I’m the princess of the Moretti family, the Chicago Outfit. But all I ever cared about was sculpting.

The day before Thanksgiving, my car died on me. I had to drive home in some beat-up, mud-caked Jeep.

The second I walked into the penthouse, some strange woman shoved a pile of silver polish into my arms.

She jutted her chin at me. “Get these polished before the dinner party,” she sneered.

I looked at her. She was wearing my late mother’s favorite silk robe.

This is my house. Who the hell was this woman?

And who was supposed to polish this junk? Me? The only princess of the Moretti family?

I pulled out my phone. Opened the family's encrypted app. I sent a message to my father, Vincenzo.

“Your new pet wants me to polish the silver.”

Not even three seconds later, my phone blew up.

"Who touched the princess?"

"A name. Now."

"Who the fuck put their hands on Aria?"

"Boss, we're rolling."

The family channel lit up like a Christmas tree. Twenty messages flew by, each one a death threat.

My father, Vincenzo, replied at the top of the chat: "I don't have a new pet. Where are you? What happened?"

I was about to type "The living room" when a sharp pain shot through my shoulder.

The woman shoved me hard. I stumbled back.

"Playing maid for the day?" she sneered. "All dressed up with nowhere to go? I gave you an order."

She snatched my encrypted phone right out of my hand. Her long nails almost scratched the screen.

I almost laughed, out of pure rage.

Seriously. In my entire life, nobody had ever dared to touch my things. Nobody but my father, Don Vincenzo.

"Give it back." My voice dropped, low and dangerous. Pure Moretti ice.

My father taught me young. True power never needs to be shown.

So I never acted like I was better than anyone.

But that didn't mean I'd let some random woman walk all over me.

She held my phone up, her eyes glued to the messages still flooding the screen. Each one asking if I was safe. Each one threatening to kill whoever dared to hurt me.

"And if I don't? Who are you going to cry to?" she sneered, her eyes flashing with malice. "I could have your agency fire you. You wouldn't even have this job."

I took a step forward. "I said, give it back."

"The Boss thinks the world of me. I, Brenda, am about to be the lady of this house." She puffed out her chest. "One word from me, and you won't be able to find work anywhere in Chicago."

I couldn't help but sneer. My father? Her Boss?

"And what does the Don like about you?" I asked, my voice sweet as poison. "Your cheap perfume or your gutter mouth?"

The woman's face changed. I'd hit a nerve. She was furious.

“You little bitch! What did you say?!” she shrieked. “You’re just jealous! Jealous that I get to stay here! Jealous that I'm going to be the lady of the house! Look at you! Dressed like a bricklayer, looking like you don’t have a penny to your name. You think you can seduce the master by dressing like that? How dare you talk back to me!”

She grabbed a filthy rag from the table and lunged, aiming for my face.

"Cleaners do the dirty work! Don't you forget it!"

I slapped her hand away. The force sent her staggering back. Dirty water splashed onto the priceless Persian rug.

She stared, shocked that I'd fought back.

I glanced down at myself. A day of driving. Wrinkled jeans and a white t-shirt. Messy hair. I didn't exactly look like royalty.

But when I looked back up, the ice in my eyes could have frozen over hell.

"I am the daughter of this house. Aria Moretti." Each word was a shard of ice.

"And that," I pointed to the custom Chanel robe she was wearing, "is my mother's." My voice was terrifyingly calm. "Take it off, have it cleaned, and get the hell out of my penthouse."

Brenda stared at me for a second. Then she exploded into a piercing, shrill laugh.

"Hahahaha!" She was laughing so hard she could barely breathe, tears streaming from her eyes. "Aria Moretti? You?"

She pointed at me, her laughter growing wilder.

"If you're Aria Moretti, then I'm the First Lady!"

I watched her, my face a blank mask.

"Listen, you little liar," she wiped a tear from her eye, her voice turning vicious. "The real Miss Moretti is studying at some fancy art school in Europe. Living like a princess. She would never look like you. Covered in mud, like you just came from a construction site."

"You're mistaken."

"I'm mistaken?" she scoffed. "I've worked in this house for three months. I know everyone. The real daughter is elegant, refined. She wears designer clothes, not that cheap crap you have on."

I looked down at my jeans and t-shirt. They were plain, but that meant nothing.

"Call my father. You'll see."

"Your father?" Her laugh was even harsher. "You little bitch, there's a limit to your bullshit. Do you know who the Boss is? The emperor of Chicago's underworld! You think his daughter would be a piece of trash like you?"

She stepped closer, her eyes full of malice.

"I'm warning you. Admit you're trespassing, or you'll pay for this lie. No one in Chicago gets away with impersonating a Moretti."

"I said, call my father."

"Enough!" Her patience was gone. "I'm not wasting my time with some crazy bitch's fantasies."

She raised my custom phone high in the air.

"No!" I lunged for it.

Too late.

With all her strength, she smashed it against the living room floor.

CRACK!

Electronic parts scattered. The screen was shattered.

I knelt on the floor, picking up the pieces. The family crest on the back was twisted. The screen was black.

"See? A piece of cheap junk," Brenda sneered, stepping over the fragments in her high heels. "A real Moretti phone wouldn't break that easily."

I clutched the broken phone. Rage burned in my chest. That phone wasn't just a phone. It held all my memories with my father, my grandfather. Precious family photos. Irreplaceable notes for my art.

"Do you have any idea what you just destroyed?"

"A fake," she shrugged, not caring at all.

I stood up. The murderous look in my eyes made the air freeze.

"Last time. Take off my mother's robe. And get out."

"Are you threatening me?" Instead of fear, Brenda looked thrilled. "A trespasser is threatening me?"

She walked to the bar. There was a huge champagne bucket filled with ice and half-melted water.

"You like playing pretend?" she said, lifting the heavy bucket with a vicious smile. "Let's snap you back to reality."

"You wouldn't dare—"

Before I could finish, a whole bucket of ice water came crashing down on my head.

Icy coldness shot through every pore. Ice cubes hit my head, my shoulders. The water ran into my eyes, my nose, my mouth.

My car had broken down in a blizzard. I’d already been waiting for hours in the freezing cold. This bucket of ice water stole what little warmth I had left.

My teeth chattered uncontrollably. My whole body started to shake.

"That's better," Brenda said, satisfied with my pathetic state. "You worthless cleaning girl."

I tried to speak, but I was too cold to form words.

"Still pretending?" She grabbed a fistful of my wet hair and yanked. "I hate girls like you. Thinking your pretty little face can get you everything."

A slap across my face. The sting almost made me gag.

Then another. And another.

She kicked and punched me like a madwoman, every blow filled with venom.

"For your lies!" Punch.

"For your disrespect!" Kick.

"And for thinking you could take what's MINE!" Another kick, harder this time.

I'd been protected my whole life. No one had ever laid a hand on me. The shock, the pain... I was close to blacking out. But the rage kept me conscious.

"Enough!" I screamed with what little strength I had left.

"Enough?" She sneered and kicked me in the ribs. "This is just the beginning. You impersonate the Boss's daughter, you pay the price."

She dragged me by my hair toward the bathroom in the corner of the living room. My knees scraped raw on the floor. My soaked clothes made it even worse.

"Let's wash that brain of yours."

She dragged me into the lavish bathroom. Gold-plated faucets gleamed. My ears were ringing. I could barely hear her.

She grabbed the back of my head and shoved my face under the freezing, running water.

The cold water blasted my face. The pressure was too strong. I couldn't breathe.

Water filled my nose, my mouth, my lungs. The pain of drowning was worse than any beating. My lungs were on fire. My chest felt like it would explode.

My vision blurred. My mind was slipping into darkness.

Just as I thought I was going to die, she yanked my head back up.

Cough, cough, cough! I gasped, my lungs desperately trying to expel the water. Blood and water streamed from my nose and mouth, dripping onto the gilded sink.

"Feel better? Cleared your head?" Brenda looked down on me, her eyes filled with sadistic pleasure.

I used my arms to push myself up from the sink, shaking all over.

"You. Will. Pay. For. This." I said, each word a rasping promise of death. "I swear, you'll pay a thousand times over."

She froze for a second. Then she laughed, crazier than before.

"Pay? You? A trespassing lunatic?"

She kicked me in the small of my back. I slammed into the wall. Pain shot through me.

"Look what you did!" she shrieked, pointing outside the bathroom. "You soaked my expensive Persian rug! That's a hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar, hand-made silk rug!"

I followed her gaze. The living room rug was soaked through.

"Now you listen," she snarled, digging her nails into my chin. "Strip. Wash your filthy clothes. If they're not spotless by sundown, I'll plaster your naked photos all over the Magnificent Mile. Let the whole city see the trash you really are."

"What?"

"Don't play dumb." Her smile turned twisted. "Or I'll start taking pictures right here and you can see how the homeless live."

"I won't."

"You won't?" Her eyes narrowed. "Then I'll help you."

I backed away. "Don't touch me."

"Too late, little bitch."

She lunged at me like a wild animal, her hands grabbing my soaked white t-shirt.

"No!" I tried to push her off, but she was surprisingly strong.

RRRIP!

With a single, violent rip, my t-shirt tore open. The cold air hit my bare skin, and I instinctively crossed my arms over my chest, covering my black bra.

"That's better," she said, admiring the shredded cloth. "Keep going. The pants, too."

"Never."

I tried to run, but she grabbed my wrist, her nails leaving bloody scratches.

SMACK!

A loud slap hit my face. My head swam from the stinging pain.

SMACK!

Another one, harder. My cheek swelled instantly. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth.

"Still want to fight?" She grabbed my hair, forcing me to look at her. "I hate a disobedient slut."

She started ripping at my jeans, yanking at the waistband.

"Stop!" I struggled, but my body was too weak.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Three quick slaps. I almost lost consciousness.

The jeans were torn off me. I collapsed onto the cold tile floor in just my black bra and underwear.

I was a treasure to my family. Protected my whole life.

No one had ever laid a finger on me, let alone seen me like this.

Humiliation. Rage. Fear. It all crashed down on me at once.

"Now that's more like it," Brenda said, looking down at me like a trophy. "Now you know your place, don't you?"

She pulled out her phone and aimed it at me.

"Don't take pictures," I said weakly.

"Why not?" Her laugh was pure evil. "A moment like this? It's begging to be captured."

The flash went off. I flinched, covering my face.

"Don't hide. Let me see that lying face of yours."

She tried to pull my hands away. I fought back with the last of my strength.

"Enough!" a voice screamed from deep inside me.

It was the Moretti rage. The final snap after being pushed too far.

Even trembling, even half-naked, I looked her straight in the eye.

"You are going to regret this."

"Regret it?" She cackled. "A loser who can't even keep her clothes on is threatening me?"

She walked out of the bathroom and locked the door from the outside.

"Get to washing. Remember, if they're not clean by dark, those pictures go on every social media site."

I heard her footsteps fade. Then the sound of a drink being poured. She was back in the living room, drinking whiskey.

I curled up in the corner of the bathroom, hugging my shaking body. The cold, the pain, the shame... I wanted to break.

But I couldn't.

I am Aria Moretti.

I am the daughter of the king of Chicago's underworld.

No one gets to do this to me. No one.

"Hurry up with those clothes!" Brenda yelled from outside. "Don't drag your feet!"

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to be calm.

Dad would come for me. When he realized I was missing, he'd turn all of Chicago upside down to find me.

And then, this crazy woman would learn the meaning of true fear.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Ding-dong! Ding-dong!

It was urgent. Like someone had been waiting for a long time.

"Dammit, who is it now?" Brenda grumbled, walking to the door.

I heard the door open. Then a new woman's voice.

"Ma'am? I'm with the cleaning service," a new voice said. "For Mr. Moretti? So sorry about the delay, the snow is hell out there."

Brenda froze for an instant.