Ordered To Serve His Mistress: Heiress's Revenge

My fiancé sent me a text ordering me to serve his mistress, unaware that the waitress holding the tray was actually the daughter of the man who owned his soul.

I was working undercover at his club, playing the role of a poor nobody to test his character before our wedding.

But tonight, the test ended in disaster.

His mistress, Jaden, walked in and treated me like dirt. When I brought her drink, she slapped the tray, spilling scalding coffee all over my hand.

The pain was white-hot. My skin blistered instantly, peeling away in angry red patches.

I showed Connor the injury on a video call, expecting protection. Expecting him to be a man.

Instead, he looked at my burned hand and then at his investors. Panic filled his eyes.

"Fix it, Blake," he roared. "Apologize to her."

"She burned me," I said quietly.

"I don't care! Kneel if you have to. Kiss her ring. Just make her happy so I can finish this deal!"

He told the Principessa of the Shaw crime family to kneel to a woman who meant nothing.

He sacrificed his future wife to save face.

Something inside me snapped. It wasn't my heart; it was the leash I had placed on myself.

"Okay," I whispered.

I hung up the phone and dropped it into a pot of boiling pasta water.

Then I turned to the Executive Chef, a former hitman who recognized the lethal shift in my eyes.

"Lock the doors," I ordered.

"And tell my father I'm ready to burn this place to the ground."

Chapter 1

My fiancé sent me a text ordering me to serve his mistress, unaware that the waitress holding the tray was actually the daughter of the man who owned his soul.

I stared down at the spiderweb fracture on the screen of the burner phone tucked into my apron pocket.

Handle it, Blake. She's important. Keep the peace.

Connor Bishop believed he was texting his submissive, lower-class fiancée-a woman who worked this job purely for the novelty of playing poor.

He didn't know he was texting the Principessa of the Shaw crime family.

He didn't know I was here to weigh his soul and decide if he lived or died.

I shoved the phone back into the pocket of my polyester apron.

The cheap fabric scratched against my skin-a stark, abrasive contrast to the silk I had been draped in since birth.

I stood in the shadows of The Velvet Lounge, the VIP section of Connor's club, The Gilded Cage.

This was supposed to be a partnership.

My father, David Shaw, the Capo dei Capi, had agreed to this union to secure the East Coast ports.

But I wasn't going to marry a man without testing the strength of his spine first.

So I became a runner.

A nobody.

A ghost in the machine of his empire.

And tonight, that machine was breaking.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

Jaden Juarez stepped out.

She stood out like a neon sign in a graveyard.

Her pink dress was agonizingly tight, her mink coat dragged carelessly on the floor, and her entire attitude screamed new money.

She didn't wait for the hostess.

She walked right past the velvet rope.

The security guard, a made man named Tony, stepped forward.

"Miss, I need to check your-"

Jaden shoved him.

She actually put her hands on a made man.

"Do you know who I am?" she screeched.

Tony froze.

He glanced at the floor manager, Mark.

Mark wasn't just a manager; he was a Capo.

He should have backhanded her for the disrespect.

Instead, Mark rushed forward, wringing his hands like a nervous servant.

"Miss Juarez, right this way. Please, forgive Tony. He's new."

He wasn't new.

He was weak.

And Connor allowed it.

I watched from the shadows of the service station, my blood cooling to a glacial temper.

This was the Bishop family.

A hierarchy built on sand.

They feared a mistress because of a blood debt Connor owed her more than they respected their own soldiers.

Jaden sat at the center table, the best seat in the house.

She snapped her fingers.

"You. The girl with the dead eyes."

She was pointing at me.

I didn't move at first.

Mark snatched my arm.

His grip was tight enough to bruise.

"Go," he hissed. "Get her whatever she wants. Connor said she's VIP."

I looked down at Mark's hand on my arm.

If I were wearing my ring, he would be missing those fingers by morning.

"Let go," I said softly.

Mark blinked, surprised by the tone.

He dropped his hand, but his glare remained.

"Don't embarrass us, Bella."

Bella.

That was the name on my nametag.

I walked over to the table.

Jaden looked me up and down, curling her lip in disgust.

"Get me an Espresso Martini. Grey Goose. And don't make it sweet."

"We're out of Grey Goose," I lied smoothly.

I just wanted to see what she would do.

"Then go buy some," she snapped. "And get me cigarettes. Menthol."

She tossed a twenty-dollar bill at me.

It fluttered to the floor.

"I'm not a valet," I said.

The music seemed to stop.

Jaden's eyes went wide.

"Excuse me?"

"I serve drinks," I said, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. "I don't run errands."

Jaden laughed.

It was a sharp, ugly sound.

"Mark!" she screamed.

Mark was there in a second.

"She's refusing me," Jaden said, pointing a manicured nail at my face. "Fire her."

Mark turned to me, panic in his eyes.

"Go get the cigarettes, Bella. Now."

"Why are you bowing to her?" I asked him, keeping my voice low. "You're a Capo."

Mark's face went red.

"I'm following orders. Connor said she is untouchable. She saved his sister. Now move."

A blood debt.

Personal favors were corrupting business operations.

It was the first rule of Omertà my father taught me: never let the heart steer the ship.

Connor had let a lifeguard who pulled his sister out of a pool dictate the rules of his organization.

He was a boy playing dress-up in a king's costume.

I bent down and retrieved the twenty-dollar bill.

Not because I was obedient.

But because I needed to see how deep this rot went.

"Yes, Ma'am," I said.

The sarcasm dripped from my lips like poison.

I turned and walked away.

I pulled out my phone again.

I typed a message to Connor.

She is testing the fence. She is disrespecting your men.

The reply came instantly.

She is family, Blake. Handle it. No scenes.

I stared at the screen.

He had chosen the path of least resistance.

He chose the coward's way out.

I slid the phone back into my pocket.

It was time to burn the costume to ash.