Gilded Lies (The Rosetti Family Chicago #4)

Chapter 1

The wine stain won’t come out of the marble.

I've been scrubbing for twenty minutes, knowing that if it's still there when Mrs. Hewson returns, I'll lose more than just this job. My knees burn against the cool floor, each stroke of the cloth a prayer. Please don't notice me, please let me disappear.

The lemon polish stings my raw fingers, but I keep scrubbing. Around me, the kitchen still reeks of last night's celebration, champagne and caviar mingling with the acid bite of my cleaning supplies.

Mrs. Hewson's voice cracks through my invisibility like lightning through glass.

"Frances is missing!" she screams into her phone, somewhere above me. Her Louboutins click closer with each word. "The wedding is tomorrow, tomorrow, and that ungrateful little bitch has vanished!"

My hands tremble as I work the stain, trying to become smaller, less visible. The other servants fled the moment her rage erupted, but I'm trapped by this stubborn reminder of the party where the Hewsons celebrated their daughter's upcoming marriage.

A marriage to Alessandro Rosetti. Even thinking his name makes my stomach clench.

The servants whisper about him when they think no one's listening.

How he goes through women like expensive champagne—savored, consumed, discarded.

How his smile can make you forget he's dangerous until you see him switch from seduction to violence without changing expression.

They say he proposed to his last mistress with a diamond necklace in one hand and a gun in the other, just to see which she'd choose.

How the last man who insulted his date was found in pieces along the Chicago River, but not before Alessandro finished his dessert and asked the woman if she preferred the opera or the ballet for their next evening out.

"Alessandro Rosetti expects a bride," Mrs. Hewson hisses, her heels clicking closer.

The sound echoes off marble like bullets.

"Do you understand what that family does to people who break agreements?

He's not just mafia dangerous. He's something worse.

Tomorrow he arrives expecting Frances, and if there's no wedding… "

She doesn't finish the threat. The silence says enough.

I study every tremor in her voice, every crack in her composure. Mrs. Hewson, who rules this mansion with iron control, is terrified. And that gives me something I haven't had in two years: information. Whatever Alessandro Rosetti is, he's powerful enough to scare even her.

"What's this?"

Before I can react, she snatches the envelope from my apron pocket.

Tommy's letter. I've been carrying it for three days, reading it over and over, each word burning deeper into my heart.

My brother's cramped handwriting describes the prison guards, their escalating threats, his desperate need for protection money I don't have.

She reads it slowly, her expression shifting from irritation to something sharper, calculating. Then she looks at me. Really looks at me for the first time in the two years I've scrubbed her floors.

"Stand up," she commands.

I obey, my legs shaking from more than just hours on my knees. Her eyes narrow as she circles me like a buyer examining merchandise. Her manicured nails dig into my chin, forcing my face toward the light.

"My God." Her breath catches. "The resemblance to Frances is… it's exact. Same height, same build, even the way you tilt your head."

I can see the wheels turning behind her eyes, desperation reshaping into opportunity. She's more terrified than I am, and that scares me most of all.

"Please, that's private." I reach for Tommy's letter, but she holds it away, her smile sharp as the diamonds at her throat.

"Your brother Tommy," she says softly, dangerously. "Such a precarious situation in that particular prison. The guards there can be so… unpredictable." She pauses, watching my face drain of color. "One word from me, and they could become his protectors instead of his tormentors. Or…"

The alternative hangs between us like a blade. I think of Tommy pointing out constellations from our fire escape when we were kids, making up stories about heroes and monsters in the stars. Now I'm about to become both.

"What do you want?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel.

"Come with me."

The wedding dress is pure silk, white as fresh snow against my work-roughened hands.

The fabric whispers against my skin as Mrs. Hewson forces me into it, her hands efficient and cold as she adjusts the fit.

Each touch transforms me. The weight of the beading straightens my spine, the corset cinches my waist into something elegant instead of merely thin.

In the mirror, I don't see Sophie the servant. I see someone dangerous. Someone who could belong in Alessandro Rosetti's world, even if it's all an illusion.

"Perfect," Mrs. Hewson breathes. "You could be Frances. You will be Frances."

"What? No."

"No?" Her voice is sharp.

"Everyone will know," I stammer, ducking my head.

Mrs. Hewson's nails thrum against her tailored pants. "Frances hasn't been home for years." She tilts my head left and right, pulls my hair back from my face. "Yes, you'll do nicely."

My mouth opens and closes a few times before words emerge. "I can't."

The woman's mind is made up. "You can and you will. And I will ensure Tommy is well looked after."

"But…This is insane. How long would I have to pretend?"

She walks around me in a full circle, still inspecting the goods. "Leave the details to me," she finally answers, which is hardly reassuring.

The woman staring back at me from the full-length mirror has gone as white as her gown. "And if he realizes I'm not Frances?"

Her silence stretches, heavy with implication. "If Alessandro Rosetti discovers you've been lying to him, even God won't be able to help you," she finally says, adjusting the dress's train.

A dark thrill runs through me alongside the fear.

I've cleaned these floors for two years, invisible as dust. Tomorrow, I could be walking these same halls as Frances Hewson, and everyone who looked through me will bow.

The thought sends a frisson straight through my chest. Power, even borrowed, even dangerous, tastes sweeter than I imagined.

"Here's my bargain," she continues, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

"Tomorrow, you pretend to be my daughter.

You walk down that aisle, you marry Alessandro Rosetti, you play the part through the ceremony and beyond.

In exchange, Tommy lives. I make one call, and the guards become his protectors. "

"This can't work. Someone will notice."

"No one's seen Frances in years. She's been at boarding school in Switzerland, one of those places that guards privacy better than Fort Knox.

" Her smile could cut glass. "Refuse me, and Tommy dies tonight.

I have connections at that prison. One riot, one convenient accident, and your brother is gone.

Choose quickly. The wedding is in fifteen hours. "

Fifteen hours. No preparation, no understanding of Frances's life, walking blind into a marriage with Chicago's most dangerous man. I've never even met Frances Hewson. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure she can see it through the silk.

"The servants will recognize…"

"The servants see what I tell them to see. We'll escort you out quickly in the morning. And after tomorrow, you won't be here anyway. The Rosettis have their own household."

She laces my gown and peels it off me, staring relentlessly as I pull on my maid's dress. "You have thirty minutes," she declares, dismissing me with a wave. I am so sick of being dismissed by people who think they are better than me.

I slink out of the room and make my way upstairs.

The rooftop has always been my sanctuary, the only place in the Hewson mansion where I can breathe.

Tonight, the city spreads below like scattered diamonds on black velvet, beautiful and cold.

I open my grandmother's astronomy book, its pages soft with age and memory, and trace the constellation maps while my mind races.

Orion watches from above, constant and indifferent, as I make my choice.

The night air carries the scent of an approaching thunderstorm mixed with the city's perfume of exhaust and ambition.

Somewhere in that glittering darkness, Alessandro Rosetti is preparing to claim his bride.

The thought sends shivers down my spine.

For Tommy's freedom, I would do anything. I would become Frances Hewson, marry a stranger, vanish into whatever life awaited me as a mafia wife. The alternative, my brother dead, his blood on my hands, is unthinkable.

My fingers find my servant's cap and slowly remove it, letting my hair fall free. It's ordinary brown, nothing special, but tomorrow it will be styled by professionals, transformed like everything else about me. Tomorrow, Emma Pitt will disappear.

I look up at the stars one last time, memorizing their positions, wondering if I'd ever see them the same way again. My grandmother used to say the stars never lie, that they show us who we really are. Tonight, they show me a girl about to gamble everything on a deception that could destroy her.

Mrs. Hewson's study smells of leather and fresh flowers. She barely looks up when I enter, as if she knew I'd come.

"I'll do it," I say, each word feeling like a step off a cliff. "I accept your deal. But I want guarantees. Tommy gets complete freedom after the wedding. After he's served his sentence. New identity, clean record, money to disappear safely."

"Of course." She's already pulling out documents, preparations she'd clearly made before even asking me.

The presumption should anger me, but I'm too numb to care.

"Once the ceremony is complete, once you're legally Mrs. Alessandro Rosetti, I will work my connections to have your brother released as soon as possible, and with everything he needs. "

I step closer to her desk, noting the tremor in her hands as she writes. "How do I convince him? Alessandro, I mean. How do I fool someone like that?"

Her laugh is low and bitter. "My dear, men like Alessandro see what they expect to see. Be beautiful, be silent, only speak when spoken to, and he won't look deeper. That man is a player, and he would prefer a wife who stays out of his way."

She pauses, studying me with those calculating eyes. "Though I wonder what he'll do when he discovers the truth. The last person who tried to deceive Alessandro Rosetti… These men don't forgive betrayal. But then again, you'll be his wife. That carries its own… protections. And dangers."

Tomorrow I'll marry Alessandro Rosetti. Tomorrow I'll become property of Chicago's most dangerous family. I'll wear his ring, take his name, belong to him in every way the law recognizes.

A flame ignites in my chest, dark and unfamiliar. I've spent two years invisible, scrubbing floors while the wealthy walked over me. Tomorrow, I'll be Mrs. Alessandro Rosetti, and everyone who ignored me will have to look me in the eye.

Tomorrow, I'll belong to a Rosetti.

And God help me, part of me wants to know exactly what that means.