Near the end of the two weeks, Vita takes me out of the penthouse. First, to a three-hour private class on self-defense, and then to a private shopping appointment at a boutique in Manhattan.
Apparently, this mission requires a whole new wardrobe, which feels wasteful given Nero just bought me one.
I start to protest when I see the price tags in the airy, exclusive store that’s been closed just for us. “This is too much.”
Vita waves me off. “Think of it as a mandatory uniform.”
I take a deep breath and try to figure out how the hell I ended up here. Accepting expensive clothes from a woman married to a mafia don. Working for her and her husband.
Even though I know why I’m doing this—to help Nero and to help myself—my stomach still churns with unease.
Your mom helped your dad steal.
I haven’t thought about Brett’s words much since he spat them in my face back at Frostbite, but now they ring in my ears like a prophecy.
I’m turning into her. I’ve spent my adult life reflecting on her choices and telling myself I’d never make those same mistakes.
Now look at me.
But this is only temporary. I just have to get through the next few weeks, and then I’ll start a new life in Australia, far away from this cruel world and the man I can’t let myself fall for again.
I only hope I don’t lose too much of my soul in the process.
On our lastday of preparations, the morning of the big charity gala where Nero and I are supposed to make contact with Maksim, Vita takes me to a small shooting range owned by the Ferraros. The air inside is thick with the smell of gunpowder. There’s no one here but us.
My heart pounds as I take the gun Vita passes me, the cold metal feeling foreign and heavy in my grip. My hands tremble slightly as I point the gun at the outline of a man on the target.
“Steady,” Vita murmurs. “Take a deep breath. You can do this,” she says before she places the earmuffs over my ears, muting the world into a dull throb around me.
A drop of sweat trickles down my spine.
This seems pointless. If that were a real person in front of me, I’d never shoot them. That’s where I’d draw the line.
But in this world of shadows and secrets, I have to be prepared for anything.
I take a deep breath, trying to quiet the chaos inside me and focus on the target.
My finger pulls on the trigger, and the gun recoils. A small hole appears in the outline’s chest.
I lower the gun, my heart racing, and look at Vita. She nods approvingly, her eyes holding a mixture of pride and something else—something like understanding.
“You’re doing great,” she assures me, placing her hand on my arm. “The gun will go home with you.”
“I don’t want it,” I protest.
But she’s undeterred. “This is just a precaution. The goal is diplomacy, not violence.”
That afternoon, I spend a long time getting ready. Two hours before Nero and I are meant to leave, I’m already standing in my walk-in closet, trying to pick what to wear.
On the left side are the clothes Nero bought for me. They’re beautiful, high quality, and fit my style. They’re far nicer than anything I’ve ever owned before, but at the same time, they fit my character. It’s like he purposefully instructed whoever did the shopping to not go over the top so that I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.
But Vita obviously had a different agenda when she shopped for me.
Rubbing the heel of my palm against my forehead, I walk over to the right side and carefully take out one of the designer dresses she selected.
It’s an extravagant midnight-blue evening gown embroidered with silver and gold beads that shimmer against the light. It takes me a moment to realize they’re meant to resemble the night sky, with the moon outlined on the right side of the bodice.
The process of putting it on is nerve-wracking. I’m worried I’ll tear something as I slide it carefully over my hips. When it’s finally on, I move to stand in front of the mirror.
