Tears fall freely, and I don’t hide them. Neither does she.
“He’s vicious, cunning. Everyone in the underworld is wary of him. They call him the strategist. He always follows a plan, and no one knows they’re being played, just that they are. The alliance with the Syndicate is more for show because he makes his own rules. He’s too powerful to get rid of. And he’s fraternizing with the West Coast, our biggest enemies.”
“Lucky me, huh?”
“I’ve heard he has no true loyalty. No one he loves,” she whispers, as if he’s a demon that could materialize any moment and drag me to hell with him.
Sad. I can’t believe that’s what I am thinking, hearing all these hidden warnings when I should worry about the implications, what being married to him means to me.
“I’ll deal with him,” I say, infusing more hope than belief.
She sighs. “He’s not a child you can teach.”
“All men carry a child within them.”
We burst into a peal of laughter, remaining silent for a few minutes.
She squeezes my hand like she doesn’t want to let me go. “You’re going to live in a new city where the Syndicate’sinfluence is nonexistent but improved via family ties. If you need me, I’ll always be there, Viv. Always.”
I wrap my arms around her, drawing strength from her. Her nearness and unwavering support soothe me.
“We were the sacrificial lambs. Our daughters will choose.”
We lift our hands to intertwine our fingers in a pinky promise, helping each other up.
Hearing a commotion from downstairs, we brush our tears away.
As Chiara unlocks the door, my phone vibrates on my vanity table with a text, and I pick it up.
I can’t wait to see you, mo run.
I feel my brows furrow, a heavy feeling setting in the pit of my stomach, upsetting it. With shaky fingers, I shut it off and place it face down. It must be my nerves making me wary, I tell myself. It’s not like he will burst through the door and rescue me.
I am not at the dorm anymore.
He does not know where I live.
He can’t reach me even if he wanted to. The knowledge both calms and saddens me.
Once the beauty team arrives, one takes over my hair, styling it in long curls that flow down my back, the other gives me a mani and a pedi in a soft pink, then moves to my face, dabbing some purple eyeshadow and a rosy-nude lipstick.
I smile at my reflection. They did an amazing job enhancing my best features, from my light green eyes to my full lips.
Thanking them, they leave us.
Alone with my sister, I shrug. “Showtime.”
“You look fantastic,” Chiara says before jutting her chin toward the golden dress my mother chose for me. “You planning on wearing that?”
I shake my head, and she disappears down the hall, returning with three dresses: one red, one silver, and a bold black one.
All three look amazing, but my interest reverts to the black one. I want to wear a “don’t fuck with me” look.
She nudges my side. “Set the scene. It’s your first move. Make it exceptional.”
I pick the black dress, feeling empowered. It’s a mini A-line dress with a plunging neckline. I slip into black sandals, the straps coiling around my calves. Fitting, as I’d rather tame snakes than let one bite me.
Chiara nods, approving of my choice, then dresses in the red dress.
