Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I allowed her to lead me through the maze of corridors. The fitting room was located in the east wing of the mansion, a space I hadn’t visited before.
This morning, my father, Damon and I landed in New York. Originally, we were going to stay at one of our own apartments, but then Enzo wanted to host us at his estate.
It was only for two nights, he had said.
A gesture of good faith, Damon had called it.
One roof, two families—no weapons drawn, no bloodshed.
I was the future bride of the family and this would be my home soon. My presence was welcomed; I wasn’t dangerous to them.
But after sixteen years and a massacre that had carved itself into the memory of everyone in both families, Enzo Salvatore opening his home to my father and my brother wasn’t a small thing.
When we entered the fitting room, Beatrice was already there, a glass of champagne in her delicate hand as she inspected my wedding dress.
My breath stalled for a moment as I took it all in. The wedding gown was displayed like a work of art, its intricate lace and dainty beading catching the light.
“Ah, Serafina, you’re here,” Beatrice said, her voice carrying that distinctive authority.
She waved us in, tutting. “Come in. Let’s see how this masterpiece fits you.”
Giulia let go of my arm and I walked farther inside the room. The dress was even more beautiful up close.
Italian silk, hand-embroidered with pearls and crystals that formed delicate floral patterns. It was the kind of gown that belonged in a fairy tale, the kind I’d dreamed of as a little girl.
Until my dreams had shattered at fifteen. When I finally understood what my life would become, and that I would never have a fairy tale.
“Giulia, why don’t you help her undress?” Beatrice instructed before taking a sip of her champagne.
As Giulia assisted me with my clothes, I caught Beatrice studying me with an expression I couldn’t really understand. There was something in her eyes that wasn’t quite coldness, but not warmth either. A measured assessment, perhaps.
“You’ve lost weight,” Beatrice observed as I stood in my undergarments. Thank God, I had worn something presentable. “The dress may need some adjustments.”
“It’s been a stressful few weeks,” I admitted, feeling suddenly vulnerable under her gaze.
Her eyes cataloged every inch of me before meeting my gaze. “Our family values stability, Serafina. You must learn to eat, to sleep, to maintain your strength. You’ll be tested in ways you can’t yet imagine.”
I almost missed the concern in her voice, though it was wrapped in steel. She stepped closer, her fingers surprisingly gentle as she helped lift the dress over my head.
The fabric settled around me like a whisper, cool against my skin. It was heavier than I expected, weighted with the symbolism of what it represented.
A solemn duty.
A delicate responsibility.
An arduous obligation.
“Beautiful,” Giulia breathed, stepping back to admire.
Beatrice moved behind me, her skilled fingers fastening the countless tiny buttons that ran down my spine. Each button felt like another lock on the gilded cage that I was trapped in.
“Look,” she said, turning me toward the full-length mirror.
The woman who stared back at me was a stranger. The dress transformed me from Serafina Morelli into something else—a Salvatore bride, poised and perfect. The bodice hugged my curves, the sweetheart neckline modest yet elegant. The skirt flowed outward, layers of tulle and silk creating a silhouette that was both traditional and modern.
“It fits perfectly,” I whispered, surprised.
“Almost,” Beatrice said, kneeling to adjust the hem. “You’ve always been the right size for this family, Serafina.” She wasn’t talking about the dress. “You’ve been raised well.”
The statement caught me off guard. It wasn’t a compliment, exactly, but it wasn’t a criticism either. It was an acknowledgment, a recognition of the role I had been groomed to play.
“Thank you,” I said, uncertain how else to respond.
Giulia adjusted the train behind me as I stepped on the small platform. Beatrice rose, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “The Salvatores aren’t easy people to join, but we take care of our own. Remember that when things become difficult.”
She smoothed out the dress with her hands, a small wistful smile playing on her lips before it was gone. “You look every bit like a Salvatore bride,” she said, her voice low, and there was something else in her tone. Something I almost missed. Yearning.
Beatrice was Enzo’s woman, but she wasn’t a Salvatore bride. She would never be one.
It was a fate she had accepted, but now I understood… she dreamed of something different.
To truly belong.
Before I could respond, a voice cut through the moment like a deadly blade. Deep, sharp and unexpected.
“Now that’s a sight worth killing for.”
Thud.
His voice brought memories I didn’t want to remember.
A tingle ran down my spine. My body was reminded of his touch…