Chương 3 - The Fake Diamond
I watched in absolute horror as the armed men tore my tiny apartment apart.
They slashed my mattress, smashed my mother's urn on the floor, and fired bullets into my closet.
They were explicitly looking to murder me.
"Are you ready to put the ring on now?" Dante asked quietly.
My hands were shaking so violently I could barely lift them.
I held out my left hand.
Dante stepped incredibly close, his body heat radiating against the cold, damp fabric of my dress.
He slid the massive diamond onto my ring finger.
His skin was surprisingly warm, and his touch was unsettlingly gentle.
"It is a perfect fit," he murmured, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
"How long do I have to do this?" I asked, trying not to look into his dangerous eyes.
"Until the Moretti family is completely eradicated," Dante replied, turning away.
"Which means we have a gala to attend tomorrow night."
"You cannot go looking like a diner waitress."
He pressed a button on the intercom on his desk.
"Send in the styling team," he ordered.
Within ten minutes, the penthouse was flooded with tailors, makeup artists, and hairdressers.
They scrubbed the smell of grease from my hair, painted my nails, and dressed me in a crimson silk gown.
The dress plunged daringly low in the back and clung to every curve of my body.
When I finally looked in the mirror, I did not recognize the woman staring back.
I looked expensive, dangerous, and incredibly vulnerable.
Dante walked into the dressing room, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw me.
His dark eyes darkened even further, a flash of genuine hunger crossing his features.
"You look exactly like the kind of woman a man would start a war for," he said softly.
He offered me his arm, and I took it, feeling the hard muscle beneath his suit jacket.
We descended to the ground floor and stepped into a waiting limousine.
The gala was held in a massive, historic ballroom dripping with crystal chandeliers.
The moment we walked through the brass doors, the entire room went completely silent.
Every eye was fixed entirely on me.
Dante kept his hand firmly on my lower back, guiding me through the sea of dangerous people.
We approached the main bar, and a silver-haired man in a white tuxedo turned to face us.
Dante's grip on my waist tightened imperceptibly.
"Dante, my boy," the silver-haired man smiled, his eyes completely devoid of warmth.
"Salvatore Moretti," Dante nodded stiffly.
Salvatore ignored Dante entirely and looked directly at me.
His smile widened, revealing slightly yellowed teeth.
"So this is the little bird that caused all the trouble at the diner," Salvatore purred.
He reached out and gently lifted my chin with his cold fingers.
"You look so much like your father, Clarissa."
My heart stopped completely.
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No one had called me Clarissa since I was eight years old.
"Did Dante tell you what your father stole from us before he died?" Salvatore whispered.
