The Mafia Boss’s Fiancée Called Me a Clumsy Fat Maid and Raised Her Hand at His Mother—Then the Blow I Took Turned Their Alliance Into a Reckoning

Bianca froze, turning her head slowly to look at me. When she saw who had spoken, her shock instantly melted into deep, boiling rage.

"You?" Bianca snapped, her eyes narrowing as she looked at my simple apron. "How dare you speak to me like that? You're a maid. A fat, useless piece of trash."

I didn't answer her insult. I didn't look at her gown or her diamonds. I kept my eyes fixed on Carmela, who was trembling violently against the table.

"I am taking Mrs. Rossi back to her room now," I said, my voice steady, though my heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I walked forward, deliberately placing myself between Bianca and the door, and offered my arm to Carmela. "Come with me, ma'am. Your tea is waiting."

Carmela looked at me, a spark of recognition cutting through her fogged mind. "Skyler..." she whimpered, reaching out with a shaking hand to grip my arm. "She... she said Arthur is dead. She said they're going to lock me away..."

"It's alright, Mrs. Rossi," I whispered softly, pressing my hand over hers. "You're safe. Let's go."

Before we could take a step, Bianca sidestepped, blocking the narrow pathway between the iron tables. Her face was contorted with anger. "You think you can just walk in here and interrupt me? You heard a private family conversation!"

"I heard you threatening an elderly woman who cannot defend herself," I replied, standing my ground.

"You heard nothing!" Bianca spat, stepping closer until she was inches from my face. "You are a servant! You have no voice in this house! If I tell Dominic you stole from me, he'll have his men toss you into the river before midnight!"

"The conservatory has security cameras, Miss Moretti," I said, pointing a finger toward the high glass ceiling where a small, black dome camera was mounted above the central fountain. "I don't think Mr. Rossi would appreciate seeing how you treat his mother."

For one brief second, a flicker of cold panic passed across Bianca’s face. She glanced up at the camera, realizing that her cruel words had likely been recorded. Her jaw tightened, her knuckles whitening as she gripped her wine glass.

Carmela, terrified by the tension in the air, tried to step around Bianca to reach the exit. "Let us pass!" the old woman cried out, her foot catching on the edge of a heavy wrought-iron planter.

Carmela stumbled forward, losing her balance. As her arms flew out to catch herself, her hand struck the side of Bianca’s arm.

The glass of red wine tilted.

A massive, dark crimson wave of red wine spilled across the front of Bianca’s pristine, white designer gown, soaking through the expensive silk and leaving a huge, jagged stain from her waist down to her knees.

The room went dead silent.

The only sound in the conservatory was the soft dripping of wine from the hem of Bianca’s dress onto the marble tile.

Bianca stood completely still. She stared down at the ruined dress—a custom dress worth tens of thousands of dollars, meant for her engagement announcement. Her eyes went wide with pure, unadulterated fury. Her face flushed bright red, her lips trembling with rage.

"You... you senile old bitch!" Bianca screamed.

Without a second thought, Bianca raised her right hand high in the air. Her fingers were curled into a tight fist, the massive platinum engagement ring facing outward. The geometric diamonds sat in a heavy, raised setting with razor-sharp, exposed platinum edges.

She swung her arm back, bringing her hand down with all her strength, aiming directly for Carmela’s fragile, pale face.

Carmela cowered, closing her eyes and screaming.

I didn't calculate the consequences. I didn't think about my job, my future, or the violent syndicate that ruled this estate. I only knew that if that heavy diamond ring hit an eighty-year-old woman in the face, it would break her jaw—or worse.

I threw my body forward, shoving Carmela backward out of harm's way, and placed myself directly between the swinging blow and the old woman.

CRACK.

The impact was horrifying.

The sharp, heavy platinum ring caught me directly on the high point of my right cheekbone. The force of the strike was immense, driven by Bianca's full weight and blind rage.

Pain exploded behind my eyes like a blinding flash of white lightning. I heard a sickening tearing sound, followed by the heavy thud of my own body hitting the hard marble tile floor. My head bounced off the stone, spinning the room into a blur of green leaves and flashing lights.

"Skyler!" Carmela screamed, dropping to her knees beside me, her hands shaking hysterically as she pulled my shoulder.

I lay on my side, gasping for air. Warm, thick liquid instantly began pouring down my cheek, dripping off my jawline, and pooling rapidly beneath the collar of my white apron. The pain was excruciating, a sharp, throbbing agony that felt like a hot iron pressed against my face. The skin on my cheek had been deeply lacerated by the sharp edge of the ring's diamond setting.

Bianca stood over me, panting heavily. She looked down at my bleeding face, then at her stained dress, showing not a single shred of remorse or shock.

"Look what you made me do, you stupid, fat bitch!" Bianca shouted, kicking a piece of broken glass away. "You got blood on my shoes! You ruined everything!"

"What is going on here?"

A deep, cold, commanding voice echoed from the entrance of the conservatory.

The temperature in the room instantly seemed to drop ten degrees.

Standing in the doorway was Dominic Rossi.

He was dressed in a tailored black tuxedo, his tall, muscular frame casting a long shadow across the tiled floor. His dark hair was combed back perfectly, and his icy blue eyes were devoid of any emotion. Standing directly behind him were his two chief security men, Marco and Antonio—two tall, heavily armed enforcers who looked like stone statues.

Bianca instantly transformed. The blind rage vanished from her face, replaced instantly by an expression of helpless, tearful distress.

"Dominic!" Bianca cried out, her voice trembling as she rushed toward him, holding her hands out. "Oh thank God you're here! It was terrible! It was an absolute nightmare!"

Dominic didn't move toward her. He stood still in the doorway, his cold gaze scanning the scene. He saw Bianca’s wine-stained white dress. He saw his mother crying hysterically on the floor. And then, his eyes landed on me—lying in a puddle of my own blood, my apron stained red, holding my hand over a deep, gushing wound on my cheek.

"Dominic, listen to me," Bianca babbled, tears streaming down her polished cheeks. "Your mother... she had another episode. She didn't recognize me! She became confused and aggressive! She threw her wine all over my dress! And then... then this maid attacked me! She tried to push me, and when I tried to defend myself, she slipped and hit her face on the table! Look at my dress, Dominic! It's ruined!"

Dominic ignored Bianca completely. He walked past her, his heavy leather shoes making slow, rhythmic sounds against the marble.

He stopped right in front of where I was lying.

He didn't yell. He didn't demand explanations. He simply knelt down on one knee on the hard stone floor, unmindful of the blood wetting the tile.

"Dominic..." Carmela sobbed, gripping her son’s arm tightly. "Dominic, she's lying! Bianca lied! She threatened me... she said you were going to lock me away in a room in the dark... and then she tried to hit me! Skyler saved me, Dominic! Skyler took the blow for me!"

Dominic reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a clean, folded silk handkerchief. Without saying a word, he gently pressed the soft fabric against the bleeding laceration on my cheek.

I winced, closing my eyes tight as a fresh wave of pain hit me.

"Hold still," Dominic said softly. His voice was low, smooth, and laced with a terrifying, quiet gravity.

I looked up into his icy blue eyes. For the first time in the three years I had worked for him, Dominic Rossi was looking directly at me—not as a servant, not as a background object, but as a person. His thumb brushed lightly against my jaw, steadying my trembling head.

"Did she strike you?" Dominic asked me, his voice barely above a whisper.

I looked at Carmela, who was nodding frantically through her tears, then looked back at Dominic. I managed one small, painful nod. "Yes, sir."

Dominic stayed still for a long moment, pressing the handkerchief against my cheek until the white silk was completely soaked in dark crimson blood.

Then, he slowly stood up.

He turned around to face Bianca.

There was no yelling. There was no theatrical anger. His face was a mask of terrible, unnatural calm—the kind of calm that preceded a execution in the Rossi family.

"Dominic, you can't believe them!" Bianca pleaded, stepping backward as she saw the look in his eyes. "Your mother is insane! She doesn't know what year it is! And that maid is just trying to protect her job—"

"Marco," Dominic interrupted, his voice echoing off the glass dome.

"Yes, Boss?" Marco stepped forward immediately.

"Pull the security footage from the conservatory camera over the last fifteen minutes. Send it directly to my phone."

Bianca’s breath hitched. Her face turned pale, all the color draining from her lips. "Dominic... wait... let's talk about this in private..."

Dominic pulled out his smartphone. A few seconds passed in absolute silence, broken only by Carmela's soft weeping. Dominic stared at his screen, watching the video playback of Bianca cornering his mother, threatening her, and then swinging her diamond-ringed fist directly at Carmela's head before I intervened.

Dominic slowly slipped the phone back into his pocket. He looked at Bianca.

"Remove the ring," he said.