Chapter 3

Mother pulled at the outfit that Father had picked out for the event. For what Gianna referred to as the meat show. But no matter how hard Mother pulled, the dress didn't lengthen. I cast a doubtful glance in the mirror at myself.

I had never worn anything so exposed. The top of the black dress, which clung to my butt, waist, and upper thighs, was a glittering golden bustier with black tulle straps. "Mother, I can't wear that."

In the mirror, Mother caught my eye. Her hair was pulled back and put up; it was little darker than mine. She was dressed elegantly in a floor-length gown. I hoped I could do anything that simple. She hushed, "You look like a woman." 

I shuddered. "I appear to be a hooker."

"Hookers can't afford such a dress."

Father's mistress owned clothing that was more expensive than other people's monthly car payment. My mother grabbed my waist with her hands. "Your legs look incredibly long in the dress, and you have a wasp waist. I have no doubt that Damon will value it."

I fixed my gaze on my cleavage. Even the bustier's push-up effect couldn't make up for my tiny breasts. I was fifteen years old and had on a woman's outfit. 

“Here.” Mom gave me a pair of five-inch black heels.When I wore them, I might have reached Damon's chin. I entered them quietly. My mother combed down my long hair while forcing a phony grin onto her face. Keep your head held high. You were referred to as Chicago's most attractive woman by Fiore Cavallaro.

Demonstrate to Damon and his crew that you are also more attractive than all the women in New York. After all, practically everyone is familiar to Damon. I could tell by the way she stated it that she had read the news stories about Damon's victories as well, or perhaps Father had told her something. 

I cautiously murmured, "Mother," but she shrugged.

"Now go. This is your day, but I'll come after you. You should enter the space by yourself. The men are going to wait. We'll all gather in the dining room for dinner after your father introduces you to Damon. She had already repeated this to me numerous times. 

I briefly considered taking her hand and pleading with her to come with me, but instead I turned and left my room. I was relieved that I had been required to wear heels for the past few weeks by my mother. My heart was pounding in my throat as I approached the fireplace lounge entrance on the first floor of the west wing. Gianna was supposed to be by my side, but Mother was probably telling her to be good right now. I was left to handle this on my own. Nobody was meant to overshadow the upcoming bride. 

I debated leaving as I glanced at the door's black wood. My father and the Boss could both be heard laughing behind it. I was expected to enter the room, which included some of the most ruthless and deadly men in the nation. A wolf pack and a lamb alone. I gave a headshake. I have to quit thinking that way. I already kept them waiting too long. 

I pressed down while holding the handle. I quietly entered, closing the door behind me without looking at anyone. I mustered the guts to face the group. The discussion ended. Was it expected of me to speak up? I shuddered, hoping they wouldn't notice. My dad had the same appearance as the cream-cat. Damon caught my attention, and his unblinking gaze caused me to go immobile. I stopped breathing. With a loud clank, he set down a glass filled with a murky liquid. I would leave the room if no one spoke up soon. I swiftly looked at the assembled men's expressions. They came from New York, together with two bodyguards, Cesare and a young man I didn't know, and Matteo, Damon, and Salvatore Vitiello. My father, Fiore Cavallaro, and his son, the future leader Dante Cavallaro, as well as Umberto and my cousin Raffaele, whom I despised with a hatred equal to a thousand suns, were all members of the Chicago Outfit. Poor Fabiano was standing to the side and was forced to wear a black suit like everyone else. I could see that he was tempted to go to me for comfort, but he was aware of what Father would say about that. 

When Father finally approached, he placed his hand on my back and led me toward the assembled guys like a lamb being carried to the slaughter. Dante Cavallaro was the lone individual who appeared to be utterly bored; he was just interested in his Scotch. Two months prior, our family had attended his wife's funeral. a 30-year-old widower. If he hadn't terrified me so badly—almost as much as Damon did—I would have felt sorry for him. 

Naturally, Father directed me in the direction of my future husband while posing a hard question as if he were anticipating Damon to break down in amazement. Damon looked as though he were gazing at a rock based on his demeanor. His harsh, stone-like gray eyes were fixed on my father. 

"Freya, my daughter, is here." 

Evidently, Damon hadn't brought up our awkward incident. Fiore Cavallaro made a comment.

"I didn't make too many promises, did I?" 

I wished I could be swallowed completely by the earth. Never before had I been the subject of so much...attention.

Raffaele's gaze onto me made my skin crawl. He turned eighteen two weeks ago and had only recently been initiated. He had become much more annoying since then. 

"You didn't," Damon merely replied. 

Father appeared to be annoyed. Fabiano sneaked up behind me and put his hand in mine without anyone seeing. Damon had apparently noticed and was now fixating on my brother, which brought his gaze dangerously close to my bare thighs. I shifted uneasily, and Damon turned his head away. 

"Perhaps the prospective bride and husband would like some time alone?" Salvatore Vitiello made an argument. My eyes jumped in his direction, and I was unable to quickly conceal my disbelief. Although Damon was aware, he didn't appear to care.

After grinning, my father turned to leave. I found it hard to believe. 

"Should I stay?" Umberto enquired.

I grinned at him briefly, but it quickly faded when my father shook his head.

"Give them some time to themselves"  he commanded. Salvatore Vitiello genuinely gave Damon a wink. They all left one by one until Damon, Fabiano, and I were the only ones left. 

The stern voice of my father said, "Fabiano." Get out of there immediately.

Fabiano reluctantly released my hand before departing, but not before giving Damon the most lethal look a five-year-old was capable of. Damon twitched his lips. The door then shut, leaving only the two of us. Why did Damon's father wink at him? 

I looked up to see Damon. I was correct; wearing heels, the top of my head touched his chin. He turned to face the window. He gave me not a single glance. I tried to make Damon like me more by dressing like a hooker, but he wasn't interested. why? In New York, I had seen the women he dated. The bustier would have looked better filled out. 

"Did you pick the outfit?"

I leapt in surprise as I heard him speak. He spoke with a calm, deep voice. Had he ever been anything else? "No," I answered. "My father did."

Damon wiggled his jaw. Being unable to read him was giving me great anxiety. For a ridiculously brief moment, when he reached inside his jacket, I honestly believed he was drawing a pistol on me. Instead, he was holding a dark box. He turned to face me, and I fixed my attention on the black shirt he was wearing. Black jacket, black tie, and black shirt. Dark, just like his soul. 

Millions of women had dreamed of this moment, but when Damon opened the box, I felt chilly. A white gold ring with a large diamond in the middle and two slightly smaller diamonds on either side was inside. I didn't budge. 

When the awkwardness between us peaked, Damon extended his hand. My face flushed, and I put out my hand. When his skin touched mine, I winced. He freed me after placing the engagement ring on my finger. 

I was compelled to say, "Thank you," and even to glance up into his face, which was expressionless but his eyes were anything but. 

They appeared enraged.

Had I erred in any way? I extended my arm and joined his, allowing him to lead me from the lounge to the dining room. We remained silent.

Perhaps Damon was so unhappy with me that he decided to call off the plans? But if that were the case, he wouldn't have put the ring on my finger.

The women in my family had joined the males when we entered the dining room. No female company had been brought by the Vitiellos. Perhaps as a result of their lack of confidence in my Father and the Cavallaros to risk inviting women into our home. 

I couldn't hold them responsible. Both my father and the boss are people I wouldn't trust. I soon joined my mother, sisters, and Damon as they pretended to admire my ring as Damon let go of my arm.

Gianna looked at me. I was unaware of the intimidation my mother had used to compel her to remain silent. I could see Gianna was just about to utter something caustic. She rolled her eyes at me as I shook my head. Dinner passed quickly. We women kept silent as the guys talked business. My gaze kept straying over to the ring that was on my finger. It was excessively weighty, constricted, and overwhelming.

I had been marked as Damon's property.