Chapter 1 - The Elevator Doors
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The heavy brass doors of the private elevator slid apart with a soft chime.
Nadia froze. She was standing in the center of the fitting room, the heavy silk of the founding matriarch's gown clinging to her ribs, her waist, her hips as if it had been woven directly onto her skin.
Stepping out of the elevator was Dante Leone.
He wore a tailored black suit that looked darker than the midnight sky outside the penthouse windows. He was the head of the family, the man who owned the city’s shadows, and a man who never visited the seamstress wing.
Dante stopped. His dark, calculating eyes swept over the room. He saw the shattered wine glass, the ruined replica gown bleeding red across the marble floor, and the terrified seamstress trembling in the corner. Then, his gaze locked onto Nadia.
He didn't speak. The silence in the room became a physical, crushing weight.
Nadia tried to breathe, but the silk held her perfectly upright.
“Take it off,” Nadia whispered frantically to Marta, ignoring the paralyzing fear. “Unzip it. Please.”
Marta couldn't move.
Dante stepped fully into the room, his leather shoes clicking against the marble. He walked slowly in a circle around the pedestal, his eyes mapping every seam, every perfectly aligned dart, and the way the vintage lace rested flawlessly against Nadia’s collarbone.
“Who are you?” Dante asked. His voice was a low, vibrating hum that made the floorboards tremble.
May you like
“Nadia,” she choked out. “I’m just the scheduling assistant, Mr. Leone. The other dress was ruined. Marta just needed to measure the original. I’m taking it off right now.”
“No,” Dante commanded, stopping directly in front of her. He looked into her terrified brown eyes, his own eyes burning with a sudden, dangerous realization. “You are not taking it off.”
