She tried to swallow the pain rising in her throat.
She had been insulted before.
She had been treated as though her existence depended on someone else's generosity.
But never like this.
Never in a room full of people who could have stopped it.
And never while carrying the responsibility of keeping her family alive.
A quiet voice interrupted the moment.
"Valentina."
The woman turned.
Adrian De Luca stood several feet away.
His black jacket was perfectly tailored. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a dark tattoo disappearing beneath the fabric. His expression was unreadable.
The crowd seemed to notice him all at once.
Conversations died.
The musicians continued playing for another few seconds before the violinist realized that nobody was listening.
Valentina's expression changed immediately.
"Adrian, darling."
She approached him with the confidence of a woman who believed she understood her place beside him.
"I was just teaching your staff a little discipline."
Adrian looked at the wet apron.
Then at Elena's face.
"Is that what you call it?"
Valentina laughed softly.
"Don't look at me like that. She was careless."
"Did she damage anything?"
"She spilled champagne."
"How terrible."
A few guests lowered their glasses.
Valentina did not appreciate the sarcasm.
"Adrian, please. Don't make this ridiculous."
He stepped closer to the maid.
"Elena."
She immediately straightened.
"Yes, sir?"
"Look at me."
She hesitated.
Then she raised her eyes.
Adrian noticed the redness around them.
He noticed the way she held her shoulders as if trying to make herself smaller.
And he noticed something else.
A faint purple mark near her wrist.
His expression hardened.
"Who did that?"
Elena instinctively pulled her hand behind the tray.
"No one, sir."
"That wasn't my question."
Valentina sighed.
"Oh, for heaven's sake. Are we really going to investigate every little mark on a servant's arm?"
Adrian did not look at her.
"Marcus."
His adviser approached immediately.
"Yes, sir?"
"Take the tray."
Marcus carefully removed it from Elena's hands.
"Elena, go to the staff room. Have someone bring you a clean uniform."
"Yes, sir."
She began to move.
"Wait."
Adrian's voice stopped her.
She turned.
"Did you break that glass?"
Elena glanced toward the floor.
"No, sir."
"Did you spill the champagne?"
Her eyes flickered toward Valentina.
"I..."
"Tell me the truth."
Elena took a breath.
"Miss Moretti poured it on me."
The silence that followed was different from the previous one.
This time, nobody dared to pretend they had not heard.
Valentina's face tightened.
"Adrian!"
He finally turned toward her.
"Yes?"
"She is lying."
"Then you won't mind explaining what happened."
"I was trying to correct her behavior."
"By pouring champagne over her?"
"She embarrassed me."
Adrian looked at the wet apron again.
Then he looked at Valentina.
"An interesting definition of embarrassment."
Valentina stepped closer.
"You're making a scene over a maid."
Adrian's eyes remained cold.
"No. You're making a scene over a maid."
For the first time that evening, Valentina seemed uncertain.
She had known Adrian for three years. Their families had discussed a marriage arrangement long before either of them had admitted that they were not particularly happy about it.
Her father, Vittorio Moretti, was one of the most influential men in the city's underworld.
A marriage between the two families would have united enormous interests.
Valentina had grown up believing she would eventually become the woman standing beside the most powerful man in New York.
She had expensive tastes, impeccable manners, and a talent for making people feel indebted to her.
She also believed that Adrian's silence meant agreement.
It did not.
"You're choosing her side?" Valentina asked.
Adrian adjusted the cuff of his shirt.
"I'm choosing not to tolerate cruelty in my own house."
Valentina laughed without humor.
"Your house?"
He looked around the ballroom.
"Yes. My house."
Then he turned to Marcus.
"Find out who assigned Elena to this table."
Marcus nodded.
"And make sure nobody touches her belongings or her employment records until I have spoken with her."
Valentina's eyes narrowed.
"You're being absurd."
Adrian ignored her.
He approached Elena again, this time lowering his voice.
"Go upstairs. You don't need to finish the evening."
Elena shook her head.
"I can still work, sir."
"I know."
"I don't want to cause trouble."
Something changed in Adrian's expression.
For a moment, he looked almost tired.
"Elena, you are not the one who caused trouble."
She stared at him.
She wanted to believe those words.
But people like Adrian De Luca did not usually protect people like her without expecting something in return.
She had learned that lesson long before she entered his house.
"Thank you, sir."
She turned and walked toward the service corridor.
Behind her, Valentina watched with an expression that had lost every trace of elegance.
Adrian remained in the middle of the ballroom.
"Music," he said.
The musicians began playing again.
The guests slowly returned to their conversations.
But the evening had already changed.
And Valentina Moretti had just made a mistake that would cost her far more than a little champagne.
***
The service corridor was colder than the ballroom.
The marble floors gave way to dark wooden panels, and the warm golden light of the chandeliers was replaced by fluorescent ceiling lamps.
Elena walked quickly.
She wanted to reach the staff room before anyone could see her crying again.
She had almost made it when a familiar voice called her name.
"Elena."
She stopped.
Marcus Bellini stood near the kitchen entrance.
Unlike Adrian, Marcus preferred dark gray suits and discreet ties. His hair was beginning to turn silver at the temples, and his expression usually carried the patience of a man who had spent too many years managing other people's tempers.
He had worked for the De Luca family since Adrian was seventeen.
Some called him the consigliere.
Others called him the only person alive who could tell Adrian he was wrong without immediately regretting it.
"Mr. Bellini."
"Come with me."
Elena glanced toward the staff room.
"I should change first."
"There's no rush."
He noticed the champagne soaking through her apron.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Are you certain?"
She nodded.
Marcus studied her face.
"You know, you don't have to protect her."