Page 20 of Married to the Ruthless Mafia Heir

Soon Dante appeared in more casual clothes. He walked to my side, saw the smile on my face, and looked disgusted. "Stop with that fake smile. It's hideous. You know that?"

I met his gaze, said softly, "I'm sorry."

Dante laughed coldly. His left index finger hooked a nearby wine glass. It tipped over. My calf went cold. The hem of my dress was ruined.

"Whoops. Slipped." He waved dismissively.

I stared at this gorgeous, childish man. Took a deep breath. Grabbed scissors from a nearby cabinet and cut off the stained part of the dress. The gown became a mini dress instantly.

As the fabric tore, I caught Dante's shocked expression.

"I still have guests to entertain. Excuse me."

I left Dante and walked toward another cluster of guests.

A group of daughters from various families stood there. Their expressions were perfectly masked, but I could tell—in their eyes, I was still a maid. Even married, even the lady of the house now, their contempt wouldn't disappear.

"Thank you for coming to the wedding." I raised my glass to toast them. No one responded.

A girl I didn't know in a pink dress spoke up. "A maid doesn't get to toast us."

I sensed her hostility, lowered my arm, and turned to leave.

She grabbed me, stepped closer, looked me up and down. "Is that dress a hand-me-down? Cut up like that—ugly. Even uglier on you."

She covered her mouth, laughed. The others joined in.

I glanced down at myself and pulled my arm free from her grasp. "Beauty isn't something with a fixed definition. To me, this dress is beautiful in every form. If you don't like it, you're free to look away."

Her face went red with rage. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

She shoved me. I hit the floor hard.

Second time today. This fall was worse—the short dress ripped with the impact, exposing my thighs completely.

Silence. Then whispers rose like a tide.

Someone laughed. "Look at that maid! How embarrassing!"

I instinctively looked for Dante.

He stood at the other end of the room, champagne in hand, watching me with interest. He didn't walk over. Didn't help. Didn't even move. That look wasn't concern for his wife—it was watching a joke get what she deserved.

I looked away. No one would help me. So I pushed myself up.

The tear in my dress ran all the way to my hip. I couldn't hide it. Didn't bother trying. I dusted off my hands, walked up to the girl who pushed me. "You have embarrassed the mistress of the Moretti family in front of everyone here. I'll make sure Dante and your family know exactly what happened. You will answer for this."

Then I picked up a glass of wine and raised it to the guests. "My apologies for the interruption. It was merely a small mishap. I hope it hasn't affected everyone's enjoyment of the evening."

I didn't wait for their reaction. Turned and walked toward other guests. After that, I never looked in Dante's direction again. I circled the room with my wine glass, clinked glasses with people I'd never met, smiled, accepted congratulations. Some were genuine. Most weren't. I took them all, said thank you until my face went numb.

The reception finally ended. Guests left. Staff cleared the tables. I returned to the master bedroom—now decorated as our wedding suite. Salvador had it set up. Luxury furniture everywhere. Deep red carpet by the bed. White roses on the nightstand.

And in the center—the bed covered in bright red rose petals, still wet with drops of water.

My belongings had been moved from the attic into Dante's room. I didn't have much—my few clothes hung quietly in one corner of the closet, looking completely out of place.

I showered, changed into a silk nightgown someone had left out. Sat on the edge of the bed and waited for Dante.