The Devil's Invitation

Virello Estate – Dining Hall – 8:00 AM

By morning, Belle had perfected the art of pretending last night never happened.

She moved through the grand dining hall like any other maid, setting silverware, arranging plates, and refilling glasses for the estate's elites. The long table stretched across the room, occupied by high-ranking members of the Castellano mafia—men who made deals with blood and power.

And at the head of the table sat Dante Castellano.

Belle kept her gaze lowered as she moved past him, placing a fresh cup of espresso at his side. She felt his eyes on her before she even turned.

"Elena."

Belle stiffened. Not 'maid.' Not 'girl.' Her name.

Or at least, the name he believed.

She straightened and met his gaze. "Sir?"

Dante leaned back in his chair, tapping a silver spoon against the rim of his cup. The sound was deliberate, rhythmic—like a countdown.

"You'll be serving at the private gala tonight."

Belle's breath hitched. The gala.

She had spent weeks preparing for this—listening, watching, memorizing faces and schedules. Tonight, Valdraven's most dangerous families would gather under one roof. And now—Dante Castellano had placed her right in the center of it.

She forced herself to nod. "Understood."

But Dante wasn't done.

"You'll be by my side all night."

Belle's pulse slammed against her ribs.

The table fell silent. A few men exchanged looks. A mere maid, serving the heir personally?

But no one questioned Dante.

Belle felt the weight of his order settle on her shoulders. He was testing her again—forcing her into his world, watching how she moved in it.

She dipped her head. "As you wish, sir."

Dante's lips curved slightly. He took a sip of his espresso, eyes never leaving hers.

"Good girl."

The words sent an unexpected chill down Belle's spine.

And just like that, the game had changed again.

---

Later – Servants' Quarters

Belle paced the small room, gripping the edges of the vanity table.

This was bad.

Tonight was supposed to be about information. About slipping into the shadows, listening in on conversations, gathering the final pieces she needed to destroy the Castellano family from the inside.

Not being Dante's personal attendant.

Not having his eyes on her every second.

A knock on her door snapped her from her thoughts.

Belle turned, keeping her face neutral as she opened it—

And froze.

A woman stood there, tall and elegant, dressed in a fitted black suit. Her sleek blonde hair was tied back, and a small scar cut across her cheek.

Belle knew exactly who she was.

Marcella DeLuca. The Castellano family's top assassin.

"You're coming with me." Marcella's voice was smooth, unreadable.

Belle's fingers twitched toward the knife hidden in her sleeve. "Why?"

Marcella gave a small, amused smirk.

"Dante wants you fitted for something more… appropriate."

Belle's heart pounded.

She was being dressed for the gala.

Which meant one thing—

Dante Castellano didn't just want a maid at his side tonight.

He wanted her to be seen.