I was technically a prisoner now, if you thought in such black and white terms, yet my stomach fluttered as I unzipped the bag and revealed the dress I would marry Cristian in.
My fingers ran along the lace. The most exquisite lace I had ever seen. Had ever felt. The bodice was narrow, boned like a corset, and I automatically knew that it was perfect for me. The sleeves were long and would cover every inch of my skin, apart from the V at my chest.
It flared out from the empire waist, the fabric heavy, luxurious. Everything about it was perfection, even though the thought of wearing a white lace dress on my wedding day should’ve been laughable.
Still, it was perfection.
I stared at the dress for much longer than was appropriate, given the situation.
“Our engagement party is in two days,” Cristian informed me.
He’d been distant since the night he got home from Italy. I understood it. Was thankful for the distance. Or that’s what I told myself. It gave me clarity.
The distance didn’t mean we didn’t sleep together every night. We did. He fucked me daily. Multiple times a day sometimes. With a ferocity that both scared and excited me.
“Two days?” I repeated, staring at him across the table.
We were eating dinner together. For the first time since he’d returned. I had barely touched the food.
“Yes.” His plate was untouched also.
“And you didn’t think to tell me earlier?” I didn’t mask how pissed off I was. That anger had been simmering these past weeks, resentful of Cristian’s distance, detachment. I was greedy for him. Wanted all of him. And then there was Felix...
We hadn’t touched since that night. Hadn’t spoken of it.
Though we didn’t need to.
What he’d said about Cristian expecting something to happen lingered in my mind. He knew every inch of me, inside and out. Some days I convinced myself he knew about Harris too, who was growing more and more impatient, who could be responsible for my death at any moment.
Now Cristian was springing an engagement party on me?
“No, I did not,” he said curtly. “This party is not for you to invite your friends, your bartender.” The single word was coated in distaste.
I hid my smile. Despite everything that had happened, how large our problems were, how unmovable and formidable Cristian was, even he couldn’t fight such a petty and small emotion.
Jealousy.
Even though he had no evidence to cause him to feel it.
Then again, I was jealous of a dead girl, so I couldn’t gloat.
“The Bianchi family will be our guests in two days,” Cristian continued, reaching for his wine. “Our engagement party serves as our official announcement of our relationship.”
My mind raced. The Bianchi family. Greg Harris had spoken about them hungrily. I’d done my research after we met. The Bianchi family were not as discreet as the Catalanos. They were from Chicago and were tied to dozens of murders. The current head of the family, Edoardo, was the same age as Vincentius and had six sons.
Six.
Each of whom was notorious around Chicago and absolutely gorgeous, which I knew thanks to their social media. All were unmarried.
I’d figured one of them would be taking the helm of the family soon, but I wasn’t quite sure how that worked.
“And unofficially, what is this party for?” I asked, tilting my head. It took effort not to shout, throw plates and cause a scene. That would not serve me. When the situation needed a scene, I would cause one. But I had a lot more to gain if I acted like Sofia. Calm. Collected. Ruthless.
Cristian’s expression flickered for a moment. I didn’t know if he was surprised or impressed. This was it. The moment that would define our relationship. Our marriage, if we were going to have one of those. If I didn’t decide to try to bring him down. If he didn’t decide to kill me.
I figured there were two different kinds of mafia wives. The trophy wives with the tits, the lips, the designer clothing, who knew nothing about what their husbands did. Who didn’t care as long as they had their weekly spa appointment and the latest Chanel purse.
Then there were the women like Sofia. Who not only knew the ins and outs of the business, but who played a huge part in the decisions made.
If I did decide to become a mafia wife, if I did survive this, I could only ever be the latter.
Cristian must’ve known this. He knew me, as much as I hated to admit it.
But he hadn’t shared with me since I moved in. At the start, it was because I’d made it clear that I was going to fight this, that I’d try to get out of this. Now it was about whether he trusted me or not.
Cristian’s gaze never wavered. “Unofficially, they are here to solidify a partnership.” He leaned forward to pour us both wine. “Historically there has been ... tension between our families. Blood spilled on both sides. Now we have nothing to gain from continued conflict.”