Chapter 4 - A DRESS OF BLOOD AND SHADOWS
The dress was emerald green silk, cut on the bias so that it draped over my body like liquid water, pooling at my ankles. The back dipped low, exposing the arch of my spine, while the high neckline and long sleeves gave it an aristocratic, untouchable elegance.
The stylist—a terrifying French woman named Claudine who spoke entirely in dramatic sighs—had unpinned my hair, styling it into cascading, glossy waves that fell over my shoulders. She applied just enough makeup to accentuate the high bones of my face, coating my lips in a deep, matte wine.
When I stepped into the penthouse living room, Nicholas was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, adjusting his diamond cufflinks.
At the sound of my heels against the hardwood, he turned.
For three full seconds, the undisputed ruler of the DeLuca syndicate stopped moving entirely. His dark eyes swept down the length of the silk gown, tracing the curve of my waist, the bare skin of my shoulders, before rising to lock onto my eyes. The raw, unfiltered hunger in his expression made my chest tighten.
“Too much?” I asked, attempting to mask my nervousness behind dry humor.
Nicholas walked toward me, each step deliberate, his tuxedo tailored to perfection across his broad chest. He didn't answer until he was standing directly in front of me.
“It’s dangerous,” he said softly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a long, velvet box. “You look like a queen who could order an execution with a smile.”
He opened the box. Nestled inside was a vintage Cartier necklace of cascading emeralds and diamonds, catching the chandelier light in dazzling fractals.
“Nicholas, no,” I whispered, taking a step back. “That’s worth a fortune. I can't wear that.”
“Turn around,” he commanded gently.
I hesitated, but the steady authority in his voice compelled me. I turned my back to him. The cool evening air brushed against my exposed skin, followed instantly by the searing warmth of his hands.
Nicholas gathered my hair with one hand, lifting the heavy silk strands off the nape of my neck. His fingers brushed against my bare skin, sending an electric jolt directly down my spine. I inhaled sharply.
“Steady, Gabriella,” he whispered against my ear, his warm breath intoxicating.
He fastened the heavy platinum clasp. The cool gems settled against the base of my throat, weighted and heavy. But Nicholas didn't immediately step away. His large hands rested lightly on my bare shoulders, his thumbs tracing small, burning circles against my collarbones.
Looking into the full-length gilded mirror across the room, our eyes met. He looked predatory, powerful, and impossibly handsome. Beside him, I no longer looked like an invisible maid from Queens.
I looked like his match.
“They will watch every breath you take tonight,” Nicholas said into the mirror, his voice dark and protective. “Men will try to intimidate you. Women will try to poison you with words. If you feel cornered, look at me. If anyone disrespects you, I will handle it.”
“I’ve handled bullies my entire life, Nicholas,” I told him, meeting his intense gaze in the glass. “I don't break easily.”
A slow, prideful smile crossed his handsome features. “I’m counting on it.”
Thirty minutes later, our armored black Maybach pulled up to the grand entrance of the Plaza Hotel. Flashbulbs exploded against the tinted glass like miniature supernovas. Chauffeurs in white gloves opened doors; photographers shouted names; private security details formed human corridors.
Nicholas stepped out first. The paparazzi surged forward, but his security team held the line with ruthless efficiency. He turned, offering his hand into the car.
I took it. His grip was warm, iron-strong, and utterly grounding.
As I stepped out onto the red carpet, the cameras went into a frenzy. Whispers rippled through the gathered crowd.
“Who is she?”
“Where is the Moretti heiress?”
“Is that DeLuca’s new woman?”
Nicholas pulled me flush against his side, his arm wrapping possessively around my waist, his palm resting against the small of my back where the silk dipped low. He leaned down, murmuring into my ear for the cameras: “Smile, tesoro mio. Let them burn with envy.”
We walked up the grand staircase into the grand ballroom. Crystal chandeliers glittered above a sea of tuxedos and haute couture gowns. The orchestra played a sweeping waltz.
The moment we crossed the threshold, the low murmur of high-society conversation died down. Heads turned. Eyes locked onto Nicholas—and then shifted immediately to me.
May you like
At the far side of the room, standing beside the governor and two high-ranking city officials, Roberto Ferraro paused mid-laugh. His glass of champagne lowered slowly. His eyes narrowed with lethal fury as he took in my emerald dress, the DeLuca family jewels around my neck, and Nicholas’s hand resting unapologetically on my hip.
“Look at that,” Nicholas whispered, his lips brushing my temple as we glided toward the bar. “The shark just realized the water belongs to me.”
