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“Good point.” He drapes the dress over his arm, and immediately goes for another one, this one with a high neck.
It’s a little bit too modest even by my standards, but I don’t want to discourage him from that line of thinking. “Sure,” I tell him. “I’ll try that one on, too.”
“Whether it’s for Pavone or not, you should still always look your best,” comes a voice from behind me.
I spin around to see Victor standing there, offering a dress on a hanger to me. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I hiss, trying not to gain the attention of the clerk.
“You look good in black. Almost as good as you look in red,” he muses, holding the dress up against my torso.
It’s a very tight little number, all in black, with glittering stones embedded along the hem in a delicate pattern. The straps are thin, and the cut isn’t scandalously low, but still low enough that a hint of breast would be showing.
I push it away. “No, thank you. If you like it so much, you can wear it yourself.”
Angelo snorts in amusement. “I’d pay to see that.”
Victor immediately responds with, “Feel free to transfer one hundred thousand into my account and find the dress in my size.”
I’m so startled by that response that I laugh, and I immediately cover my mouth to cover the noise. I can’t let him charm me. I won’t give him the upper hand.
Especially since he still hasn’t answered my question.
“Why are you here, Victor?” I back away a few steps, only to bump against the clothing rack.
Victor, thankfully, doesn’t follow. “A complete coincidence. I was looking for a wedding gift. Your registry is very bare, and everything’s already been bought.”
My wedding registry? I’d clicked a few perfunctory items on the website Pavone had directed me to, not really interested in receiving presents from hundreds of mobsters.
“How do you even know about that?” I ask suspiciously. “I know you weren’t invited.”
“I wasn’t?” Victor reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a very familiar card, identical to all the ones I’d spent hours cramping my hands over… with a very prominent dark reddish stain in the corner. “It was very nice of you to think of me.”
“Come off it, Victor. I don’t know how—” I glance at Angelo, who is doing his best to look innocent but absolutely sucks at it. “I don’t care if Angelo gave you an invitation. There’s no way Pavone would let you attend.”
“Well.” Victor steps closer to me then. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing we don’t intend to let the wedding happen, isn’t it?”
My breath catches, and I stare at him. I know Saint was going to talk to him, but I hadn’t expected to have to do my own conversation. Seeing him reminds me of my time in the closet, my time in the trunk—the truly horrible meeting with the Armenians that had gone so terribly wrong.
With a pang, I think of other times—like when I helped him find out where the missing money was going. When I’d been at his side. When I’d thought I could be his partner in all of this. I still long for that scenario, the one where I’m in control, not… buying dresses for a wedding reception that will leave me more powerless than ever.
I can’t simply demand that Victor leave. I need his help, and he knows it.
But he needs my help, too.
“Angelo, this is too dangerous,” I tell Angelo. “In public? Are you crazy?”
“Where else are we going to talk, Princess?” he asks reasonably. “You want me to take you to Victor’s mansion for a nice chat?”
I scowl at him. “You set me up, you asshole.”
“You needed a dress,” Angelo says, shrugging. “So maybe I let Victor know you needed a dress, too, and you know how he is. He always has to find the right thing for people to wear.”
I wish he’d warned me so I could prepare myself. It was fun ganging up on Saint, getting him to agree to be fucked while also promising his assistance. The pure rush of that scene had kept me smiling all afternoon, so much so that it had been difficult to pretend to be cowed when Pavone eventually returned.
I don’t feel powerful standing in front of Victor. I feel off-balance, treading water just to keep myself afloat.
Victor places the dress he’s holding on the nearest rack, definitely not where it belongs. “If you don’t like this one, I have a few other suggestions.” He places a hand on my shoulder and tries to draw me toward another section of the store, but I dig my heels in.
“Stop pretending all we’re doing is shopping,” I hiss at him.
