The fitting suite is stunning—light wood paneling, a sweeping mirror stretching wall to wall, warm spotlights that make every gown glow like a relic. A long cream bench sits against the side wall, hooks waiting for the dresses that feel like they belong in a museum.
“Take your time,” Janette says softly. “If you need anything, just call.”
Her smile falters on those last words. Barely noticeable, but enough to make something cold tap against the base of my spine. Her shoulders stiffen. Her eyes flick—just once—past me, toward the mirror.
“Thank you,” I reply, careful, watching her closely.
She nods once—too sharp, too quick—and slips out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Silence swallows the space.
I turn toward the mirror.
And freeze.
A pair of steel-blue eyes stare back at me from the reflection—eyes I know almost as well as my own nightmares. Before I can gasp, something cold and merciless presses against the side of my throat. A blade. Sharp enough that even my swallow nudges my skin dangerously close to its edge.
My pulse kicks violently. Blood thuds through my carotid with each second, each beat drawing the metal’s bite closer.
A breath ghosts against the back of my neck—warm, familiar, poisonous.
“Cara mia,” he murmurs, voice curling over my spine like smoke. “It’s been a while.”
His fingers brush my shoulder as if greeting a lover. The knife doesn’t move.
“Dress shopping, I see,” he whispers.
And the world tilts.
Giacomo.
“You always did look better in silk,” he murmurs, his breath brushing the nape of my neck as if he has the right to savor me. His lips hover centimeters from my skin, close enough that I feel the warm ghost of each word. “And blood red… mm. A perfect match for those autumn eyes of yours.”
I can’t breathe.
The knife doesn’t move, but its presence is louder than any scream I could make. Cold, sharp, pressing just hard enough to promise blood.
“Say a word,” he hisses, “and the next sound will cost you your mother’s life. I hear Florence is a wonderful place to die.”
My body locks. Every muscle turns to stone.
“You didn’t think I knew where they were?” His laugh is quiet and cruel, a sound that slithers beneath my skin. “Come now, cara. Give me a little more credit than that.”
His smile twistsin the mirror behind me. “Your little boyfriend may think he’s clever, may think he’s one step ahead—but he isn’t.”
My heart drops so violently I feel nauseous.
He knows. Of course he knows.
The fear that Matteo tried to soothe, the fear I buried under plans and hope and determination, blooms like poison through my veins.
“You think this little fantasy you’re living with Matteo will last?” he whispers, and the sound is so soft, it feels obscene. “You think he can protect you from me?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My throat is a cage.
“Walking away from me,” he breathes, “was your first mistake.” He leans closer, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Choosing him… will be your last.”
Heat radiates from his body behind me, but it feels nothing like warmth. It feels like a shadow swallowing me whole, like a cage slamming shut around a bird that briefly tasted the sky.
