Page 21 of The Enforcer's Possession
“Stronger than Marco, you mean.”
“Stronger than most men I’ve met.”She lifted the dress carefully, turning to face me.“Dante De Luca doesn’t pretend to be something he’s not.There’s value in that kind of honesty, even if the truth is dangerous.”
I stood on legs that felt unsteady, my robe falling open slightly.One of the stylists, a woman whose name I’d already forgotten, moved forward to help Mama maneuver the dress over my head.The fabric whispered against my skin, cool silk that clung in ways that made me feel both powerful and exposed.
The gown was a masterpiece, I’d give it that.Vera Wang had outdone herself.White silk that looked innocent from a distance but revealed itself to be anything but up close.The neckline plunged just enough to be interesting without being scandalous.The back was almost nonexistent, baring my spine in a way that felt deliberately vulnerable.The skirt fell in clean lines that somehow managed to be both elegant and subtly provocative.
I’d chosen it specifically to make a statement.Now I wondered what statement I was actually making.
Mama worked the row of tiny buttons at my lower back, her fingers efficient despite the delicate work.“He’s not going to be easy to manage.”
“I’m not planning to manage him.”I watched the stylist approach with the veil, an elaborate piece of lace that had belonged to Papa’s grandmother.“This is a business arrangement.Clear terms, clear boundaries.”
“Is that what you think?”She finished the last button and turned me to face her.Her expression was softer than I’d seen it in years.“Caterina, men like Dante De Luca don’t make business arrangements when it comes to their wives.They make ownership claims.”
“The contract --”
“Won’t mean anything behind closed doors.”She cupped my face, forcing me to meet her eyes.“I know you think you’ve been clever.That you’ve negotiated yourself into a position of power but listen to me.Dante agreed to your terms for a reason.And that reason has nothing to do with business.”
My throat went tight.“You’re trying to scare me.”
“I’m trying to prepare you.”She released my face and stepped back, her gaze sweeping over me with clinical assessment.“You’re about to become the wife of one of the most dangerous men in our world.Whatever contract he offered you, it won’t protect you the way you think it will.That man is even more dangerous than your father.Do you really think he won’t expect your complete obedience in all things?”
The stylist secured the veil, the weight of it settling across my shoulders like a physical manifestation of expectation.I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror and barely recognized myself.The woman staring back looked like a bride.Looked elegant and composed and ready.
Looked like a beautiful lie.
“Your hands are shaking,” Mama observed.
I looked down.She was right.My fingers trembled visibly, the massive engagement ring Dante had given me, an emerald surrounded by diamonds that probably cost more than twenty grand, catching the light with every small movement.
“Pre-wedding nerves,” I said, trying for my usual sharp tone.It came out hollow.
“Caterina --”
“I’m fine.”I turned away from the mirror, from my reflection, from the truth in Mama’s eyes.“Where’s the something borrowed?”
She didn’t argue.Just retrieved a small velvet box from her purse and handed it over.Inside was a diamond bracelet I recognized, one Papa had given her on their wedding day.The irony wasn’t lost on either of us.
I let Mama fasten it around my wrist, the diamonds cold against my skin.My pulse hammered underneath the metal, too fast, too obvious.I tried to take a deep breath and found my lungs didn’t want to cooperate.The bodice of the dress was perfectly fitted, but suddenly it felt like a vise.
“Breathe,” Mama said quietly.“Just breathe.”
I tried.Failed.Tried again.This time air actually made it into my chest, though it felt thin and insufficient.
“That’s it.”She squeezed my hand briefly.“You can do this.”
Could I?I wasn’t sure anymore.Twenty minutes ago, I’d been certain.Now, with the dress on and the veil secured and my mother’s warnings echoing in my head, doubt crept in like smoke under a door.
The preparation suite door opened without warning.I turned, expecting another stylist or maybe Luca coming to check on me.
Papa stood in the doorway instead.
He’d dressed for the occasion -- a Tom Ford tuxedo that made him look every inch the patriarch he was.His expression was carefully neutral, but I caught the tightness around his eyes, the set of his jaw.He was still angry about how this had all played out.Still furious that I’d gone around him to arrange my own marriage.
“It’s time,” he said.No warmth.No fatherly affection.Just a statement of fact.
Mama gave me one last look -- part warning, part sympathy -- then gathered her skirt and moved toward the door.She paused next to Papa, whispered something I couldn’t hear, and disappeared into the hallway.
