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)
She tugged on the laces at the back to secure them in a knot. “Look at yourself,” she urged, turning me toward the full-length mirror.
The transformation was startling. The woman staring back at me was both familiar and a stranger—regal, elegant, and untouchable. The deep emerald color made my hazel eyes appear more green than brown, and the plunging neckline revealed just enough décolletage to be alluring without crossing into vulgarity.
I looked exactly as they wanted me to. A perfect doll to be dressed up and presented.
Lucia helped me into the Christian Louboutin stilettos with crystal embellishments that sparkled with each step. Five inches of what could be a murder weapon. Both dangerous and beautiful. Too bad we couldn’t see much of this exquisite craftsmanship since my dress covered it.
“You are truly stunning,” Lucia praised, with great pride in her voice. “You look like royalty, the true mafia princess that you are. Own it, Serafina.”
I smiled, but no matter how much I tried, it never reached my eyes. “Thank you, Lucia. For everything.”
She grabbed my hand, squeezing. “Remember what I told you. You are the power.” Lucia kissed my cheek and quietly left the room.
After Lucia left, I remained frozen before the mirror, trying to gather my courage. Rehearsing the part I would play tonight. Every gesture, every word would be scrutinized, not just by my future husband, but by both families.
Tonight was more than just a dinner; it was my first evaluation.
I needed to be the perfect balance of everything they wanted. Intelligent yet demure. Confident yet not challenging. Submissive yet intriguing.
My stomach twisted with anxiety when I heard the clock from the corridor chime seven times, each melodious note sending a jolt through my veins.
My time was up.
My father’s instructions had been clear. To join them in the dining room at seven o’clock sharp.
I inhaled deeply, squaring my shoulders before opening my bedroom door. The weight of generations of bloodshed and politics laid heavy on my shoulders, and for a moment, my feet almost crumpled under me. But I stayed standing, firm and composed.
The corridor with expensive hardwood floors stretched before me like a runaway, and each step I took in my stilettos echoed against the walls.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Voices drifting from below made me pause at the grand staircase. My fingers grazed the polished banister as I listened on, deep masculine voices and the slight echo of feminine laughter. God, everything sounded so hollow.
Fake.
The Morellis and Salvatores hated each other.
The funeral was a public scene and our families had no other choice but to be civil. We had too many eyes on us, the rest of the New York Famiglie. We needed to prove that we had put our past enmity behind us and we were ready to move on. So we were polite and courteous.
But now, in such a private setting… for the first time since the war broke out between our families, I wasn’t sure how we’d survive this evening, behind closed doors and in each other’s presence.
With practiced grace, I descended the stairs, my emerald gown trailing behind me like a verdant waterfall. My heart hammered against my ribs, but each step I took was perfectly composed, betraying nothing of the tempest within.
The closer I got, the voices grew clearer, punctuated by the occasional clink of crystal.
The dining room doors stood open, heavy oak panels carved with intricate designs on either side. Everything about this doorway was daunting, but still my legs took me forward.
Two bodyguards stood on either side of the doorway.
A long, solid mahogany table stretched under the chandelier's light, its warm glow pooling like amber over white porcelain plates and untouched wine glasses. Every cutlery, every decoration, every dish was arranged with military precision.
Twelve chairs surrounded the oak table, each occupied except for two—mine, and my deceased mother.
My father sat at the head of the table, unmovable and carved with authority. Damon was on his right, my father’s shadow, and his future successor. His shoulders were squared and his expression carefully blank.
On my father’s left sat Leonardo, his younger cousin and trusted consigliere. Beside him was Giovanni, his son and Morelli’s capo. I saw him at the funeral yesterday, but neither of us had spoken a word to each other since I had arrived back at the Morelli Estate two days ago.
Enzo Salvatore sat directly opposite my father, at the other end of the table. I knew they were seated in a way that made them appear equal. A simple formality out of respect for the power they each held.
Bosses of two very powerful families.
Enzo met my father’s stare, cold and unblinking. They didn’t smile. They didn’t need to. The table between them felt like a border drawn in polished, expensive wood.
Conversation halted as I appeared in the doorway. Every head turned, every gaze fixed on me. Intrigued. Assessing. Calculating.