She exhales, letting the weight fall out of her. “Good. And eat something.”
“I will.”
“And sleep.”
“I’ll try.”
“Don’t try,” she says. “Do.”
I huff a laugh. “Bossy.”
“A learned trait,” she shoots back.
I pull her into a quick, tight hug.
“Learned from the best,” I say into her hair. “Thank you.”
“For what?” she asks against my shoulder.
“For caring enough to annoy me.”
She laughs once, low. “Anytime.”
I release her and straighten my jacket.
“Call if you need me.”
“I always do,” she says.
I take the door. “Ciao, Cat.”
“Ciao, Tio.”
The latch clicks behind me. I stand for a beat in the quiet hall, shame cooling into the warmth of love for my family. Even when they annoy me the only way they know how.
I look down at the papers in my hand and start moving. Where am I going? I don’t know.
And it scares the hell out of me.
It’s not a feeling I’m used to. Though I don’t take an active role in the more illegal parts of the family business—as the family attorney, I have to keep my hands mostly clean—I’m still a Conti. We don’t let fear rule us. We don’t let it make decisions for us.
So why have I been letting it rule my life for years?
Chapter Fifteen
Olivia
The seamstress steps back, squints at the hem, and hums a little tune that means she’s thinking. She smooths the fabric over my hip with the back of her knuckles like she’s petting a skittish cat.
“Beautiful line,” she says. “I’ll take one more half-inch at the waist.” She tucks three pins into the corner of her mouth and looks me over again. “And we’ll steam after I’m done, so she falls like water.”
She gestures to the mirror. “Don’t move. I’ll grab chalk.” And then she’s gone, shoes whispering down the short hall toward the workroom, the beaded curtain giving a faint clatter as it settles.
I’m alone in the room with the mirrors, wearing the dress. Low harmonic music slides out of the ceiling speakers.
I take a breath and look at myself standing on a little stool in front of a three-way mirror.
The gown is midnight, the kind of dark that absorbs light instead of reflecting it. It’s silk over a softer lining. It has asubtle sweetheart neckline held by slim, delicate straps. The back dips in a low scoop. Not scandalous, but enough to make me feel a little exposed. The skirt skims my hips and then spills to the floor in a dark waterfall that makes me look taller.
