CHAPTER FOURTEEN #2
Her eyes cataloged every inch of me before meeting my gaze. “Our family values stability, Serafina. You must learn to eat, to sleep, to maintain your strength. You’ll be tested in ways you can’t yet imagine.”
I almost missed the concern in her voice, though it was wrapped in steel. She stepped closer, her fingers surprisingly gentle as she helped lift the dress over my head.
The fabric settled around me like a whisper, cool against my skin. It was heavier than I expected, weighted with the symbolism of what it represented.
A solemn duty.
A delicate responsibility.
An arduous obligation.
“Beautiful,” Giulia breathed, stepping back to admire.
Beatrice moved behind me, her skilled fingers fastening the countless tiny buttons that ran down my spine. Each button felt like another lock on the gilded cage that I was trapped in.
“Look,” she said, turning me toward the full-length mirror.
The woman who stared back at me was a stranger.
The dress transformed me from Serafina Morelli into something else—a Salvatore bride, poised and perfect.
The bodice hugged my curves, the sweetheart neckline modest yet elegant.
The skirt flowed outward, layers of tulle and silk creating a silhouette that was both traditional and modern.
“It fits perfectly,” I whispered, surprised.
“Almost,” Beatrice said, kneeling to adjust the hem. “You’ve always been the right size for this family, Serafina.” She wasn’t talking about the dress. “You’ve been raised well.”
The statement caught me off guard. It wasn’t a compliment, exactly, but it wasn’t a criticism either. It was an acknowledgment, a recognition of the role I had been groomed to play.
“Thank you,” I said, uncertain how else to respond.
Giulia adjusted the train behind me as I stepped on the small platform. Beatrice rose, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “The Salvatores aren’t easy people to join, but we take care of our own. Remember that when things become difficult.”
She smoothed out the dress with her hands, a small wistful smile playing on her lips before it was gone. “You look every bit like a Salvatore bride,” she said, her voice low, and there was something else in her tone. Something I almost missed. Yearning.
Beatrice was Enzo’s woman, but she wasn’t a Salvatore bride. She would never be one.
It was a fate she had accepted, but now I understood… she dreamed of something different.
To truly belong.
Before I could respond, a voice cut through the moment like a deadly blade. Deep, sharp and unexpected.
“Now that’s a sight worth killing for.”
Thud.
His voice brought memories I didn’t want to remember.
A tingle ran down my spine. My body was reminded of his touch…
His thigh parting my legs, his hardness pressing against my heated core…
My heart ricocheted in my chest as I turned to find the man I couldn’t stand, my nemesis, leaning against the doorframe, a red apple in his hand. Our gazes met as he took a casual bite.
Why was he everywhere that I was? A constant, irritating shadow I couldn’t escape no matter how hard I tried.
Such an infuriating man.
“Adrian!” Giulia exclaimed. “What are you doing here? This is a private fitting.”
He completely ignored her, his eyes traveling over me with deliberate slowness. “I heard the bride was trying on her dress. Thought I’d come see what my dear brother was getting in exchange for this insane, political marriage and if she was worth it.”
Beatrice sighed, rubbing her temple. “That is rude, Adrian. I think you need to apologize to your sister-in-law.”
“She isn’t my sister-in-law yet.”
Giulia pointed toward the door. “Get out, mister.”
Adrian pushed off from the doorframe but made no move to leave.
Instead, he took another step into the room, walking in with that lazy, goading smirk of his.
His intimidating presence filled the space, almost suffocating.
“From what I’ve seen, I think she’s worth keeping,” he drawled, his teeth grazing his bottom lip as he grinned.
“Of course she is,” his sister interjected, looking irritated at Adrian’s words. “I love you, my brother but you’re being insulting to Serafina. She’s the perfect addition to our family.”
“And she’ll be the perfect wife.” He took another bite of his apple.
Giulia nodded. “Matteo is lucky to have her.”
“He sure is,” Adrian remarked, his grin widening. I wondered if I was the only one who heard the mocking in his voice. Or maybe I was just imagining it…
“Now if you’re done with your usual assholery, why don’t you leave so we can continue with this dress fitting?”
“You love my assholery, sister.”
Giulia rolled her eyes. “Not always.”
Adrian pointed to his chest. “I’m your favorite brother.”
“Gabriel is.”
“He’s your twin, your other half. That doesn’t count. But I’m your actual favorite, just admit it.”
Giulia let out a small laugh. “Whatever your big ego says. Now, get out.”
“You didn’t deny it.”
“We all know you’re each other’s favorite. Stop fishing for compliments, Adrian. You’re wasting our time,” Beatrice scolded but gently in her tone, interrupting the two siblings.
For a moment I forgot I was irritated at this man for interrupting my important dress fitting with his usual arrogance and rudeness.
I watched the three of them with quiet fascination. Around Giulia and Beatrice, Adrian shed the layers of coldness that were invisible—the sharp edges softened, the performance dropped, the arrogance was gone.
They pushed back at him easily, without hesitation, the way you only could with someone you were truly comfortable with.
They were the perfect image of childish foolery between siblings before the parent broke them apart.
It was different from what I’d observed between them and Matteo. With him, there was always a half-second pause before they spoke. They were more modest… more careful around Matteo. Less warmth, more reserved.
Adrian raised his hands up in mock surrender and took a step back. “I came here to see and I have seen.”
His eyes traveled down my body and back up again, unhurried, before finding my face. He dragged his tongue across the corner of his mouth and something shifted in my stomach.
He took another bite of his apple and then placed it down on the coffee table.
“You’re going to be leaving a lot of dead bodies in your path, Princess. I hope you don’t mind the sight of blood too much,” he drawled.
What—
But Adrian didn’t stay for my response or reaction.
He turned on his feet and walked out, closing the door behind him, leaving his words echoing in my ears.
What was that supposed to mean?
He did this every time. Swept in with trailing arrogance and cryptic warnings, then left before I could form a response—before I could decide whether I wanted to slap him or demand he explained himself. And every time, without fail, he left something behind. Some residue I couldn’t shake.
Defiance.
Shame.
Freedom.
Desire. The horrible, traitorous flutter of wanting.
And now… a half-eaten apple, with his teeth mark decorating it.
A deliberate reminder.
I wasn’t sure which bothered me more.
Him casually sauntering into my life like he owned it, or him casually leaving like I was easily discarded.