Chapter 1 - TEN SECONDS
The first thing Vincent Moretti took from Emma Reed was the silver serving tray.
The second was the illusion that she could leave his ballroom unnoticed.
One moment Emma was standing beneath crystal chandeliers with champagne glasses balanced against her palm. The next, Vincent ripped the tray from her hands and slammed it onto a nearby table. Glasses jumped. Conversation stopped. Nearly two hundred black-tie guests turned toward the blonde waitress in the center of the marble floor.
Vincent looked delighted.
He wore an immaculate black suit and the relaxed smile of a man who had never been told no without someone regretting it. Around him sat judges, developers, union officials, celebrities, and men who never appeared in photographs unless Vincent allowed it.
He pointed toward Derek Kane.
Derek stepped away from a marble column. He was broad-shouldered, dressed entirely in black, and known in the Moretti organization as the man who ended arguments Vincent no longer wished to hear.
“You want to marry into my world?” Vincent called across the ballroom.
Then he pointed at Emma.
“Beat him.”
Laughter exploded around her.
Derek walked until his polished shoes nearly touched hers. He looked down at her fitted white shirt, black service skirt, apron, and high heels.
“She won’t last ten seconds.”
Several guests clapped. Someone whistled. Emma stared at Derek without answering.
Vincent leaned back against the table, smiling widely.
“This is going to be fun.”
The crowd took permission from his excitement. Guests lifted their glasses and shouted Derek’s name. A man near the stage yelled, “Come on, Derek!” A woman in diamonds cried, “Take her down!”
Derek grinned while Vincent laughed with them.
Emma stood alone in the center of the ballroom.
Derek began circling her.
“Look at you,” he said, pointing toward her uniform. “You serve men like me.”
More chairs scraped back. Guests stood and crowded closer, pounding tables and cheering.
Emma lowered her eyes.
Then she untied her apron.
She let it fall onto the marble.
The ballroom roared.
Vincent’s smile widened. “Now this is interesting.”
“Cute,” Derek said.
Emma slipped off one high heel, then the other, and pushed both aside with her foot. The cheering grew louder. She rolled up her sleeves with slow, precise movements.
Derek spread his arms.
“Come on, waitress!”
Emma finally raised her eyes.
“You talk too much.”
The crowd erupted. Vincent clapped and laughed like a child watching fireworks.
Emma planted her bare feet on the marble and raised both fists.
Derek lowered his stance.
For one suspended second, the ballroom held its breath.
Then Derek charged.
Emma rushed forward to meet him.
Their bodies closed the distance across the open floor. Derek drew back his arm. Emma lifted one fist. The guests screamed and hammered the tables while Vincent leaned forward, thrilled.
“Now we’re talking!”
May you like
Emma and Derek were inches apart.
And just before the first blow landed, Emma saw something beneath Derek’s rolled cuff—a faded black burn scar shaped exactly like the mark she had seen on her father’s body twelve years earlier.
