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Fat Tony’s son is getting married to Auntie Savia’s daughter and it’s a massive deal because it is the first time in years that mafia brats are choosing to marry each other instead of shacking up with Aussies and drifting away from theFamiglia.

I have been informed that not only will I be attending the big event, but Elio and I will be resuming our own pretend relationship and going together. We have barely spoken since our screaming match after his pool party, but it seems he has been given the same hard word I received and we are again being thrust together.

The only thing that sparks the excitement that had me dress shopping and getting my hair and makeup done is the thought of Giovanna’s reaction to seeing me all dolled up. After our night at GAYBAR over a week ago I have only seen her in passing.

She’s avoiding me, I think.

That brief time on the dancefloor and the way she touched me and looked at me, tell me that the avoidance isn’t about not wanting to be around me. I know she wants me now. It is about avoiding temptation.

I can still hear her deep voice next to my ear, giving me shivers, and feel her hand skimming my back. Seeing her crave me as I crave her has sustained me in the days since. Her approval was all I wanted once, but now it is her desire. I need her to yearn for me. I want to watch her suffer as I do.

Tonight, I am determined, desperate even, to get another hit of Giovanna’s attention. Even if she won’t touch me and even though we will be surrounded by family, I will burn for her in the hope I can set her alight.

My dress reaches right down to the floor. It is a deep emerald green corset that flows into looser satin folds with a side split that reaches my upper thigh. All silky satin, it is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn.

Elio is wearing a classic black suit without a tie and with his white dress shirt unbuttoned far enough to show off more than a sliver of his chest. It is simple, but as always he oozes sex appeal, style, and wealth.

With one last coat of shimmering body powder swept over the leg that is exposed by the deep slit in my dress and a slick of gloss applied over deep burgundy lipstick, I steel my spine and make my way downstairs.

My parents and the Marino family must be all gathered in the big living room. I’m fashionably late to the pre-drinks Peta organised and Massimo has already been sent up to see where I am three times.

My heels click against the polished stairs and I steady myself with a hand on the wall. My heart races in anticipation of Giovanna’s serious face frowning as she takes me in and tries to resist how I make her feel. I won’t let her avoid me tonight.

Elio appears at the bottom of the stairs and offers me his hand. He’s smiling, but I can see the tension behind his eyes. I give him a polite smile in return and allow him to lead me into the room.

“You look incredible,” He says in uncharacteristic seriousness and I, again, grant him a small smile. The way his gaze caresses me, showing clear appreciation for how I look, is no longer pleasantly validating. Now, it’s an irritant.

Any attraction I had for the guy is dead and buried. His behaviour has tarnished his good looks and rendered his charm impotent. No matter if he is on his best behaviour tonight, I will not be entertaining any attempts to get me into bed.

There’s a gasp from Peta and approving noises from my mother, and then my searching eyes find Giovanna. Just as I hoped, she drinks in my appearance thirstily and looks like she’s been sucker-punched. But, I only get a split second of satisfaction at the lust in her expression before my stomach bottoms out and reality whacks me in the face.

Giovanna and I are staring at each other, a live current surging between us, when a hand slides around her bicep, and Bex from the club last week appears at her side. A smug smile hangs on her face and the way she clutches at Giovanna makes it clear she is here as her date.

It’s my turn to be sucker-punched. All the air leaves the room and I can’t help but clutch at my lower stomach as if I truly have taken a blow. Giovanna sees it too. Her eyes zero in on where my hand presses, guilt flashing across her face.

I take a step backward, all of the confidence I basked in all day has been sucked away. At the same moment, Dad catches sight of me and his lip curls up in distaste. “Go and change, Francesca. You’re not wearing that,” he snarls.

My face falls. This could not be going any worse. I half expect someone to stumble into me and pour a drink over my beautiful dress or for one of the decorative candles in the dining room to set my hair on fire.

“You disrespect me and your fiance,” Dad nods towards Elio, “dressed like that. Everything hanging out.”

Elio opens his mouth to say something, but Mum jumps in for once, pleading, “Oh leave her alone, Paul. It’s just a bit of leg.”

The look I give my father is pure hatred. “I’ll wear whatever I want.”

“Well if you’re happy looking like a slapper,” he sneers and I’m struck again by how thoroughly Paul Rossi shows his displeasure at the existence of his children.

We barely have time to recover from the awkwardness of my father’s comments when fate delivers something worse than a ruined dress or burnt hair. The back door opens and we all turn to see Uncle David walk in as if he has every right to be here.

My eyes raise to the ceiling and I shut them briefly, wondering if I’m in my own version ofThe Truman Showand everyone around me are simply actors torturing me.

Tears well and rumbles of fury roll through my chest. I have a choice. I can cry and run back upstairs; refuse to go to the wedding. Or, I can unleash my anger and cause a scene.

“It’s funny you think I look like a whore in this, Dad. I was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt when your brother r-raped me.” The room goes silent and the silence gives me some strength back. God, I wish I hadn’t stuttered though.

David stops in his tracks on his way across the great room. Perhaps this is the first time he has ever heard the words that describe his vile actions spoken aloud. Maybe if someone had stopped and said the words it would have been more difficult to usher me out of the country and allow him to carry on as if nothing happened.

If looks could kill, Giovanna would slay him right here and now. Forget looks, given the opportunity she would kill him with her bare hands.