The Heiress Takes the Helm

The smile vanished from the woman's face.

"Do you think paying for a room makes you my equal?"

She tossed the gold card onto the coffee table, covering my reservation confirmation.

I recognized the family crest on it immediately.

As the Don's eldest daughter, I had spent six years cleaning up the Moretti family's messes overseas. This was the first time anyone had used something belonging to my family to demand that I give up my place.

I turned to Julian Colombo, the cruise ship's director of guest services.

"Does the priority access on this card include kicking out guests who have already checked in?"

He avoided my gaze and pulled out a chair near the terrace for the woman.

"On this ship, the needs of our family's VIP guests come first."

She strode over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and pointed at the ocean view.

"This is the spot. I'm having friends over for drinks tonight, and that little balcony downstairs won't do. It's not good enough for me."

Julian smiled obsequiously. He pressed the communicator clipped to his collar, ordered champagne to be brought up, then called for two porters.

Not once did anyone bother to ask what I thought.

I picked up my room key card from the table.

"The party can be moved somewhere else. I'm not giving up my room."

The woman turned and stared at me for a moment before bursting out laughing.

"Is this your first time on a ship like this?"

Her eyes traveled over my cashmere coat. Then, she reached up and adjusted the diamond necklace around her neck.

"How long did you have to save up before you could afford one night in a penthouse suite? No wonder you're so reluctant to leave."

I said nothing.

My father had employed the same tailor for thirty years to have his clothes handmade. This coat came from that tailor, and the lining had been chosen by my father himself, but I had no interest in explaining any of that to her.

Two porters appeared at the door. Julian nodded toward the suitcase beside the sofa.

"Move it to a cabin on a lower deck."

The younger porter spotted my reservation confirmation on the table and hesitated.

"But this guest has already checked in."

"Since when is it your place to make that decision?" Julian snapped.

The young man lowered his head and fell silent.

I stood and placed the briefcase containing the family's secret ledgers beside me.

When the woman saw me shielding it, her expression grew even more contemptuous.

"Didn't you hear him? The porters are here to move your luggage, and you're still sitting there. What are you waiting for? Someone to invite you out?"

"Ask them to leave," I told Julian.

His smile disappeared.

"Ma'am, the Royal flies the Moretti family flag. If you insist on making things difficult for one of our VIP guests, I'm afraid this will become more than a simple room change."

"Are you threatening me?" I asked.

"I'm reminding you not to turn an enjoyable vacation into an experience you'd rather forget."

The woman seemed delighted. She picked up the gold card from the coffee table.

"Why waste your breath on her?"

She walked toward my briefcase. When she reached for it, I blocked her hand.

"Don't touch it."

She deliberately reached past me anyway. Her nails scraped across the leather before catching the handle.

"I'm touching it whether you like it or not. What are you going to do about it?"

With that, she yanked hard, then raised the briefcase as if she meant to fling it out the door.