My only thought at the time I picked it up was the way it would feel pressed against Nico’s head. I never thought to test it. I trusted Reggie. Last time I do that. The bastard was in cahoots. The two of them working against me this entire time.
All of them working against me. It’s like the entire world is on one side and I’m on the other.
I’m still staring at the wedding dress when the bedroom door unlocks behind me. I walk out of the closet in time to find myself looking into the face of a woman not much older than me.
She’s in a pencil skirt, white blouse, pen behind her ear, bright blue hair tied up on top of her head. Her handbag is in the shape of a donut. “You must be Aurora,” she says, crossing the space between us in a couple of seconds. She sticks her hand out. “Katie Jones. She pulls the pen out, then starts rummaging in her handbag. “Come to get you ready for tonight.”
“What’s tonight?”
“Dinner with Nico. I’m his stylist.”
“He has a stylist?”
“You don’t think he picked all these clothes for you, do you?” She sweeps an arm toward the closet. “He’s had me picking stuff out for you for a while. See anything you particularly like?”
“I don’t want to have dinner with him.”
She laughs behind her hand.
“Something funny?”
She shakes her head, clearing her throat before answering. “Sorry, it’s just you might be the first ever woman to turn down a meal with Nico Casella. It’s just funny, that’s all.”
“He’s holding me prisoner here. You know that, right?”
“So melodramatic. Listen, all that shit is above my paygrade. I’m here to make sure you look good at dinner. Shall we get started?”
I look her straight in the eye. “I would rather cut my tits off with a piece of broken glass than have dinner with that asshole.”
“How graphic.” Her smile doesn’t break. “I can see why he likes you. You talk like he does. Now, I’m thinking maybe a summer dress. It gets warm down there. Nothing too revealing but some cleavage. You look like you got a decent rack, might as well show it off.”
“Are you hearing me? I’m not having dinner with him.”
Her brow wrinkles into a slight frown. She moves closer to me, lowering her voice. “You don’t want to refuse, trust me.”
“Why not? What’s he going to do to me?”
Her voice turns cold, her eyes narrowing. “You don’t want to know.” Her smile returns as my blood turns to ice in my veins. “Come on, let’s get started.”
I let her guide me through to the closet. Maybe I can pick a knife and stab him with it.
She picks a dress from the rack, shakes her head, and then puts it back. “No, I know. How about this?”
She pulls out something that looks more suitable for the red carpet at a movie premier than a meal with a mafia asshole. It’s floor length, deep red, sparkling with sewn in jewels.
She finds me a pair of panties so small they’re like a pill in my hand. I look down at them and pray they stretch. She doesn’t give me a bra but I’m not surprised. It’s not that kind of dress.
“Get changed in here,” she says. “I’ll give you a minute.”
She closes the door, leaving me alone in the closet. I look down at the shoes she’s picked for me. There’s something next to them. A switchblade. Did she put that there?
I think to myself for a moment. Maybe she wants Nico dead as well. Maybe she’s trapped here same as me. Whatever the reason, she wanted to make sure I saw the knife when the door was shut. I’m guessing there are cameras in the bedroom somewhere.
I undress, slipping into the panties. They do stretch. A thong in red to match the dress, far smaller than I would ever normally wear.
When I pull the dress on, it slips down my body like it’s made of ice, sliding into place with just a few tugs here and there. It’s strappy at the shoulders and I’ve got enough cleavage on show to get arrested in most states.
I look at myself in the mirror set into the wall. With the shoes on my feet, I have to admit, I look pretty good. A femme fatale with only one flaw. Where do I put the blade?