Page 23 of Wicked Bloodlines

We reached the boutique in the old district several minutes later, a narrow storefront wedged between a jeweler and a bespoke tailor. The window display had already shifted for Halloween. Black mannequins draped in gauzy fabric, white pumpkins, branches of dried leaves arranged in artful disarray.

The boutique smelled of lavender and expensive fabric. The owner, a slender woman with silver hair and measuring tape around her neck, greeted us warmly. She led us to the back room where my dress hung on a padded hanger, the ivory silk catching the light from the crystal chandelier overhead.

“It’s beautiful,” Belle said, and she meant it. I could hear the genuine warmth in her voice.

I stepped behind the privacy screen and undressed. The owner helped me into the gown. The silk settled against my skin, cool and heavy. I turned to face the three-way mirror and for a moment, I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me. The dress was cut low across the collarbones, the bodice fitted to my waist before flaring into a skirt that pooled at my feet. Simple. Elegant. Nothing like the ornate confections my father would have chosen.

“You’ve lost weight,” the owner said, her fingers pinning the waistline. “Or maybe the first measurement was off? Just a fraction. Nothing we can’t adjust.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Belle’s reflection appeared behind me in the mirror. She met my eyes and didn’t look away.

“It gets easier,” she said quietly. “The sleeping. Once you figure out which corners of the house are yours, and you find your way with Matteo. They’re not bad men. And they would never hurt you.”

I gave her a small, tight smile. “My experience growing up hasn’t led me to the same conclusion, Belle. Cesare is… complicated.”

“Did he hurt you?” Belle spoke in a hushed tone.

“He didn’t need to,” I replied. “Fear works better than pain in most cases.”

The owner finished her adjustments and stepped away, murmuring about tea as she disappeared through the curtain. Belle settled onto the velvet settee, her knees drawn up beneath her.

The alterations box sat open on the low table beside Belle. Inside, scraps of ivory silk, a spool of thread, a handful of pins stuck through a small cushion, along with beads and gems other decorative additions she might need. Before the seamstress returned Belle handed a gilded wooden box to me.

“I have something for you,” she explained. “I wasn’t certain you’d want it, but I think this would be a perfect addition.”

I lifted the lid. The tray inside held a single hair ornament. The pearl comb had gold pins with tiny diamond accents. Dark wood carved into the shape of a rose adorned the ornate and heavy piece. The stem of the rose served as the back of the hair clip, but I knew the second I touched it, the piece was more than a hair decoration. The weight was wrong. Too heavy for its size. The stem wasn’t solid wood. It was hollow, and inside it held a thin blade with the rose being its hilt.

Belle’s gaze met and held mine. Then she leaned forward, removing the hairpiece with casual confidence, and placing it into the alterations box. “Sometimes it helps to be able to take care of yourself. Matteo is many things, I know he’d never physically hurt you, Sofia.” She nodded to the hair comb. “If I’m wrong, you have the means to defend yourself,” she said, matter-of-factly.

Belle stood, brushing her hands down her dress as she smiled. “We should go. Dario doesn’t like me away from him long, and I’m sure Matteo is anxious for you to return home.”

We thanked the seamstress before leaving. Belle made sure the hair comb in the ornate box would be with the dress ready for my dressing the day of the wedding.

We left the boutique twenty minutes later, the alterations box tucked under Belle’s arm. The morning had warmed, October sunlight cutting through the buildings in narrow bands. Our driver held the car door open as we approached. I was halfway across the sidewalk when I spotted someone… off. I looked around the opposite side of the street casually, as if admiring the storefronts and my gaze caught on a man standing in the shadow of an awning, his face half-hidden beneath a dark cap. His attention wasn’t on the shop windows or passing traffic. It was fixed directly on me.

“Belle,” I said quietly, taking her arm and steering her toward the waiting car. “Across the street,” I said, my voice low enough that only Belle could hear it. “At the awning. Is that one of Dario’s men?”

Belle didn’t turn her head. She lifted her phone to her ear, pretending to check a message. “Dark coat?” I should have known the other woman would have spotted something suspicious. We lived in the kind of world where being aware of one’s surroundings could mean life or death.

“Yes.”

She tapped her screen twice. Behind us, the car doors opened. Our driver stepped out, casual, adjusting his sunglasses. Two more men appeared from the alley beside the jeweler’s. They moved with purpose, crossing the street at an angle that would intercept anyone leaving the awning’s shadow.

The figure stepped back into the shadows, an eerie specter haunting my sanity. Not to mention my life. It made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. I took a shaky breath, knowing the man in the shadows likely meant Cesare’s men were learning our patterns and doing their best to get leverage on Matteo or Dario for whatever battle Cesare had planned to come.

“Get in,” Belle said, her voice still light. She opened the car door and slid inside. The driver closed the door and moved around to the front.

Through the tinted window, I watched the Luca men converge on the empty awning. One pulled out a phone. The other scanned the street in both directions. Their frustration was visible even from inside the car.

The engine started and the car pulled away from the curb, smooth and silent. Belle settled back against the leather, her gaze on the passing storefronts.

“That happens sometimes,” she said. “People get curious about the new fiancée.”

I nodded, knowing she was just as likely to be right as I was, but didn’t think so. Whoever watched us before had their focus squarely on me. A feeling of foreboding made me shiver.

The drive back to Villa Luca took twenty minutes. Our suite was quiet when I closed the door behind me. Afternoon light slanted through the tall windows, painting warm rectangles across the marble floor. I set the box with the hair comb on the writing desk and crossed to the wardrobe.