Mia POV

The heavy, insistent pounding on my apartment door started before the sun had risen.

I sat in a tight knot on the floor of my tiny, rundown living room, my knees pulled to my chin. The threat of the underworld collectors was no longer a vague fear; it was a physical presence in the room with me. They had called me twice in the middle of the night, their voices rough and violent, demanding the monthly payment for the debt I now knew was a lie.

The pounding ceased, replaced by the grating sound of a key turning in the lock.

Only one other person had a key to my apartment.

The door swung open, and Dante walked in. He was not wearing the impeccable bespoke suit from yesterday; he wore a faded jacket and worn-out jeans, and in his hand he held a small plastic bag of cheap apples. He was playing his twisted role again, acting precisely like the desperate, beleaguered man I thought I had fallen in love with.

"Mia," he said softly, his voice laced with a carefully crafted concern. "I heard you lost your job."

I stared at him, my stomach churning with a sour heat. How could he stand there and lie so easily to my face?

"I know who you are, Dante," I said, my voice hollow and thin. "I saw you. I heard you."

He set the bag of fruit on the cheap wooden table. He did not look panicked at all. He looked entirely, terrifyingly in control. He crossed the space between us in two strides and crouched down in front of me.

"I hid my wealth to ensure you loved me for me," he lied smoothly, his dark, unreadable eyes locked onto mine. "In my world, women only want the crown. They only want the money. I needed to know you were pure."

A dense, cold stone sat in my chest.

"You let me starve," I whispered, the betrayal a physical burn in my throat. "You let me work until my hands bled to pay off a debt that did not exist."

"It was a test," he said casually, dismissing my pain as if it were a trifle. "And now, I am going to take care of you. I will get you a respectable job at my company. You will be safe there."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a sleek, black-and-gold Familia corporate card, placing it on the floor next to me.

"Go to the headquarters tomorrow morning," he said. "Ask for the HR Fixer."

He stood up and walked out, leaving me alone with the cheap fruit and the terrifying reality of the collectors who still wanted my money.

I picked up the card, my fingers trembling. I had no choice. But as I looked at the black-and-gold emblem, a single question burned in my mind: Was he saving me, or setting me up for something worse?

Mia POV

Desperate to pay off the loan sharks just to stay alive, I took the card and made my way to the Familia's towering legitimate headquarters the next morning.

The building was a monument of polished glass and cold steel. I walked into the massive, cavernous lobby, feeling entirely out of place in my faded sweater and worn jeans.

I found the HR Fixer on the third floor. He was a cold, calculating man who flicked his eyes at the black-and-gold card, then looked at me with a frank, undisguised contempt.

"The Don instructed us to find a place for you," the Fixer said in a monotone, sliding a grey, shapeless uniform across the gleaming desk. "You have been assigned to the lowest janitorial staff. Start on the executive floor."

I swallowed the heavy, acrid lump in my throat and took the uniform. I had no choice. The syndicate collectors would break my legs by Friday if I did not pay them.

An hour later, wearing the coarse, ill-fitting cleaner's uniform, I pushed a heavy supply cart toward the private executive elevators.

The burnished elevator doors chimed and slid open. Dante and Serena stepped out.

Serena stopped short, her perfectly drawn eyes widening in mock surprise before a cruel, bright smile spread across her face.

"Oh my," she laughed musically, her gaze traveling over me as if I were something to be scraped off a shoe. "Is this the new cleaning staff?"

Dante did not even blink. He looked at me as if I were nothing more than a smudge on his expensive marble floor.

"She lacks the pedigree for anything else," he stated coldly, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "She is only fit to clean my floors."

A hot flush of shame burned my face. I gripped the handle of the plastic cart so tightly my knuckles turned a bloodless white.

"Go clean my office," Dante ordered, moving past me without a second glance.

I pushed the lumbering cart into his sprawling executive office. The air inside was heavy with the scent of cigar ash and expensive leather conditioning oil. I filled a bucket with warm water and got down on my hands and knees.

Serena lounged on the expensive leather sofa like a true Mafia Queen, sipping from a tall flute of champagne. Dante sat behind his massive desk, his dark eyes focused entirely on his syndicate ledgers. He did not lift his head.

I scrubbed the immaculate floor, my already raw fingers burning in the caustic soapy water. Every scrape of my brush against the marble floor felt like a small, fresh wound opening in my chest. I was bleeding my soul dry for a man who took pleasure in watching me crawl.

"You missed a spot right there," Serena pointed lazily with the rim of her glass.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I moved over and scrubbed the invisible spot.

"I have shown you enough mercy by giving you this job," Dante remarked coldly, turning a crisp page in his ledger. "Do not make me regret my charity."

I rose to my feet, picked up my heavy bucket, and walked out of the airless office.

The moment the heavy soundproofed door clicked shut behind me, my silent endurance finally broke, and hot tears spilled down my cheeks.

But just as I wiped my eyes, a dark shadow fell over me, and Serena stepped out into the quiet hallway with a cold, calculating smile.

"We're not done yet," she whispered, her eyes glinting like a blade. And I knew, with absolute certainty, that she had no intention of letting me leave this building alive.