Five heiresses fought for the mafia heir’s attention all night—until one of them deliberately crushed a waitress’s foot and changed everything.

The estate was quiet after the men left for the harbor. Rain began to fall outside, heavy drops tapping against the tall stained-glass windows of the library.

Clara couldn't sleep. The pain medication for her foot had worn off, leaving a dull throb, but the tension in her chest was far worse. She walked through the long corridors of the mansion, leaning slightly on a polished wooden cane Dr. Harrison had given her.

As she passed the private study, she saw a faint light glowing beneath the door.

Curious, she pushed the heavy oak door open.

Inside, sitting behind a massive desk covered in old leather-bound journals, was Elena Rossi—the youngest of the five heiresses who had attended the gala.

Clara froze. "How did you get in here?"

Elena looked up, a slender silver flash drive in her hand. She didn't look panicked; she looked calm, calculated, and entirely different from the innocent girl she had pretended to be at the party.

"The DeLuca estate security is good," Elena said, her voice smooth and devoid of any childish warmth. "But my family built the security algorithms for these gates ten years ago. I know every blind spot."

"You're stealing from Matteo," Clara realized, taking a step back toward the hallway.

"I'm protecting my family," Elena corrected, standing up and sliding the flash drive into her pocket. "You think you're special, Clara? You think Matteo carried you out of that ballroom because he loves you?"

"I don't think anything," Clara said.

"He carried you out because you are the key to the Bennett ledger," Elena sneered, walking around the desk toward her. "The DeLucas have been searching for your father's records for a decade. Matteo knew who you were the second he saw the birthmark on your neck. The entire gala was a setup to flush you out!"

Clara felt a cold knot form in her stomach. "You're lying."

"Am I?" Elena pulled a folded paper from her coat and tossed it onto the desk. "Look for yourself. That's a background report on you, commissioned by Matteo DeLuca three weeks before the gala."

Clara's hand trembled as she reached out and picked up the paper. It was dated a month prior. It contained her photograph, her work schedule at the Belladonna Hotel, her brother's medical records, and a detailed map of her apartment.

Subject: Clara Bennett. Daughter of Arthur Bennett. Primary target for recovery of the Harbor Ledgers.

The paper slipped from Clara's numb fingers, fluttering to the floor.

"He used you," Elena whispered, stepping past Clara toward the balcony window. "He made you feel like a princess so you would trust him with your father's secrets. And now that Moretti is burning the harbor, Matteo is going to use that ledger to execute every family in New York—including mine."

Elena opened the glass doors, the cold rain rushing into the room. "Run while you still can, waitress. Because in this world, nobody saves the girl for free."