Page 15

I felt nervous as we drove toward an expedition I wanted no part in. But, it was something I had to do to prove Gastone’s innocence and win my escape, and so I sucked it up.

Tonight, Gio said we had to go to a party where my brothers would be visiting.

I would finally have the chance to see them, to speak to them, and to help them understand that they were being blamed for something they had never done, as well as to obtain the evidence I needed to prove their innocence.

On one hand, I knew how relieved my brothers would be to see me safe. On the other, I couldn’t bear to think of their agony when they saw me leave to go back with Gio. I was his prisoner in every sense, unless I could prove Gastone innocent.

Gio insisted I needed a new dress for the party tonight. If shopping for a dress was what it took to convince Gio I meant what I said about holding up my end of the bargain, then so be it. Though, I wasn’t prepared to accept my fate without giving him hell.

If I suffered, why shouldn’t he?

“I don't see why this is necessary,” I said, staring out the window of the car. The buildings of New York blurred past.

Gio turned to me. “The party is very important. You need something appropriate to wear.”

“I have dresses.”

“Not for this.”

“My brothers must be worried sick looking all over the place for me, and you're concerned about my wardrobe?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Forgive me if I'm not excited about playing dress-up.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. For some reason, I sensed that he enjoyed my little tantrums. “Your cooperation will significantly help your brothers’ situation.”

I bit back the curse words that threatened to spill from my lips.

“Fine,” I muttered.

The car pulled up to an understated boutique storefront, with only a small golden plaque beside the door. It looked fancy. Expensive.

Gio helped me out of the car and led me inside.

I noticed the boutique was empty of other customers. A woman with sleek dark hair approached and nodded respectfully to Gio. “We've pulled several options, as you requested in advance,” she said to Gio.

“Miss,” she then turned to me and motioned to a door at the back. “If you’d follow me to the dressing room, please.”

I glanced at Gio, who nodded at me to carry on. Clearly, he'd planned this in advance.

The dressing room was huge, with plush velvet chairs, champagne on ice, and an array of dresses already hanging on a rack. I felt petrified to even imagine the cost of some of these dresses. Just how much was Gio willing to drop on a single dress?

“I'll leave you to browse,” the woman said kindly. “Call if you need assistance.”

When she left, I stared at the selection only to feel overwhelmed by the choice. I rarely shopped at such places, especially not for formal events, since my brothers never took me anywhere.

I touched the fabric of a midnight blue gown, then quickly pulled my hand away when I heard movement.

Gio walked into the room, looking completely at ease. He'd removed his suit jacket, and his crisp white shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. And right about now, he looked annoyingly attractive.

“All okay?” he asked, probably noticing the flustered expression on my face.

“I didn't realize you'd be joining me in the dressing room,” I said dryly. “How progressive of you.”

He chuckled, the sound surprisingly warm. “I thought I’d check in to see if you needed any help.”

I hated that he'd noticed how unsure I’d seemed when we’d walked into the store. “I'm fine.”

“What do you like?” he asked, ignoring me entirely, moving to the rack and fingering through the options. “Colors, styles, fabrics?”

I shrugged, trying to appear indifferent rather than clueless. “I don't know. Something that fits, I guess.”

His eyes met mine, and I had the uncomfortable feeling he saw through my act. “You've never chosen your own dress for an event like this, have you?”

Heat crept up my neck. “Is that a crime?”

“No.” He pulled out a deep burgundy dress with a sweetheart neckline. “What about this one? The color would look good on you.”

I blinked, surprised by his taste. “Since when do Bratva thugs know about complementary colors?”

A ghost of a smile played at his lips. “Since this particular thug invested in several fashion houses ten years ago.” He held the dress against me, his eyes critical but not unkind.

“I’m half-Italian, Larissa. Fashion is a lucrative industry and I invested in a few clothing lines started by people within the Mafia. ”

“Is that why you dress like you've stepped out of a men's magazine?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.

He actually smiled then, a genuine expression that transformed his face from merely handsome to devastating. “Partly. Though I've always appreciated quality.”

I took the burgundy dress from his hands, our fingers brushing briefly. A jolt went through me that I immediately tried to suppress.

“Try it,” he said, stepping back. “Along with anything else that catches your eye.”

I retreated to the changing area, drawing the curtain tightly between us. As I slipped off my clothes, I couldn't help but smile at the thought of Giovanni Lebedev sitting in the front row of a fashion show. He never ceased to surprise me.

The burgundy dress fit well but felt too mature for my taste. When I emerged, Gio's expression confirmed my thoughts.

“No,” he said simply.

“No?” I raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were letting me choose.”

“I am. But that one doesn't suit you.”

“Maybe I like it.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Do you?”

I held his gaze for a moment before sighing. “No. It makes me look like I'm playing dress-up in my mother's clothes.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Try the green one.”

The green dress was better—an emerald color that made my eyes look more green than blue. It had a slit up the side that was daring without being scandalous.

When I stepped out, Gio was pouring two glasses of champagne. He handed me one, his eyes sweeping over me in a way that made my skin warm.

“Better,” he said. “But still not right.”

I took a sip of champagne, the bubbles sharp on my tongue. “What exactly am I dressing for? You never specified.”

“A charity gala.”

“And I'm attending as...?”

“My guest.”

I nearly choked on my champagne. “Your date? That wasn't part of our agreement.”

“Not my date.” His voice was patient, as if he were explaining something to a child. “My guest. There's a difference.”

“Not to anyone who'll be there.” I crossed my arms, aware of how the gesture pushed up my cleavage in the dress.

Gio's eyes didn't waver from my face, which somehow made me more self-conscious than if he'd looked. It was almost as though he was forcing himself to keep his eyes on mine, as though he couldn’t bear to hold himself back if he swept over my body.

“I agreed to cooperate, not to parade around as arm candy.”

“You'll be attending in an observer capacity,” he said. “Apart from your brothers’ presence, several people who might have information about your brother's situation will be there.”

That got my attention. “What kind of information?”

“The kind that might help clear his name, if he's innocent as you claim.”

I bit my lip, considering. If there was even a chance to help Gastone, I had to take it. “Fine. But I'm not wearing this dress.”

“Try the black one,” he suggested, gesturing to a sleek gown with subtle beading. “And the silver.”

For the next hour, I tried on dress after dress, emerging each time to Gio's thoughtful consideration. To my surprise, he never dictated what I should wear, only offered suggestions and asked what I thought. It was... almost fun.

“What about this one?” I asked, holding up a dress with an explosion of ruffles and bright pink sequins.

His expression was so horrified I laughed out loud. “You can't be serious.”

“What's wrong with a little pizzazz?” I twirled the monstrosity.

“That's not pizzazz, it's a visual assault.”

“Maybe I like making an entrance.”

He took the dress from my hands, his fingers brushing mine, and that simple innocent gesture sent a wave of sparks shooting up my arm. “There are better ways to be memorable.”

The intensity in his eyes made me swallow hard. “Like what?”

“Like this.” He reached behind me and pulled out a dress I hadn't noticed before. It was a deep midnight blue, almost black, with small crystals scattered across it like stars.

I took it hesitantly. “It's beautiful.”

“Try it,” he said, his voice lower than before.

Behind the curtain, I slipped into the dress, immediately aware that it was different from the others.

The fabric felt like water against my skin, cool and fluid.

It hugged my curves in a way that was both modest and sensual.

The neckline dipped just enough to hint at cleavage without revealing too much, and the back was open to my mid-spine.

When I stepped out, Gio was standing with his back to me, looking at his phone. He turned, and the change in his expression was immediate. Something darkened in his eyes, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.

“Well?” I finally asked, my voice coming out huskier than I intended.

He set his phone down and walked toward me slowly and deliberately. I resisted the urge to step back.

“Turn around,” he said.

I complied, feeling oddly vulnerable with my back exposed to him. In the mirror, I watched him approach, his expression intent. He stopped just behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat from his body.

“It's too loose here,” he said, his hands coming to rest lightly on my waist. I froze at his touch, not wanting to move away, needing him close. My breath hitched in my throat as his fingers pinched the fabric at my sides. “And here.”

I couldn't speak. His hands were large against my waist, his fingers sure as they showed where the dress needed adjusting. In the mirror, I couldn’t help but think we made a striking pair.

“A simple alteration,” he continued, his voice steady even as his eyes met mine in the mirror. “It should fit you like a second skin.”

I could feel my heart pounding and wondered if he could sense it too through the thin fabric.

I gulped with nervous energy and nodded as his gaze met mine in the mirror.

The way he looked at me then, as if I were the most beautiful woman in the world, made my heart race so hard I thought my ribs would break.

His fingers tightened fractionally on my waist, and for a moment, I thought he might pull me back against him. I wished he would. Instead, he adjusted the fabric once more, professionally, before stepping away.

The loss of his heat behind me left me feeling strangely bereft. I turned to face him, searching his face for some sign of the tension I'd felt between us. He stared down at me, and for the briefest moment, his eyes wandered to my lips.

I stepped forward and he whispered. “We’ll take this one then,” before turning away from me, breaking the moment.

I hadn’t even realized the store assistant had walked up to us. Disappointed, I hid it by giving her a smile and nodding in agreement.