A ruthless crime boss found a sick maid’s daughter waiting in his hotel lobby, only to look into her gray eyes and see his own reflection.

A sudden, sharp tension rippled across Roman’s broad shoulders. The warm, ambient light of the chandelier seemed to catch the sudden hard angle of his jawline as his expression transformed from mild curiosity into a cold, dangerous fire.

In the criminal underworld, Roman Carter was feared for his uncompromising brutal efficiency; in the legitimate business world, he was respected for running immaculate, high-standard establishments where his staff were paid well and treated with rigorous structure. Hearing that an employee inside his flagship hotel was being forced to work while ill struck a direct blow at his sense of absolute order.

Before Roman could formulate another question, the girl continued quietly, her tone matter-of-fact yet heartbreakingly soft:

“He won’t give her all her money either.”

Roman’s posture went completely rigid. The air in the lobby felt instantly heavier. He slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder toward the heavy brass doors of the employee service elevators located at the edge of the east corridor—the private passageway leading into the subterranean housekeeping and maintenance departments.

Someone inside his organization—a low-level manager or a mid-level shift supervisor—was exploiting hotel staff, withholding wages, and breaching operational integrity right under his nose in the heart of his empire. The thought alone was an insult that demanded immediate rectification.

Roman turned his gaze back to the child, his eyes hard as flint, though his tone remained measured and quiet so as not to alarm her.

“What’s your mother’s name?”