The Mafia Boss Paid a Plus-Size Etiquette Coach to Fix His Wild Brother, but She Took One Look at Him and Said He’d Hired Her for the Wrong Man

Saturday night arrived in a blaze of winter light and flashing cameras.

The Grand Ballroom of the Drake Hotel was a sea of crystal chandeliers, white roses, and heavy gold drape. Over three hundred of Chicago’s most powerful citizens filled the floor—politicians, real estate titans, judges, and high-society leaders dressed in black tie and floor-length gowns.

At Table One, positioned directly in front of the primary stage, sat the Mayor of Chicago, his wife, the Chief of Police, and... Sal Valenti.

Valenti looked miserable.

He sat in a double-breasted tuxedo that looked two sizes too tight across his neck, his thin mustache twitching as he forced a yellowed smile for a Chicago Tribune photographer who was taking pictures of him sitting beside the city's highest-ranking law enforcement officer.

"Look at him," Nico whispered to Camille from where they stood near the grand entrance doors. "He looks like he swallowed a live frog."

"Remember your posture, Nico," Camille reminded him gently, reaching over to straighten the silver pocket square in his jacket. "And when you go up to that microphone in twenty minutes, look at the back row, not the front. Breathe from your diaphragm."

"I know," Nico smiled, turning to look at her with deep, genuine affection. "Thank you, Camille. For everything. You didn't just teach me how to handle this party. You saved my brother from turning into stone."

Camille’s heart gave a soft squeeze. "He was never made of stone, Nico. He was just tired."

"He was," a deep voice spoke from behind them.

Lucian stepped out of the shadows of the VIP entryway.

He was a vision of masculine perfection. His black tuxedo was cut so precisely it looked molded to his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His hair was styled back, his face clean-shaven, and around his neck was a black silk bow tie tied with flawless precision.

He offered his arm to Camille.

"Ms. Brooks," Lucian said, his gray eyes burning with a light that made her breath stop in her throat. "Would you honor me with the first walk through the room?"

Camille placed her hand on his forearm, feeling the massive, iron strength of his muscles beneath the fine wool of his jacket. "It would be my pleasure, Mr. Moretti."

They walked through the double doors together.

The room did not fall silent—it was too large for that—but a ripple of sudden, intense attention moved through the crowd like a wave.

"Is that... Lucian Moretti?" a senator’s wife whispered from a nearby table, her diamond necklace flashing.

"Who is the woman with him?" an executive from Boeing asked his partner. "She’s stunning."

Lucian walked with the easy, dangerous grace of a panther moving through a garden. He did not look left or right. He looked straight ahead, his chin up, his posture impeccable, but there was no hostility in his face. He looked calm, powerful, and completely in control of the world around him.

When they reached Table One, Lucian stopped directly behind Sal Valenti’s chair.

Valenti went rigid. He turned his head slowly, looking up at Lucian with eyes full of hatred.

"Sal," Lucian said smoothly, his voice carrying clearly over the sound of the string quartet playing near the stage. "How wonderful of you to join us tonight. The Moretti Foundation is honored by your presence."

Valenti’s jaw worked silently for three seconds. He glanced at the Mayor, who was watching him with a wide, political smile.

"Lucian," Valenti gritted out through his teeth. "Great... great event."

"We were so moved by your interest in our youth programs," Lucian continued, leaning down slightly, his hand resting casually on the back of Valenti’s chair, "that we took the liberty of adding your name to the Founder's Circle plaque. The donation minimum is five hundred thousand dollars, of course, but a man of your stature wouldn't want to be listed under anything less."

The Mayor clapped his hands together warmly. "Wonderful! Absolutely public-spirited of you, Sal! We need more business leaders stepping up like this!"

Valenti’s face turned the color of a boiled lobster. "Five... five hundred thousand. Of course. Happy to... support the kids."

"We knew you would be," Camille said, stepping forward with a bright, dazzling smile that made the Mayor immediately sit up straighter. "I'm Camille Brooks, Mr. Valenti. I’ll make sure our press officer receives your pledge before the end of the evening."

Valenti looked between Lucian and Camille, realizing in one terrifying moment that he had been completely, utterly trapped by a five-foot-six woman in a green dress and a man he had thought was only capable of using a gun.

"Excuse me," Valenti croaked, standing up so fast he nearly knocked over his champagne glass. "I need to... use the restroom."

He hurried away toward the exit like a beaten dog.

The Mayor laughed. "Generous man! A bit jumpy, but generous!"