My entire body went cold.
Because nobody had ever called my father's death an attack.
Everyone had called it an accident.
Until now.
And suddenly, the cake on the marble floor didn't matter anymore.
Neither did Vanessa.
Neither did the sixty wealthy strangers watching me.
For the first time in eight years, someone had opened the door to the past.
And behind that door was the truth about my father.
The truth about my family.
May you like
And possibly—
the reason Dominic Moretti had been watching me all night.
