“Touch Him Again,” His Jealous Fiancée Snapped—But the Mafia King Refused to Let the Curvy Maid Leave His Side

Julianna didn't wait for an answer. She crossed the room with swift, predatory grace, her diamond bracelets clinking softly against her wrist.

She stopped right in front of Lena, her gaze sliding down Lena’s broad hips, her rounded bust straining against the cotton uniform, and her flat, sensible work shoes. A look of supreme disgust curled Julianna’s upper lip.

"You," Julianna said, her voice dripping with poison. "Take your laundry cart and get out."

Lena bowed her head immediately. "Yes, ma'am. Right away."

She reached down to pick up the canvas bag from the floor, but before her fingers could touch the strap, Dante’s hand snapped out like an iron vise, grabbing Lena’s wrist.

The touch was firm, warm, and completely unyielding.

Lena froze.

Julianna froze as well, her eyes widening in disbelief as she looked at Dante’s hand locked around the maid’s arm.

"She stays," Dante said quietly.

"Excuse me?" Julianna’s voice rose an octave, sharp enough to cut glass. "Dante, it is two o'clock in the morning. You have a board meeting with my father at nine. I come upstairs to check on you after the storm, and I find this... this servant hovering over you while you sit in the dark like a lunatic."

"She stays because I ordered her to stay, Julianna," Dante repeated, his voice dangerously low, not releasing Lena’s wrist. "And you will lower your voice in my private quarters."

Julianna stepped closer, pointing a long, manicured red fingernail directly at Lena’s face.

"Touch him again," Julianna snapped, her voice trembling with dark fury. "Touch him or his chair one more time, girl, and I will have your name blacklisted from every hotel, hospital, and cleaning agency between New Orleans and Mobile. Do you understand me?"

Lena felt the blood drain from her face.

Her father’s face flashed in her mind—his tired, yellowed eyes sitting in the corner of their tiny two-bedroom apartment, waiting for his thrice-weekly dialysis treatments that cost eleven hundred dollars a month out of pocket.

"I'm sorry, Miss Vance," Lena whispered, trying to pull her arm back gently from Dante’s grip. "I was just doing my job."

"Let go of her arm, Dante," Julianna demanded, turning her glare back to her fiancé. "This is absurd. You are holding onto a maid like she’s a piece of furniture."

Dante didn't let go. In fact, his fingers tightened slightly, feeling the warm, steady pulse beating beneath Lena’s soft skin.

"Julianna," Dante said, his gray eyes locking onto his fiancée with a coldness that made even Julianna take half a step back. "You do not give orders in the Black Pelican. You do not give orders to my staff. And if you ever threaten anyone under my roof again, I will cancel the shipping logistics contract your father signed with my syndicate last Tuesday."

Julianna gasped, her chest heaving beneath her silk dress. "You wouldn't dare. That contract is keeping my family's docks open!"

"Try me," Dante whispered.

Julianna stared at him, her jaw working silently as she calculated the loss of thirty million dollars in freight revenues against her immediate pride.

She turned her scathing gaze back to Lena, her green eyes burning with pure, unadulterated hatred.

"You think you're clever, don't you?" Julianna spat at Lena. "You think because you're thick in the right places, a broken man in a chair will look at you twice? He’s a Vale. You are trash from the riverbank."

"Julianna," Dante warned, his tone dropping into a region that signaled absolute danger.

Julianna grabbed her clutch off the vanity table, turning on her high heel.

"I’m going down to the lounge," she said over her shoulder, her voice shaking with rage. "When I come back up, that woman better be back in the basement where she belongs."

She slammed the heavy oak suite door behind her, the noise reverberating through the high ceilings of the master bedroom.

Silence returned, thick and suffocating.

Dante slowly opened his hand, releasing Lena’s wrist.

Lena stepped back immediately, rubbing her red skin where his fingers had held her. Her chest was trembling, her throat tight with unshed tears.

"Mr. Vale... please," Lena choked out, staring at the floor. "Let me go back down. Miss Vance can get me fired in ten minutes. I can't lose this job. My father—"

"Your father needs money," Dante said, his voice flat, factual.

Lena looked up, shocked. "How... how do you know that?"

"I know the blood type, financial status, and medical history of every person who works on the executive floor of this hotel, Lena," Dante said calmly, resting his forearm on the armrest of his chair. "I know your father owes ninety thousand dollars to the regional medical network. I know you work eighteen hours a day between this hotel and a diner in Biloxi."