Four Orphan Girls Raised To Be The Mafia Heir’s Wife. And I Only Wanted His Empire. Chapter 02
The Whistle
Piper is at her easel in the corner, mixing paint on her palette. She doesn’t even look up.
“All four of us heard it, Maisie. All four of us are in the running. She’s going to pick whoever’s most useful to the family.”
Maisie bounces over to her, undeterred. “He likes me best. I know it. He’s different with me.”
She reaches under her collar and pulls out a silver chain. Dangling from it is a small whistle, polished and delicate.
She holds it up like it’s a diamond ring.
“Last year. My birthday. He took me to the stables.” Her voice goes soft, dreamy. “He gave me this. Said he made it himself. Said it was one of a kind.”
She cradles it in her palm, turning it so it catches the light.
“He told me if I ever blow this whistle, no matter where he is, he’ll come. He promised.” She presses it to her lips, not blowing, just holding it there. “And he said when I smile, I look like the first flower of spring.”
She’s glowing. Genuinely glowing.
I watch the whistle catch the lamplight. It’s pretty. It’s also cheap. The kind of thing a man like Alistair could have made in ten minutes, or more likely, had someone else make for him.
Because here’s the thing about Alistair Kain.
He says those things to all of us.
Last month, he told Piper that her paintings held galaxies inside them. That she was too brilliant for anyone else to understand. She didn’t eat for two days after that, too high on his words to feel hunger.
The week before, he told Harper her presence alone could calm a storm. That she had the kind of quiet power most men would spend their lives searching for.
Those words cost him nothing. A sentence here, a compliment there. Breadcrumbs scattered with precision. Just enough to keep each of us hungry. Just enough to keep us competing.
That’s how men like him operate. In his world, loyalty isn’t earned. It’s manufactured. You make people need you, and then you own them.
Maisie believes she’s special. She believes that whistle means something.
Harper scoffs and disappears into the bathroom without a word. The disdain radiates off her back like heat.
I look at Maisie’s face, bright and flushed and painfully young, and I almost say something. Almost tell her that she’s building a castle on a foundation made of smoke.
But I don’t.
Some people have to crash and burn before they’ll listen. Words won’t save them. Nothing will, until reality does the job itself.
I turn away and open my laptop. I have quarterly reports to review. Shell company filings to cross-reference.
While they dream about becoming Mrs. Kain, I’m studying the architecture of the Kain empire.
Every lock has a key. Every empire has a crack. Every man has a blind spot.
I just need to find his.
Then the group chat lights up. A message from Victoria.
[Camille Ashford is arriving tomorrow. You will greet her at the airport. 2 PM. Don’t be late.]
Maisie’s smile dies.
Camille Ashford. Alistair’s real fiancée.
The one with the last name that actually matters.