Chapter 2 - THE FIANCÉE IN THE MANSIONBy sunrise, every major gossip website in New York had published the same headline.
MAFIA KING ADRIAN BELLINI ENGAGED TO MYSTERY WAITRESS AFTER BLOODY FAMILY DINNER.
The photograph showed Evelyn standing beside Adrian beneath the mansion’s front steps. She was still wearing the burgundy waitress uniform. Her hair was messy, her cheeks were flushed, and her expression looked more like a hostage’s than a future bride’s.
Adrian, by contrast, looked perfectly composed.
His hand rested against the small of her back.
The gesture appeared intimate.
It was not.
His fingers pressed against her ribs in warning.
Smile.
Evelyn smiled.
Inside, she wanted to stab him with the engagement ring he had placed on her finger.
The ring was enormous. A square black diamond surrounded by smaller white stones. It felt less like jewelry and more like a handcuff.
“Do you always threaten women with diamonds?” Evelyn asked as they entered the mansion.
“Only the ones who accept my marriage proposal before asking whether I’m dangerous.”
“I already knew you were dangerous.”
“Then you’re more intelligent than you look.”
She stopped walking.
His guards continued down the hallway before realizing he was no longer behind them.
Evelyn slowly turned toward him. “That was a very poor choice of words.”
Adrian studied her face.
“I meant people underestimate you.”
“You meant exactly what you said.”
“Yes.”
She stepped closer. “Then let me make something clear. I may be plus-size, but I’m not stupid, desperate, or grateful to be standing beside you.”
Something shifted in his expression.
Not anger.
Interest.
“Good,” he said. “I hate grateful people.”
“Why?”
“They’re easy to control.”
“And you like controlling people?”
“I like knowing what they’ll do.”
“You have no idea what I’ll do.”
“That’s why you’re still alive.”
Before Evelyn could answer, Bianca appeared at the end of the corridor.
She had changed into a cream-colored silk dress. Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves over one shoulder. She looked like the woman who belonged beside Adrian. The woman the newspapers expected him to marry.
Her eyes dropped to Evelyn’s ring.
Then to Adrian.
“You cannot be serious.”
Adrian’s expression hardened. “I rarely joke about marriage.”
“You were supposed to marry me.”
“That was never finalized.”
“You gave my father your word.”
“Your father gave me a shipment schedule. We’re both disappointed.”
Bianca’s lips parted in shock.
Evelyn almost smiled.
Almost.
Bianca came closer. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Adrian said.
“You are allowing a stranger into this family.”
“She’s my fiancée.”
“She’s a waitress.”
Evelyn tilted her head. “And you’re a murderer. We all have jobs.”
One of the guards coughed to hide a laugh.
Bianca’s face tightened.
Adrian looked at Evelyn with a strange flicker of amusement.
Then he turned toward the staircase. “Mrs. Alvarez will show you to your room.”
“I don’t need anyone to show me.”
“You don’t know the house.”
“I can read signs.”
“There are no signs.”
“Then perhaps you should install some. Your mansion is unnecessarily large.”
Adrian walked away.
Evelyn followed.
Her room occupied the entire east wing of the second floor. It contained a four-poster bed, a fireplace, a dressing room, and windows overlooking the gardens. The closet already held dozens of dresses in her size.
Evelyn stared at them.
“I didn’t ask for these.”
“Mr. Bellini ordered them,” Mrs. Alvarez said.
The housekeeper was a petite woman in her sixties with silver hair and kind eyes. She placed a suitcase on the bed.
“Why?”
“Because he doesn’t want his fiancée seen in a waitress uniform.”
“His problem is his eyes. I’m not changing my body to make him comfortable.”
Mrs. Alvarez smiled faintly. “He didn’t say you had to change your body.”
“He implied it.”
“He implies many things.”
Evelyn opened the suitcase. Beneath the clothes, she found a folded black dress and a note.
Wear this tonight. Dinner with the family. Do not wander.
No signature.
She knew it was from Adrian.
Evelyn placed the note in the fireplace and watched it burn.
Then she looked at the closet.
“Tell him I’ll wear what I want.”
Mrs. Alvarez’s smile grew. “I think he’ll appreciate that.”
That evening, Evelyn wore the black dress.
Not because Adrian had chosen it.
Because it fit beautifully.
The neckline was elegant, the waist structured, and the skirt fell in soft folds around her legs. She added red lipstick, simple earrings, and the silver locket.
When she entered the dining room, every conversation stopped.
Adrian sat at the head of the table. His uncle Stefano Bellini occupied the chair to his right. Stefano was a broad, silver-haired man with a warm smile that never reached his eyes. Beside him sat Bianca, furious and beautiful.
Victor Rinaldi was absent.
Evelyn wondered whether he was still alive.
Adrian looked up.
His gaze moved slowly over her dress, her face, and the locket.
He said nothing.
“Did I disappoint you?” Evelyn asked.
“No.”
“Then why do you look like you’ve just discovered a problem?”
“You’re wearing red lipstick.”
“I own red lipstick.”
“It attracts attention.”
“Then stop staring at my mouth.”
The corner of his jaw tightened.
Stefano laughed. “I like her.”
“You like anyone who causes trouble,” Adrian said.
“That is why I like you.”
Dinner began with silence.
Evelyn watched the family carefully. Stefano asked harmless questions about her childhood. Bianca barely touched her food. Adrian drank whiskey but never enough to lose control.
After the main course, Stefano raised his glass.
“To new beginnings.”
Evelyn lifted hers.
“To old secrets,” she replied.
The room quieted again.
Stefano’s eyes sharpened. “You speak boldly for someone who has only just arrived.”
“I’ve learned that people say more when they’re offended.”
Adrian’s gaze flickered toward her.
She knew he was wondering what she had already discovered.
She had discovered that the east wing was heavily guarded, while the west wing had no cameras visible in the hallway. She had discovered that Stefano wore a gold signet ring bearing the Bellini crest. She had discovered that Bianca watched Adrian whenever he looked at Evelyn, not with jealousy, but with fear.
Most importantly, she had discovered a portrait near the library.
The painting showed Adrian at seventeen, standing beside his father and mother.
Behind them stood a younger Stefano.
And near the edge of the frame was a man Evelyn recognized.
Victor Rinaldi.
Her father’s name had never appeared in the newspapers alongside the Bellinis.
But the portrait proved he had been close to them.
After dinner, Evelyn slipped away.
She moved through the corridor without turning on the lights. Moonlight spilled through the tall windows, making the marble floor gleam.
The library door was locked.
Evelyn removed a thin hairpin from her bun.
Her father had taught her how to open simple locks when she was twelve. He had said it was useful to know how doors worked, because not every locked door was meant to keep danger out.
The lock clicked.
She entered.
The library smelled of leather and dust. Shelves climbed to the ceiling. A fireplace stood cold beneath a carved stone mantel.
Evelyn walked toward the portrait.
Up close, she saw something tucked behind the frame.
A strip of yellowed paper.
She pulled it free.
On it was a handwritten line.
T.H. knows about the harbor accounts. If he talks, we all fall.
Evelyn’s hands began to shake.
T.H.
Thomas Hart.
Her father had not been an outsider.
He had been close enough to threaten the entire family.
A floorboard creaked behind her.
Evelyn turned.
Adrian stood in the doorway.
His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows. His expression was unreadable.
“What are you doing in my library?” he asked.
Evelyn folded the paper into her palm.
“Looking for a book.”
“Which book?”
“One about families who murder innocent people.”
He closed the door.
The sound echoed through the room.
“You should be careful what you accuse people of.”
“You should be careful what you hide.”
Adrian walked toward her.
Evelyn refused to step back.
He stopped in front of the portrait.
His eyes moved to the torn paper in her hand.
For the first time since she met him, the coldness left his face.
“What did you find?”
“Ask your uncle.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Neither was your marriage proposal.”
He reached for her wrist.
Evelyn pulled away.
Adrian’s gaze dropped to the movement.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.
“Men who say that usually do.”
“Not me.”
“You’re a Bellini.”
His face changed.
Only for a second.
But she saw it.
Pain.
Then the mask returned.
“Go to your room, Evelyn.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll have the guards escort you.”
“You’re afraid of what I’ll find.”
“No.”
“Then why are you shaking?”
Adrian looked down.
His hand was clenched.
Evelyn stepped closer and whispered, “You don’t know what your family did to my father, do you?”
His eyes locked onto hers.
The silence between them became suffocating.
“Who was your father?” he asked.
She smiled without warmth.
“You already know.”
She pushed past him and left the library.
Behind her, Adrian remained beneath the portrait, staring at the place where the evidence had been hidden.
For the first time in ten years, someone had brought Thomas Hart’s ghost back into the Bellini house.
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And Adrian Bellini was beginning to understand that his new fiancée had not come to marry him.
She had come to expose him.
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