Rosa’s eyes wander over my dress as she adjusts one of the straps. “You know, I always thought this school had too much history to ever be beautiful, but damn, you’re making it look like something worth remembering.”
I glance down, her fingers nervously brushing against the silk at my hip. “You think?”
“I know.” Rosa smiles. Her tone is more serious than just a few seconds ago. “You walk in there tonight, and no one’s gonna see a girl torn between two families. They’ll see power. Resilience. A fucking storm in heels.”
I bite my lip, emotions catching in my throat. “Rosa… why are you being nice to me?”
“Because I’ve seen too many girls break here.” Rosa sits on the edge of the bed, facing her. “Too many become pawns or ghosts. You, somehow, you’re surviving, and you haven’t even realized how strong you’ve become.”
I blink rapidly, trying to suppress the tears. “I don’t feel strong, but I know I need to me.”
“Then you’re wrong.” Rosa leans closer. “With Matteo next to you, every day you’ll become strong. Even with Matteo carrying the weight of an entire mafia war, you haven’t run. That’s strength.”
I stare at her for a moment, then softly whisper, “Do you think… it’s worth it? Him and me?”
Rosa sighs, her voice dipping low. “The world’s a battlefield. Love in a place like this is rare. Messy. But if it’s real… yeah, it’s worth it.”
We sit in silence for a beat longer, the night humming outside the window. Then I smirk. “Still not telling me which brother you’re into?”
Rosa only chuckles, standing and tossing her long hair over one shoulder. “Some secrets are worth keeping.” She adjusts the final strap on my dress with a practiced flick of her fingers. “There,” she says, stepping back to admire her work. “You look like sin wrapped in silk.”
I stare at myself in her full-length mirror, and for the first time in weeks, I don’t see a ghost. I see a girl with fire still left in her chest. The dress clings in all the right places, sleek red, slit up the thigh, off the shoulder. Rosa insisted I wear her red lipstick. It looks like blood on my mouth. Fitting.
She stands beside me, her own emerald green dress shimmering in the low light, like envy made flesh. Her hair falls in a soft wave down her back.
“I still think you should be the one walking in with a Messina,” I tease her, but she just rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, well, let's see.”
We laugh again, easy, real, and I let myself feel the softness of this moment. The quiet before whatever chaos the night holds.
Then comes the knock.
The door opens before Rosa answers, and all three of them walk in.
Milo enters first, tossing a wink and a playful salute. “Well damn, I don’t know if we’re getting ready to go to war or walk a red carpet.”
Marco follows. “Someone make sure we’ve got a first aid kit. Boys are gonna fall like dominoes.”
Then Matteo steps in… and everything slows.
His eyes hit me like a punch, like a storm swallowing a gasp. He stops, halfway through the door frame. The others keep talking, but he doesn't. His gaze drops slowly, from my throat to my hips to the slit in my dress that shows the edge of the knife strapped to my thigh, then back up. I watch the breath leave his lungs.
“You gonna say something?” I murmur, suddenly unsure under his stare.
He moves forward, and the room goes quiet.
“You look…” He shakes his head, like no word he knows will work. “You look like every prayer I’ve never had the right to say out loud.”
Rosa coughs, dramatically. “Okay, that’s my cue to leave before this turns into a porno.”
Milo laughs, Marco makes a gagging noise, wraps his arm over Rosa’s shoulder as they leave, and I watch them for a moment. It’s Marco, she wants.
Matteo doesn't even look at them; he takes my hand. His voice drops. “They’ll be watching you tonight. Every eye in that room will want to know what I see when I look at you.”
“And what do you see?” I whisper.
He leans in, lips brushing the edge of my jaw. “Mine.”
