Perfect.That word again.
I set the shoes next to the dress and turned my attention to jewelry.This required more thought.Too much and I’d look desperate for attention.Too little and the outfit would lose some of its impact.I needed something that would draw the eye exactly where I wanted it, that would emphasize the provocative nature of the dress while maintaining an air of sophistication.
I moved from jewelry case to jewelry case, opening each one and studying the contents.Diamonds caught the fading sunlight, throwing fragments of rainbow light across my hands.Emeralds that matched my eyes.Rubies that would bleed against the black fabric.
No.All wrong.
I wanted something simple.Something that would make Papa remember the lives he’d ruined to give me these items.
And now I was using it against him.
My fingers found the diamond choker in the back of the third jewelry case I opened.It was one of the first pieces Papa had ever given me -- for my sixteenth birthday, I thought, though the years blurred together.Cartier.Thousands of tiny diamonds forming a delicate chain that sat high on the throat, like a collar.
I lifted it out of its velvet box, letting it catch the light.Oh, this was perfect.Absolutely perfect.Wearing this while defying everything Papa stood for would be its own kind of poetry.
I closed the jewelry case with more force than necessary.The lid slammed shut with a sharp crack that echoed through my bedroom, the sound satisfying in a visceral way.It matched the anger still simmering under my skin, the frustration that had been building for weeks -- months, maybe.Years, if I was being honest.
Every choice Papa had made for me, every time he’d dismissed my opinions, every dinner where I’d been expected to sit quietly and look pretty while men discussed business I wasn’t allowed to understand -- it all crystallized in that moment.In that sound of the jewelry box slamming closed.
I returned to my bed, laying the choker next to the dress and shoes.My outfit for tonight’s performance.My armor for the battle to come.
Moving back to the full-length mirror, I studied my reflection.My hair fell in messy waves, my face bare of makeup, still wearing the casual clothes I’d thrown on this morning.I didn’t look dangerous yet.Didn’t look like someone about to declare war at a family dinner.
But I would.I let myself imagine it again -- walking down the stairs in that dress, the choker tight around my throat.Papa’s face when he saw me.Mama’s barely concealed dismay.Whatever important guests they’d invited, forced to witness a Lombardi family drama playing out in real time.
My reflection smiled back at me, and this time there was steel in my eyes.The afternoon light had shifted, casting sharper shadows across my face, making my features look more angular.More like my father’s, actually, when he was making decisions that would change lives.
I was Giuseppe Lombardi’s daughter, after all.He’d taught me to be ruthless, even if he’d never intended to be on the receiving end of it.
My expression hardened as I stood there, really seeing myself.Not the decorative daughter they wanted me to be.Not the dutiful princess who would smile and accept whatever marriage alliance Papa arranged.Not Mama’s clone, swallowing her opinions and playing her part.
This was who I really was underneath all the expectations and control -- someone who fought back.Someone who refused to be broken into the shape they wanted.
Tonight, Papa would see that.They’d all see it.
I turned away from the mirror and checked my phone.Five-thirty.An hour and a half until dinner.Plenty of time to transform myself into something that would make my father regret every controlling decision he’d ever made.
The sun continued its descent outside my windows, painting the Lombardi estate in shades of gold and crimson.Beautiful, like everything in my life.And just as deceptive.
I picked up the black dress, feeling the weight of the silk in my hands.Time to get ready for war.
Chapter Two
Caterina
The black dress had exactly the effect I’d intended.I could feel every eye on me as I sat at my designated place -- halfway down the table, far enough from Papa to avoid immediate confrontation but close enough that he could monitor my every move.Mama’s disapproval radiated from her end of the table like cold air from an open freezer.
The Lombardi dining room was a testament to old money and older violence.Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto the long mahogany table, illuminating china that cost more per plate than most people made in a week.Servants moved silently along the edges of the room, their footsteps absorbed by Persian rugs worth a small fortune.Everything gleamed -- the silver, the marble floors, the gilded mirrors that made the room seem twice its already obscene size.
I’d counted twelve guests besides immediate family.Men in expensive suits with harder eyes.Women with frozen smiles and jewelry that caught the light like warning signals.The kind of people who smiled over dinner while planning murders over dessert.My people, supposedly.The thought made my stomach turn.
Luca sat across from me, his expression carefully neutral, but I caught the concern in his eyes when they met mine.My brother knew me too well.He’d taken one look at my dress and known I was planning something.Smart kid.
And then there was Marco Vitale.
He sat three places down from Papa, positioned like he already belonged at the family table.His suit probably cost as much as my dress -- charcoal gray, perfectly tailored, with a tie that matched his cold eyes.He’d been watching me since I entered, that practiced smile playing at his lips.Like he was in on a joke I hadn’t heard yet.
I hated him on principle.Had since we’d first met, years ago at some party where he’d spent the entire evening trying to impress Papa while simultaneously undressing me with his eyes.The combination of ambition and entitlement made my skin crawl.
