9 | Taking the trash out
One week later, the dress felt like a second skin, tight and elegant in a shade of red that screamed look at me. My ginger hair was slicked back into a severe bun, every strand perfectly in place.
I looked like someone powerful, someone untouchable, someone who knew exactly what she was doing.
I tugged at the hem as I stepped out of the restroom, my heels clicking against the polished floors of the rented restaurant because Luciano had rented this place for his business partners, we were having a small gathering to welcome me.
I didn't need a mirror to know I looked like the perfect image of Luciano Costa's wife, the untouchable queen to his empire. It didn't matter that I felt like I was playing dress-up in someone else's skin.
The room hushed the moment I entered. Conversations dimmed to murmurs, glasses paused mid-air, and a dozen sets of eyes turned toward me, unapologetically staring.
My steps faltered for half a second before I straightened my back and pushed forward, projecting confidence I didn't feel.
"She's the replacement for Ciara," someone whispered, their voice like nails dragging against my composure.
Replacement. The word echoed in my head, sharp and bitter.
I bit down on my lip hard enough to taste copper, swallowing down the urge to snap back.
I could take being stared at, judged, and compared, but bringing up my older sister made me want to flip the table and walk out. But I didn't. Instead, I plastered on a serene smile and headed toward my table, silently daring anyone to keep talking.
Until I saw him.
Marino Nash. My father.
He stood near the edge of the room, his hands clasped behind his back, his sharp suit immaculate, his face as composed as ever. But his eyes... they weren't like I remembered.
They held something foreign, grief, confusion, maybe even guilt? It was a bizarre look for a man who'd hated me my entire life.
I froze in place for a moment, the world narrowing to just him.
Memories surged unbidden, years of cruelty, neglect, and hatred flashing before me.
He'd tried to kill me once, for God's sake.
And now? Now he looked at me like he regretted it.
Like discovering I was his biological child changed everything.
Well, it didn't change a damn thing for me, even if he had divorced my mother.
I turned on my heel and marched straight to one of the guards stationed by the door. The man stood to attention as I approached, his expression blank but alert.
"That man," I said, pointing directly at Marino. "Get him out of here."
The guard blinked at me, uncertain. "Excuse me, Mrs. Costa?"
"I said, throw him out." My voice was cold, leaving no room for argument. "He has no business being here. I don't care if he's Luciano's lawyer, my father, or the Pope himself. Get. Him. Out."
The guard glanced toward Marino, then back at me, hesitating for only a moment before nodding. "Understood."
Marino's face twisted as he realized what was happening, but he didn't protest. He simply stood there, watching me with that infuriating mix of regret and sorrow.
As the guards escorted him out, I caught Chase's eyes across the room. My older brother looked torn, like he wanted to say something but didn't dare. And why would he? Luciano might have the final say in this world, but as his wife, I was untouchable. Chase couldn't do a damn thing about it.
I went and sat down at my table, smoothing my red dress as I picked up my glass of wine, pretending nothing had just happened.
"Everything okay?" Luciano's business partner asked, his tone careful, his eyes darting between me and the doorway where Marino had just disappeared.
"Perfectly fine," I said with a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Sometimes you just have to take out the trash."
And that was the last anyone said about it.