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So I take tentative sips of the effervescent bubbly, surprised to recognize the kiss of apples and citrus in the champagne. I nod along passively, allowing the staff to fawn over me and usher me through the gleaming racks of clothes worth small fortunes.
I let my fingers drift over the buttery soft leather and silk, admiring the exquisite tailoring. The casual opulence is utterly foreign to me.
It's all so far outside my comfort zone. But despite trying to select only the simplest and least flashy items, my arms still fill with pieces in rich hues and fabrics. Yet even as I try to select only the simplest pieces, my arms gradually fill with items in rich shades of emerald, sapphire, and crimson. The fabrics drape like liquid luxury against my skin.
I can easily envision the woman expected to wear these - sophisticated, glamorous, expensive, and completely untouchable. She glides through glittering galas and high-stakes card games wearing confidence like the dazzling jewels at her wrists and throat.
Almost the opposite of who I am, or thought I was. But perhaps her allure calls to a hidden part of myself I was never brave enough to set free.
Gradually, I find myself drawn to the elegant ensembles like armor, a shield to repel the cruelty and malice constantly threatening to pierce my façade. As if matching their style will somehow protect me from their world.
I'm browsing a rack of slinky cocktail dresses when a chill races down my spine like an icy trickle of water. I glance up to find an imposing man watching me intently from across the boutique, half obscured in shadow. He looks vaguely familiar. I freeze, poised for flight.
The man steps forward into the light and recognition hits me squarely in the chest, forcing the air from my lungs.
Roberto Ferraro. Heir to the Ferraro crime family, the Ricci clan's most vicious rivals within the city. His unexpected presence here can only mean danger.
"Miss Thomas," he purrs, gliding closer with a predator's lazy grace. "Fancy seeing you here. I heard the Riccis have taken quite the...interest in you lately."
His words hold an unmistakable double meaning that makes my skin crawl, but I force down my unease. Show no weakness. I lift my chin and meet his assessing gaze directly.
"You seem to have me at a disadvantage, since you clearly know my name. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" I ask with forced casualness, desperate bravado in my tone.
Roberto chuckles, the sound smooth yet mirthless. "Now Clara, let's not play games. I know you received my note about a certain mutually beneficial arrangement."
I bristle at his improper familiarity and thinly veiled threats. This man is no friend to me or my father. But making an enemy of him now would be reckless beyond belief.
"I'm sorry," I say carefully, softening my voice. "It's been a very stressful few days. Now, if you'll please excuse me, Mr...?"
I let the question linger, hoping he'll take the hint. But he only smiles approvingly, like an instructor pleased with his apt pupil.
"Come now, enough pretense. You know exactly who I am," he admonishes. "And I actually have a business proposition for you. One I think you'll find quite advantageous if you listen with an open mind. I would take it as a personal insult if you didn't at least listen to what I had to say. It might reflect poorly on your upbringing. On your parents."
Every instinct screams at me to refuse, to turn and hurry back to the safety of the bodyguard and boutique staff. But the implied threat toward my father keeps me from fleeing outright.
Against my better judgment, I nod for him to continue.
"I think you'll find some of these items more to your taste if you try them on first," Roberto suggests casually, nodding to the clothes draped over my arm before melting back into the shadows between racks.
I hurriedly call over a saleswoman and have her escort me to a private changing suite. As soon as I'm alone behind the closed curtain, I hear Roberto's rich baritone through the thin divider walls.
"Tell me, Clara, how deep in debt is your father to the Riccis now?"
The blunt question catches me off guard. "That's really none of your concern," I reply cautiously.
Roberto clucks his tongue in disapproval. "Oh come now, we both know it's far more than he can possibly repay. Recovered art deals can be quite the...risky venture."
I suppress a shudder at this criminal's intimate knowledge of my family's plight. But how? The deeper I fall into this web of organized crime, the more I realize how little I truly knew of my father's affairs since my mother died. Perhaps I've been naïve about how far his dealings go with the mob.
Oblivious to my turmoil, Roberto continues slyly. "Now, if you're content to be the Riccis' pampered pet, then by all means, enjoy their gilded cage for as long as it lasts..."
He trails off leadingly, letting the silence stretch. "But if you truly want to save your father from these people, there is another way. A certain business deal of theirs currently in the works that's quite...fragile, if handled improperly."
My brows knit together in confusion, unsure where he's going with this or how it involves me. But Roberto remains cryptically vague.
"Let's just say this deal consolidates their control over most of the local arms trade. But if certain details happened to be leaked, the entire operation could come crashing down."
I can almost hear the cruel anticipation in his voice. "Just imagine it - the esteemed Ricci family, losing face and power. Maybe even toppling entirely from their lofty perch."
