𝐕𝐈𝐈. Black, tight-fitting silk dress

⋄ 𝕸𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖆 𝕬𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖔 ⋄

When I returned to my room, the new dresses were already hanging neatly in my closet. One in particular stood out—a black, form-fitting silk dress that molds to every curve of my body as if it were made specifically for me. And it probably was, knowing Cesare. Everything he does is calculated, precise, and carefully thought out. Sometimes, it feels like nothing is outside his control.

Still, the strap looks too thin to support the weight of the neckline.

I can’t help the way my lips twist.

Why does he criticize my clothes if he plans to show me off in something worse?

I turn lightly, pull my hair forward, and examine the back, now properly covered. My shoulder blades press against the fabric, hiding the absence of Romano’s tattoo.

Suddenly, knocks at the door make me pause, take a deep breath, and practice my usual stoic expression in the mirror—the one that looks neither too bored nor too attentive—before walking to the door.

I’m expecting one of the Onoratos to be waiting for me, as always.

But to my surprise, it’s Matteo outside, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. I couldn’t tell because there’s no trace of his overpowering cologne, just the faint scent of soap. And yet, it’s a scent that triggers more memories than I care to admit.

He’s not wearing his usual shirts with unbuttoned collars tonight, only a finally loose, oversized black T-shirt. But what really makes my stomach flip is the way his hair is slightly tousled and damp from the recent shower.

That makes him look younger. Vulnerable. Human.

Matteo’s eyes scan me from head to toe, lingering longer at the neckline before lifting to meet mine. “This is the dress Cesare sent you?”

“You got something to say about my clothes, too?” I shoot back, stepping away from the door. But he doesn’t let me get far—his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist with unsettling ease.

Matteo yanks me toward him with a rough pull, slamming my body into his, and I have to grit my teeth hard to hold back any sound. But the feel of his solid, unyielding frame pressed against mine, the hard planes of his abdomen against my back… it shouldn’t make my pulse race like this, but it does. And I hate it.

His muscular arm wraps around my waist, pulling me even closer, pressing me flush against him so I can feel how our bodies dangerously fit together in ways they shouldn’t.

“What the fuck was that earlier?” he growls, with his breath hot against my ear.

I try to step forward, but he follows, making sure not even an inch separates us.

“You’re not leaving this room until you explain what the hell that was, Marina, so you’d better start talking. Wouldn’t want to keep Sotto Capo waiting, would you? He’s got a bad temper and a short fuse.”

“Shouldn’t you be asking him?” I force my voice to stay steady. “It was his idea, not mine.”

“And I’m trying to figure out why, Marina.” Matteo’s hand grips my waist tighter, hips thrusting forward, making it clear that if there was any doubt that I could turn him on, it’s gone now. “Why the fuck would Cesare come up with that idea?”

“Like I said, ask him—”

Matteo spins me suddenly, his fingers digging into my sides almost painfully. He doesn’t bother to control his strength or pretend to be gentle, as his free hand grabs my jaw from underneath, with fingertips pressing into my cheeks.

“Did you say something to him?” he grunts between clenched teeth.

My eyes narrow, but I don’t flinch.

“Are you seriously asking me that?” I snap back, just as harshly. “To Cesare—of all people?”

Matteo’s eyes also narrow. He examines me as if every twitch in my face is a lie, every flicker of emotion is bait.

As if I’m the dangerous one here.

“I don’t know, Marina. You tell me.” He tightens his grip just enough to make my lips pout slightly, which catches his gaze for a moment. Then he’s back to my eyes, his own blazing with intensity. “Did you?”

“No.” I raise my eyebrows. “I didn’t say a single word.”

“Then why would he tell you to do that?”

“I don’t know,” I shoot back, impatient. “Maybe because I’m really good at getting under your skin?”

He yanks my face closer, merging our breaths until it becomes uncomfortable. I hold my breath, trying not to breathe in his clean scent or the air our lungs are clearly sharing right now.

And of course, Matteo notices. The way his breathing hitches tells me he’s thinking the same thing. Probably just as disgusted by the thought as I am…

“You’d better keep that mouth shut, or I swear, Gattina, it won’t be Enzo Bianchi who kills you.” Despite the threat, Matteo loosens his grip on my face, but he doesn’t step back.

“I’m not going to die.”

“Oh, you will. That stubborn tongue and that defiance are going to be the death of you.”

He pulls his hand back slowly, letting it linger a moment longer than needed, fingers twitching before curling into a fist and dropping to his side.

Then, quieter, less angry, more resigned, he finally asks, “Why couldn’t you just keep quiet and go along with it?”

I part my lips to say something, but before any words come out—

“Signorina Marina, I’ve come to escort you on Sotto Capo’s orders…” the Onorato’s voice finally cuts in, faltering as he registers the scene: Matteo’s grip, the too-close posture, the heat still crackling between us.

Matteo glances over his shoulder and gives a cold look that immediately causes the man to bow his head in a mix of respect and fear. Still, the man does not move. He doesn’t dare interrupt the demon… but he also cannot disobey a direct order from the Sotto Capo.

Finally, Demon exhales slowly and heavily, taking an extra moment before releasing me completely. He wipes his face with his now-free hand and steps back two long strides, finally giving me room to breathe again.

“This isn’t over, Marina. We will finish this conversation later. Before you leave. Do you understand?” he warns, eyes piercing into me one last time before storming out of the room, brushing past the Onorato with barely contained fury.

The way the man shrinks beneath Matteo’s glare sparks a flicker of sympathy in me, but it fades just as fast. I have more than enough of my own problems to handle.

I take a deep breath, smoothing my dress and my hair, even though everything is still perfectly in place, feeling the man’s eyes on me—cautious, but not lingering. Almost like he’s afraid of seeming inappropriate.

“Signorina Marina,” he begins carefully, “before I escort you to the Sotto Capo’s quarters… he left very clear instructions.”

“Instructions?” I raise an eyebrow, feeling both curious and uneasy. Why does everything have to be so complicated with Cesare?

“Precisely.” The man nods, slipping his hand into the inner pocket of his suit. I step closer, with the kind of caution you only learn growing up in the underworld, my eyes glued to his hand, watching every move like a hawk.

And when he pulls out a gun, my entire body goes cold. I freeze instantly, heart skipping a beat at the small revolver that looks almost like a toy in his large, clumsy hand.

I wait, but he doesn’t shoot. Instead, he holds it gently—like it might break. It’s not pointed at me either, which makes me relax slightly, but my eyes stay wide, on high alert.

He switches the gun to his other hand and digs into another pocket, pulling out a long, silver vintage-style flask and offering both items to me. I hesitate for a moment before my fingers close around the cold metal of the flask and the lightweight revolver.

The Onorato reaches into the side pocket of his pants now, and pulls out something else: a decorated dagger, sheathed in silver and ornately carved. He doesn’t offer it for me to take. Perhaps because it’s larger than the other two items, but it doesn’t matter… after all, its presence feels just as heavy in my hands as if I’d taken it.

“What does this mean?” I ask, locking eyes with him—eyes that look just as uncertain as mine. “Why are you giving me this?”

“Sotto Capo Cesare ordered you to choose one of the items, Signorina,” the man says, his voice tightening my chest. “And to try using it before the night ends.”