25 | It's about war and neither of us is willing to lose
The reflection staring back at me in the mirror is almost unrecognizable.
The red dress clings to my frame like a second skin, the deep neckline dipping just enough to tease but not to give away too much.
The fabric pools at my feet in waves of scarlet, luxurious and dramatic.
My hair, loose and cascading in soft waves, glows under the vanity lights like liquid fire.
My makeup is flawless, dark, smoky eyes, a whisper of highlighter on my cheekbones, and lips painted the same dangerous shade as my dress.
I look like the kind of woman who belongs to a man like Luciano.
Except I don't belong to anyone. Not because I'm my own person,but because no one would ever truly want me.
I may be pretty, but even beauty doesn't buy you love.
A knock at the door disrupts the silence. Three firm taps. A signature of his presence.
Luciano.
I exhale, steadying myself. He's early.
"Aurelia," his voice comes through the door, smooth and composed. "Everything is ready. The car is waiting."
I take one last glance in the mirror before I move towards the door. The silk dress slithers against my skin as I move, the slit revealing just a peek of my thigh with every step.
I don't rush. I take my time because I know he's waiting. And Luciano hates waiting.
The dark suit fits him perfectly, tailored to highlight the powerful build beneath.
The black-on-black ensemble only makes him look more dangerous, more untouchable.
His dark hair is slicked back, sharp jaw cleanly shaven, eyes piercing in a way that makes my stomach twist against my will. He looks good. Too fucking good.
His gaze travels over me, slow and deliberate, like he's committing every inch of me to memory. His lips part slightly, and for a brief moment, I see something flicker in his expression. Approval? Desire? Maybe both.
"You look..." He exhales, as if finding the right word is difficult. "Stunning."
I tilt my head, meeting his gaze with something unreadable of my own, but I don't thank him.
Luciano extends a hand, palm up, waiting for me to take it.
I don't.
Instead, I walk past him, my heels clicking against the floor, the scent of my perfume lingering between us like a phantom touch.
I can feel his eyes burning into my back, but I don't turn around.
────??────
The moment I step out of the car, the weight of a hundred stares falls on me like an iron chain.
The grand hotel is lit up in gold, chandeliers glistening from the high-arched windows, reflecting the wealth, power, and sin that lurks beneath its polished floors.
The entire underworld is here, underbosses, crime lords, Yakuza, Bratva, monsters dressed in tailored suits and designer gowns, whispering behind their champagne glasses. And all of them are looking at me.
Luciano's fingers close around mine, a silent warning. "Don't pull away from me," he murmurs under his breath, voice smooth yet edged with authority.
I roll my eyes but don't yank my hand back. Not because I want to obey him, but because I know better than to make a scene when I'm already under a microscope. If these people smell weakness, they'll sink their teeth in and tear me apart before I even step through the doors.
We enter the grand hotel, and as expected, the moment we do, the whispers rise like smoke curling through the air. I can feel their gazes burning into me, assessing, judging, waiting for me to crack. They wonder if I am merely a replacement, a ghost of the woman who should have been here.
My sister's name is probably on the tip of their tongues.
Luciano leads me up the grand staircase, his grip tightening slightly as we ascend. He turns to the gathered crowd, standing tall like a king addressing his court.
"Thank you all for coming tonight," his deep voice commands the room, and a hush falls over the guests.
"This evening is not only a celebration but a statement." He turns his dark eyes on me before facing the crowd again. "Aurelia is now my wife. She is Mrs. Costa. You will respect her. You will honor her."
There is a ripple through the room, an unspoken understanding passing between criminals and their wives. Some nod, some smirk, and some simply watch, eyes calculating.
Luciano glances at me, expecting me to say something. I keep my expression composed, tilting my chin slightly higher.
"I'm grateful for your presence tonight," I say, my voice steady, betraying nothing. "I look forward to getting to know all of you."
Polite applause follows, and then we descend the stairs. Almost immediately, Luciano is swarmed by men eager to discuss business, shake hands, make deals.
I take the opportunity to slip away, but not far enough to cause a scene.
A group of well-dressed women approach me, wives, mistresses, daughters of powerful men. Their smiles are razor-sharp.
"So, how do you feel about your new position?" one of them asks, sipping from her flute of champagne, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.
I smile back just as sharply. "I like being by Luciano's side," I answer smoothly, though the lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
Another woman, blonde and dripping in diamonds, tilts her head. "It must be strange, stepping into your sister's shoes."
I don't blink, don't let them see the flicker of annoyance that stirs inside me. This is a test. They want a reaction, want to see if I'll flinch. I won't give them the satisfaction.
I arch a brow. "I'm simply doing my duty for the famiglia. Nothing more."
The blonde snickers, exchanging glances with the others, but they say nothing. They were hoping for a crack in my armor. Too bad for them.
I spot Franco across the room, standing near the bar, and take my chance to leave. I weave through the crowd, keeping my posture elegant, my expression unreadable, until I reach him.
"Kill me," I mutter as I lean against the bar beside him.
Franco smirks, swirling the dark liquor in his glass. "That bad?"
"It's hell." I sigh, rubbing my temples. "The stares, the whispers, the fake smiles." I glance back at the group of women, who are still watching me like vultures circling a carcass. "They were practically waiting for me to cry."
Franco chuckles, low and knowing. "Welcome to their world. They smell blood like sharks."
"I know." I exhale slowly. "But I won't let them win."
He lifts his glass. "That's the spirit."
Just then, I feel it, a presence behind me. The air shifts, a new tension settling in. I don't need to turn around to know who it is.
Luciano's hand rests lightly on my waist, but there's nothing gentle about it. "What are you two talking about?"
"Just catching up," Franco replies easily, taking a sip of his drink, but his gaze flickers between me and Luciano.
Luciano doesn't look at him. His eyes are on me, dark and searching. "Dance with me."
It's not a request.
I don't argue, letting him guide me onto the dance floor as the music shifts into something slow and sensual. He pulls me close, one hand on my lower back, the other gripping my fingers in a firm hold.
"You didn't have to make a scene tonight," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.
"I didn't." I tilt my head slightly, meeting his gaze. "I played my part as your wife."
His lips curve into something that's not quite a smile. "Barely."
I huff a soft laugh. "What, did you expect me to fawn over you?"
He leans in, his lips grazing my temple, an act of intimacy that's nothing but a performance for the crowd watching us. "I expect you to act like you belong here."
I stare at him, my pulse steady despite the way he holds me. "I do belong here, " I say, and I mean it. "More than they think I do."
Luciano watches me for a moment, then smirks. "Good."
We continue to dance, moving in slow steps, a war waging beneath the elegance, beneath the whispers and the stares.
Luciano's grip on my waist is firm, possessive.
"I forgot to tell you something," I say, my voice calm, though inside, my heart pounds against my ribs.
Luciano doesn't react right away. His dark eyes remain locked on mine, searching, always calculating.
"About what?" he asks smoothly, his hand pressing a fraction tighter against my waist, his fingers burning even through the expensive fabric of my gown.
My gaze flickers past his shoulder, settling on Franco, who stands alone by the bar, nursing a drink, before I look back at Luciano.
"I want Franco as my personal bodyguard."
His grip tightens so slight, so controlled, that no one else would notice. But I feel it. I feel the way his entire body tenses, the way his jaw hardens as if he's forcing himself not to react. A muscle ticks in his cheek, but he keeps his face smooth, his expression neutral.
He didn't like my announcement.
"Why him?" Luciano asks, voice low but sharp, like a blade pressed against my skin.
I tilt my head slightly, letting my lips curve into a ghost of a smile. "Why not?"
His eyes darken, but I don't stop.
"He's the only one I trust," I say, my voice quiet but unwavering. The truth sits heavy on my tongue, bitter but undeniable. "He's the only one who ever chose me for once..."
I whisper the last part, barely audible beneath the slow hum of the music. But he hears it. I know he does.
Luciano keeps his composure, but I can feel the shift in him, the way his fingers flex against me, the way his breathing slows just a fraction.
Around us, the room is watching, waiting, their curiosity palpable.
They want a show. They want a crack in the perfect, composed image of Mr. and Mrs. Costa.
Luciano doesn't give them one. Instead, he smiles, it's sharp, cold, dangerous.
"What are you talking about?" he questions, his voice surprisingly smooth.
I lean in slightly, just enough that only he can hear me. "Franco is the only man who has rejected my sister."
Luciano stills. Just for a second.
But I feel it.
A fracture in his control.
His fingers twitch against my waist. He's furious. Not just because I made this decision without him, but because I brought her into this. Because I reminded him that I will always be compared to her.
Luciano forces out a quiet chuckle, though there's no humor in it. "That's why you want him? Because he didn't want her?"
I shrug, feigning indifference. "Yes."
His jaw clenches.
I know what he's thinking. He doesn't like that I've chosen Franco. He doesn't like that Franco is the one person in this world I feel safe with.
But most of all? He doesn't like that my sister's shadow still lingers between us.
Luciano tightens his grip on me, guiding me through the slow rhythm of the dance.
The night looms around us, thick with unspoken words. The music pulses, but this dance isn't a celebration.
It's about war and neither of us is willing to lose.