The Mafia Princess Mistaken for a Cleaner

Summary

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?