Chapter 11 - The Transformation
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The following afternoon, the estate was a flurry of controlled chaos. Silvio and the other capos believed Gio was planning a retaliatory strike against a rival family, entirely unaware of the true mission heading for Naples.
Isadora was escorted to the master suite, where a team of private stylists awaited her.
"Make her look like she owns the world," Gio had commanded them before leaving her to prepare.
Hours later, Isadora stared at her reflection in the full-length antique mirror. The transformation was absolute. The tired, invisible waitress with the severe bun was gone.
Her dark hair had been styled into loose, elegant waves that cascaded over her bare shoulders. The dress Gio had provided was a masterpiece of black velvet and sheer illusion lace, plunging dangerously low in the back and clinging to her curves like a second skin. A slit ran up the side, allowing her to move quickly if necessary, exposing a pair of lethal, diamond-studded stiletto heels.
But the crowning glory was the jewelry. A heavy, breathtaking necklace of blood-red rubies and flawless diamonds rested against her collarbone—a piece from the Rossi family vault.
The heavy bedroom doors clicked open.
Gio stepped into the room. He wore a bespoke midnight-blue tuxedo that made him look like a dark, fallen god.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her.
The air left his lungs in a slow, jagged exhale. His dark eyes swept over her from the tips of her heels to the rubies at her throat, a raw, undeniable hunger flaring in his gaze.
"You look..." Gio began, his voice rough, abandoning his usual smooth composure. He took a step toward her, entirely captivated. "You are spectacular, Isadora."
A flush of heat rose to her cheeks. "It’s just armor for the job, Giovanni."
"It is a weapon," he corrected, stopping inches away from her. He reached out, his knuckles lightly grazing the bare skin of her shoulder, sending a violent shiver down her spine. "Every man in that ballroom tonight is going to look at you, and they are going to hate me for having you."
"Let them look," Isadora breathed, unable to step away from his magnetic pull. "We are only there for the book."
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Gio’s eyes dropped to her lips for a agonizingly long second. He leaned in, the scent of expensive cologne and danger washing over her, but he didn't kiss her. Instead, he reached around her waist, fastening a microscopic communication device to the inner clasp of her dress.
"Ninety seconds," Gio whispered, his lips brushing against her ear, making her knees weak. "Do not be a hero, Isadora. If it goes wrong, you run back to me."
