Chapter 6 - THE SILK AND THE SCARS
Two weeks after the blood had been scrubbed from the Italian marble, the estate had transformed.
The shattered entrance was replaced with solid Appalachian oak and ballistic iron plate. The gardens were restored, and the autumn breeze swept clean across the manicured lawns. But inside the mansion, the greatest transformation was unfolding in silence.
Jolene stood in front of the three-way gilded mirror in the dressing room of the east wing. She was wearing a midnight-blue velvet evening gown cut with high, elegant shoulders and long, fitted sleeves made of French lace. The lace was intentional—it covered the branded anchor on her wrist while allowing the diamond-encrusted bracelet Alio had given her to catch the chandelier light.
Beside her, a high-end salon stylist from Fifth Avenue was finishing pinning her auburn hair into an intricate, soft crown.
“You look like royalty, signora,” the stylist murmured respectfully, bowing slightly before packing her vanity kit and exiting through the double doors.
Jolene looked at her reflection. She barely recognized herself. The dark shadows under her eyes had faded under weeks of proper sleep, gourmet meals, and the peace of knowing her daughter was sleeping two doors down in a nursery filled with custom wooden toys, guarded by four of Alio’s most trusted soldiers. The split skin on her cheek had healed into a faint, pale line that high-grade foundation easily concealed.
The adjoining door clicked open.
Alio stepped into the dressing suite, wearing an immaculate black tuxedo that made his broad shoulders and lean waist look impossibly sharp. His dark hair was slicked back, his trimmed beard neat, his obsidian eyes scanning her from head to toe.
He stopped two feet behind her. In the mirror, their reflections stood together—the mafia king whose name silenced courtrooms, and the woman who had spent three years cleaning his baseboards.
“You look magnificent, Jolene,” Alio said, his deep voice wrapping around her like warm wool.
Jolene turned around, her fingers nervously smoothing the velvet over her hips. “Alio, I don't belong at this gala. The Five Families are going to be there. Men who knew Carlo. Men who know every rumor about Newark. If they recognize me—”
“Let them recognize you,” Alio interrupted smoothly. He reached out, his warm, calloused fingers closing over her lace-covered wrist, pulling her gently toward him until she could feel the heat radiating from his chest. “Tonight is the Autumn Solstice Assembly at the Plaza Hotel. Every boss from Boston to Philadelphia will be sitting at those tables. They think Carlo’s death left a vacuum. They think I’m distracted.”
He lifted his free hand, his thumb softly tracing the healed line on her cheekbone. His touch was unexpectedly tender, sending a spark of electricity dancing straight down her spine.
“Tonight, I am showing them that the Salvatore line is stronger than ever,” Alio whispered, his gaze dropping to her lips before rising to hold her eyes. “I am presenting you as my consort. And Bee as my daughter.”
Jolene’s breath caught. Her heart beat against her ribs in frantic fluttering. “Alio... you don't have to do that. You saved my life. You gave Bee a home. You don't have to tie your family name to a woman with a ruined past.”
“You gave me back my son,” Alio answered, his tone dropping into that unyielding, iron certainty that defined him. “For eighteen months, I walked through this house feeling like a ghost among dead things. Theo was fading away, Jolene. You and your daughter brought the sun back into this mausoleum. That is not a debt I repay with a paycheck. That is a life I protect with my name.”
He reached into his breast pocket and drew out a velvet box. When he pressed the clasp, it opened to reveal a magnificent teardrop sapphire necklace encircled by two rows of brilliant-cut diamonds.
He stepped behind her, lifting the heavy stone, letting the cool gems rest against the hollow of her throat. As he fastened the platinum clasp at the nape of her neck, his breath brushed against her skin, making her shiver.
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“No one looks down on you tonight, Jolene,” Alio murmured into her ear. “You are a Salvatore now. Act like you own the room.”
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