Chapter 3 - The Battered Suitcase
Dante slowly shifted his gaze from the child up to the center of the foyer.
In the background, kneeling on the cold imported marble, was Anna. The 32-year-old housekeeper wore a simple, faded uniform. Beside her was a cheap, battered suitcase, already packed and hastily zipped shut. Anna wasn't screaming or begging for mercy. She was weeping silently, her head bowed in absolute, crushing despair, too terrified to even look up at the billionaire boss.
The silence in the room was suffocating. The crystal chandelier seemed to hum against the deadly tension.
Dante looked back at Isabella.
"She was stealing, Dante," Isabella lied smoothly, maintaining her fake, controlled smile. She gestured dismissively toward the weeping housekeeper. "I caught Anna sneaking around my private suite. When I told her she was fired and to pack her bags, her unruly brat tried to bite me. I barely touched the girl."
Dante’s stoic face didn't flinch. He didn't look at the suitcase, and he didn't look at Anna.
His cold eyes darkened with a lethal, terrifying realization. The muscles in his jaw tightened. He stood absolutely rigidly, completely ignoring Isabella's greeting and her pathetic, transparent lies.
His dangerous, unblinking gaze locked onto his fiancée.
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"Who touched her?" Dante asked, his voice deadly quiet, echoing with a demonic promise of violence.
👉 Isabella thought she could manipulate the mafia boss, but she had fundamentally misunderstood exactly who the maid was.
