I force air into my lungs. Clear my throat. Fix my hair.
Lie.
“One minute,” I manage, though my voice barely cooperates.
I slap my cheeks lightly to bring color back to them, to erase the pallor of terror. When I open the door, I am rebuilt—composed, collected, a woman who hasn’t just had a knife to her throat in one of the most exclusive boutiques in the world.
Not a single dress has moved except the one clutched in my shaking hand.
Valerio’s eyes flick over me—once, twice. His suspicion sharpens immediately. He’s too good at reading people, and I am too rattled to hide the cracks.
“Can I help you?” he asks slowly. “I thought you were trying on your dress.”
I swallow, forcing my grip to tighten around the hanger instead of giving myself away.
“I am,” I say, summoning a steady tone I do not feel. “That’s why I came out.”
“You can’t just disappear in there for so long without telling me,” Valerio says, his voice low and clipped. “You need to be in my line of sight at all times.”
I force a scoff, thin and brittle. “What? So you want to watch me undress now?”
His expression doesn’t flinch. “Hardly. I have a job to do. Your protection is my business, and keeping eyes on you ensures I can actually do it.”
He takes a single step closer,his gaze scraping over my features with the precision of a man trained to notice every micro-expression. “Are you alright?”
If I tell him,Matteo will go nuclear. And the blast will reach my parents first.
The truth rises like a scream in my throat, but I swallow it whole and plaster on a smile I pray looks human. It feels like slipping into an old costume, one I hoped I’d burned.
“You look pale,” he presses.
“Just… dizzy,” I manage. “First trimester things. I think I need water.”
He studies me for a beat too long, his stare probing, dissecting, calculating. I can almost hear his mind working through scenarios, matching my expression to every possible threat.
Then, finally?—
“Alright,” he says slowly. “We’ll leave. We can come back when you’re feeling better.”
Relief softens my knees. He doesn’t push—not because he believes me, but because he knows when a person is too close to breaking to interrogate further.
We move toward the entrance. Janette materializes from nowhere, voice soft and apologetic as she murmurs something about rescheduling. I see remorse in her eyes—fear too—and the truth clicks into place.
She didn’t betray me willingly. She was coerced.
“Another time,” Valerio says, ushering me past her and out the door before she can say more.
Outside, the late afternoon light has thinned into something colder. Shadows stretch long across the pavement, swallowing corners and alleyways, but none of them feel as dark as the one still clinging to my skin.
He was here. He touched me. He threatened my parents.
Valerio walks a few paces ahead, scanning the street with practiced eyes, phone in hand, posture alert. I trail behind him, lost in a fog of fear so thick it feels like trying to breathe underwater.
My throat still burns where the blade pressed. The ghost of the steel lingers like frostbite.
The car arrives within minutes. Valerio opens the door, and I slide in without a word. His eyes follow me the entire time—sharp, assessing.
I give him nothing.
