Chapter 4 - The Sovereign of the Third FloorBy six o'clock that evening, the news of the wedding had ripped through the city of Boston like a tidal wave.
The newspapers called it the scandal of the century: Mafia King Jilts Heiress at the Altar, Marries Mansion Maid.
Inside the Falcone mansion, the atmosphere had shifted completely.
Prudence Hale stood in the grand entrance hall, her hands clasped tightly over her apron, her eyes wide as the front doors were thrown open.
Casper walked in first, carrying Willow in his arms.
Willow had protested weakly when they stepped out of the limousine, blushing furiously and telling him she could walk on her own feet, but Casper had simply lifted her as if she weighed no more than a bundle of feathers, ignoring her soft gasps.
He set her down on the warm, polished parquet floor of the grand foyer.
Behind them walked two senior enforcers carrying four large leather suitcases containing clothing, shoes, and coats purchased from Boston’s finest boutiques within two hours of the ceremony.
The entire household staff—cooks, footmen, laundresses, and gardeners—stood lined up along the grand staircase, standing rigidly at attention, looking at Willow with a mixture of terror, awe, and deep confusion.
Willow shrank back slightly, her old instincts taking over. She felt exposed without her apron, wearing a soft cream cashmere sweater and tailored wool trousers that felt impossibly soft against her skin.
Casper stepped beside her, placing a firm, warm hand on the small of her back.
“Prudence,” Casper called out, his deep voice commanding total silence in the foyer.
Prudence stepped forward, her knees trembling slightly. “Yes, Mr. Falcone?”
“From this moment on,” Casper declared, his eyes sweeping across every member of the staff, “Willow is the mistress of this house. Her orders are absolute. If anyone speaks to her with disrespect, looks at her with contempt, or forgets to address her as Mrs. Falcone, they will be escorted from the property within ten minutes with an empty pocket. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir!” Prudence answered instantly, her voice trembling with emotion. She looked at Willow, a tear spilling down her aged cheek, and offered a deep, respectful bow. “Welcome home, Mrs. Falcone.”
The rest of the staff bowed in unison.
Willow looked at Prudence—the woman who had left apples on shelves for her when she was starving—and felt her throat tighten.
“Prudence,” Willow said softly, stepping forward and taking the older housekeeper’s hands in hers. “Please... don't bow to me. You helped me stay alive.”
Prudence squeezed Willow’s hands tightly, her eyes filled with pride. “You earned this, child. Heaven knows you earned it.”
Casper guided Willow up the grand marble staircase—the very staircase she had polished on her knees three mornings prior—and led her down the high-ceilinged corridor to the third floor.
He opened the heavy double doors at the end of the hallway.
Willow stepped inside and stopped dead in her tracks.
It was the master suite—a breathtaking apartment of four connected rooms featuring tall bay windows overlooking Boston Harbor, a wood-burning marble fireplace, deep velvet sofas, and a massive king-sized bed covered in ivory silk sheets.
A room five times the size of her narrow quarters behind the kitchen.
“This is yours,” Casper said, standing near the doorway with his hands tucked into his pockets, watching her reaction.
Willow walked slowly toward the center of the room, her hand floating out to touch the soft velvet of a sofa arm. She turned around to face him, her brown eyes filled with overwhelming emotion.
“Casper...” she breathed softly. “Why did you do this? You could have married anyone. You could have chosen a woman with money, connections, or a noble family.”
Casper walked over to her, stopping inches away, his shadow casting a protective blanket over her small frame.
“I spent thirty-seven years surrounded by people with money, connections, and noble names, Willow,” Casper said, his voice dropping into a low, quiet truth. “And every single one of them was ready to cut my throat the moment my back was turned. You were starving, exhausted, and invisible—and you chose to save me because you cared about doing what was right.”
He reached out, his thumb gently smoothing away a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
“You have more honor in your pinky finger than the entire Vance family combined,” Casper whispered. “I didn't marry you out of pity, Willow. I married you because you are the only real thing in my life.”
Willow looked into his eyes, feeling the sheer truth of his words washing over her like a warm tide.
Then she took a deep breath, her face setting into a serious expression.
“Casper,” she said firmly. “There is something we need to do right now.”
Casper raised an eyebrow. “Name it.”
“My sister,” Willow said, her voice trembling with urgent desperation. “Winnie is waiting in South Boston. The doctors said her time is running out.”
Casper’s face instantly shifted into sharp, decisive action.
“Marlon!” Casper roared toward the hallway.
May you like
Marlon appeared at the door within three seconds. “Yes, Casper?”
“Dispatch three cars to South Boston,” Casper ordered smoothly. “Call Dr. Harrison at Boston Children’s Hospital. Tell him the private pediatric suite is to be prepared immediately. My sister-in-law is moving in tonight.”
