I nearly choked on coffee. “It was the only clean thing I found.”
“Mm.” He laughed at me. “You sleep in his bed too.”
Heat exploded across my face. “You are literally insane.”
“I’m observant,” he corrected me.
“You’re nosy,” I hissed.
“I’m mafia. Same thing.” I glared at him over the rim of my coffee cup while he grinned outright now, completely entertained by my suffering.
“You should be nicer to me,” I muttered. “I’m technically your future queen.”
Sergio barked out a laugh so sudden he nearly dropped the gun magazine.
“Jesus Christ,” he wheezed. “You really are becoming a Moretti.”
“I hate everything about you, Sergio,” I replied.
“No, you don’t.” He pointed lazily with the gun cleaning cloth. “You’re lonely and I’m the only person here besides homicidal billionaires.”
The garment bags hanging beside the dining room table caught my attention then. My wedding dress. My pulse stumbled. Sergio followed my gaze.
“Ah,” he said darkly. “The hostage couture has arrived.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
“Try it on,” he added.
I blinked at him. “You are a man.”
“And?”
“And I’m not changing in front of you!” I said.
Sergio looked deeply unimpressed. “Princess, I once helped Leo interrogate a politician with a nail gun while eating ravioli. I promise your shoulders aren’t going to scandalize me.”
A horrified laugh escaped me. “You are both genuinely psychotic.”
“Correct,” he smirked.
I grabbed the garment bag anyway, muttering under my breath while disappearing toward the bathroom. A few minutes later, I stepped back out slowly. Silence hit the room.
The satin hugged my body like liquid ivory, molded perfectly against my waist before cascading down in heavy folds aroundmy feet. The corseted bodice pushed my breasts higher than anything Papa would have ever allowed, delicate lace glittering beneath the penthouse lights like frost.
The back was almost completely exposed. Leo absolutely picked this dress himself. Heat crept slowly up my throat. Sergio stared openly for several seconds before rubbing a hand over his jaw.
“Well,” he muttered finally. “That’s fucking terrifying.”
“What?” I hissed.
“You look like the kind of woman men start wars over.”
Butterflies erupted violently in my stomach. I turned slowly toward the mirror near the hallway. And for one dangerous moment… I didn’t look like a prisoner anymore. I looked like a bride. My breath caught softly.
Loose blonde waves spilled down my bare back exactly the way Leo liked them. Diamonds glittered against my throat and wrists, cold and beautiful beneath the soft lighting. The dress made me look older somehow. Softer. Sinful. Like I already belonged to him. The thought hurt.
Because tomorrow made everything real. Tomorrow everyone would watch him claim me publicly. Tomorrow he’d put his ring on my finger in front of the city. Tomorrow I officially stopped being independent.
