Page 13 of Married to the Ruthless Mafia Heir

"Oh my God." The artist blinked. "Your chest is too big. This dress doesn't fit."

Embarrassed, I forced a calm smile. "I can fix it. Give me a minute. I'll be right out."

Once they left, I stripped off the gown, grabbed scissors and thread from my drawer, and got to work. I'd done this a hundred times before. I unpicked the seams at the bust, let out the fabric, and stitched it back together.

This time, it fit perfectly. I stared at myself in the mirror—polished, beautiful, the red satin clinging to every curve. I'd never seen myself like this. It felt surreal.

Lucia and the artist came back in. They looked surprised to see the zipper done up.

When the artist's eyes landed on my chest, she whistled. "Damn—"

My breasts were full, and the strapless gown left little to the imagination. I flushed, covering myself with my hands, trying to tug the dress higher.

"You look gorgeous. Don't hide it," the artist said with a grin.

But I still felt exposed. I spotted pins on the table and had an idea. I pulled every flower from the vase and pinned them in a ring around my chest. The blooms covered just enough. I felt better.

The artist clapped. "You're the most resourceful girl I've ever dressed."

Time slipped by. Lucia checked her watch. "The party's starting soon. Salvador and Dante should be there. You should head down."

I was nervous. But there was no turning back now.

Face it, Elena. Whatever's coming—storm or flood—this is the price you pay for your choices.

The walk to the ballroom felt endless. I'd worked parties here before, always in the corner, carrying trays, cleaning up. Tonight, I'd step into the light.

But I had no one by my side.

Before I could push the door open, a hand grabbed my arm and yanked me backward. I stumbled, barely keeping mybalance, and turned to see Dante glaring down at me, fury blazing in his eyes.

"Elena. So you've made your choice."

His gaze swept over me—like I was an ugly duckling pretending to be a swan. He sneered. "I thought Salvador forced you into this. But clearly, you're thrilled to be the Moretti family's lady. All that wealth. All that power."

No. That's not it.

I tried to explain, but the contract was like a curse—sealing my mouth shut.

Dante looked at me with pure disgust. "You make me sick."

Every word drove a knife into my chest.

"It's not like that..." I whispered, my head down, tears threatening to spill.

"Don't bother." Dante's laugh was cold. "You're good at playing the victim. That first day—pretending to be so fragile, trying to win my sympathy. But it won't work. Salvador chose you. I didn't."

He let me go and walked into the ballroom.

I stood there alone, like a wilted rose no one wanted.

The ballroom was already crowded. I slipped inside and found a corner to hide in. Eyes followed me—curious, assessing. I was too hurt to care.

The atmosphere suffocated me. Dante stood by a table across the room, never once looking my way. He was the tallest person there, hair immaculate, suit perfectly tailored. He looked refined, composed.

So kind to everyone else. So cruel to me. The ache in my chest wouldn't stop.

A server approached with a tray holding two drinks. One was handed to Dante. The other was brought straight to me. I took it, confused, and sipped. It wasn't champagne. Something custom.