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DANGER my family, the cook, my guards, and even the maids. I quickly came to the conclusion, from all of their tight-lipped replies, that either they know very little of Matteo Carroza, or they don’t want to tell me what they do.

He was pleasant enough at brunch, and it’s my only hope that he’s nice, because my father has decided; I will marry Matteo, and it won’t matter whether or not I want to. In the Mafia, marriage is for life. Divorce will not be an option.

Perhaps I can coax some more details out of the man himself tonight. Maybe I won’t have to run away after all. He was nice enough the other day. Sure, he was preoccupied with talking with my father, but it’s hardly enough information to decide whether or not to marry the guy. But we are grasping at straws here.

That was until he sent the dress… A sense of fashion? Check no on that one.

I stare at the dress laid out on the bed. It’s gold. And not in a shimmery, pretty, polished-gold way. It’s gold in a gaudy, tacky, look-at-me kind of way. Short too… Almost indecently so, seeing as we’re attending a formal black-tie event where I’m to be paraded about in front of the Bratva and other made men. Our engagement will be formally announced. Why would Matteo want me to wear this?

I chew my lip and glance toward my closet, at the dress I’d originally planned to wear tonight. The red color makes it a little ostentatious for my taste, but I couldn’t help but fall in love with it the other day when Elle forced me to try it on. The material is soft satin, with a structured bodice that dips down into a deep V, held up by thin straps before tightening at the waist and flaring out at the hips. It’s elegant, sophisticated, and, most definitely, the dress I’m wearing tonight.

My mind made up, I stride across the room, pulling out the dress before I can talk myself out of it. Matteo won’t care.He’s a man. He probably won’t even notice,I even pair it with gold, strappy heels and dainty gold teardrop earrings for my fiancé’s benefit.

Pulling my long hair half back, I leave a few curled tendrils out to frame my face. I keep my make-up light, with only a little mascara, a brush of blush, and soft pink lips.

I smooth the skirt of my dress and take a few steadying breaths before braving the foyer.

Taking my time, I descend the staircase, hoping Matteo’s only just arrived and I’m not running late.But when I reach the midpoint landing of the stairway, I freeze.

Because it’s not Matteo Carroza standing at the bottom of the steps below…

It’s Aidan O’Rourke.