Alessia's POV
Looking in the mirror, I couldn't help but smile. Lena had outdone herself.
Usually, like most Mafia daughters, my dinner outfits were classy, demure and comfortable. But, my father made sure not a sliver of my skin was exposed. And knowing how the underworld worked, I obeyed.
Any assaults that happened to the daughters of dons or capos were blamed on what they wore. Hilarious.
And I could always take care of myself, but I didn't want to piss off Dad.
However, this was a family dinner planned without my knowledge, and this time I wanted something different.
Lena had quirked an eyebrow when I told her my plan for tonight. Not that it was odd, just a little overdone for the intimate setting.
Unfortunately, I'm well known for being extra.
I turned to Lena in the mirror "What do you think? Do I look like a quarter-life crisis waiting to happen?"
She shook her head, stifling a small chuckle.
"You're hilarious," she signed back.
Someone knocked. Three times and a pause, then another three.
It was Carl.
Lena headed to get the door.
"Heard he was mean in the study. Do I let him in?" She signed with her fingers.
I smiled. "Let him in." I signed back.
And just like a parrot, that dumbass entered the room mouth-first.
"I come in peace to pass a message from the King of the house. He said if he doesn't see you downstairs in the next minute he would—"
Carl's jaw dropped when I stood and turned to him.
"So…what do you think?"
He didn't say a word. Instead, he took a few steps back into the hall and yelled, "Dad!"
Lena and I exchanged glances and burst into laughter.
"A whole man at sixteen," she signed, "And he can't keep his mouth shut."
I laughed and shook my head. "Men."
She gave me a once over and signed, "Will you be okay, seeing him again?"
I forced a laugh. "We'll see."
I headed for the door and left, feeling a bit down.
Lena was one of the reasons I had come to dislike men who felt like they owned the world.
As a kid, her tongue had been cut off by her stepdad, who was the second of a rival Mafia Don, all because she didn't let him touch her.
Dad had infiltrated their camp for some business reasons he refused to tell me. When he found her, furious, he wiped them out and brought her home.
She became a part of the family since then, and we all had to learn sign language to communicate with her.
I was used to it, but I couldn't imagine the horror of losing my tongue.
I mean, how could I go a day without cussing people out? Or how would I make those betrayers wet their selves?
Though my eyes and hands could do the trick, my words flavoured the meal.
As I neared the dining room, I pushed away those thoughts.
I slowed my pace at the sound of voices floating down the hall—cheerful, polite, and annoyingly fake.
"…the Kwon Interiors merger? He handled that splendidly." A woman's high-pitched tone carried through the slightly open door. "And you know how cut-throat the guys on the antiques market can be."
That must be his stepmother, Eloise.
"Oh, that's wonderful," Dad's deep voice rumbled in reply, pride lacing his tone. "The boy's got grit. Just like his father."
I rolled my eyes. Of course, he did. Adrian Knight, the golden boy of the century.
Eloise chimed in, "And his composure! Even in the middle of a crisis, he never loses his calm. Such restraint for someone so young."
Restraint, my ass. I had seen that same boy nearly cry when I kicked him in the shin for stealing my lollipop all those years ago.
Could they please stop it with the Adrian worship?
I was starting to get a little nauseous.
Before I could roll my eyes again, another woman spoke up, more composed, "Well, Luca has really stepped up since Alessandro left for Sicily."
Mom.
Well, I wasn't surprised. He was her favorite.
The room fell into an awkward silence and I forced a smile onto my face.
I guess it was time to make an entrance.
Without warning, I stepped inside, shutting the door.
The room went dead silent.
Every head turned in my direction—forks froze midair, mouths hung open, and eyes widened like I had just walked in wearing a crown of fire.
Which, to be fair, wouldn't have been too far from the truth.
I was dressed like sin herself—black satin hugging every curve, the neckline dipping low enough to make saints reconsider their vows. The slit on the dress ran dangerously high on my thigh, showing just enough skin to earn a scandalized gasp from the older women. My heels clicked against the marble floor, bottoms as crimson as spilled wine.
My hair—loose waves cascading down my back—shimmered under the chandelier's light, while my makeup was bold and unapologetic: smoky eyes, blood-red lips, and a wing so sharp it could stab egos.
If Satan's woman ever went to dinner, she would look exactly like me.
Dad blinked, clearly torn between admiration and cardiac arrest.
"Sweetheart… you look… uh… breathtaking," he said awkwardly, tugging at his collar.
"Thank you, Daddy," I replied sweetly, ignoring the horrified looks around the table.
The Knights and the Morettis' family dinner.
How cute.
I let my gaze wander across the room, soaking in their reactions—half judgment, half disbelief—until it landed on him.
Adrian Knight.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
He looked almost the same—his raven hair still in that ridiculous Fat Tony slick back, eyes the same arresting blue, with the same impish slant to them that I used to call Puckish. Only now, they'd lost their mischief, holding only dark amusement as he turned to face me.
His cherub face had matured into something more closely resembling an archangel.
The world shrank. The air thickened. My heart did a stupid little dance it had no business doing.
And then… he looked away.
Just like that.
Like I was air.
No flicker of emotion. No smirk. No nothing. Just… cold detachment.
My jaw tightened.
Oh, he did not just pull that on me.
"Alessia."
Mom's voice sliced through the silence.
Her expression could've curdled milk. "Please, sit down. You're making a scene."
"Luciana." Dad called out,
But she shrugged, returning her attention to her meal, muttering. "Waltzing in here, dressed like a common streetwalker, where does she get off?"
A humorless laugh bubbled up my throat, but I swallowed it. Her words stung more than I cared to admit.
Without saying a word, I walked toward my seat, opposite Adrian's, the sound of my heels echoing in the awkward silence.
I sat down, chin held high, pretending her comment hadn't just pierced something soft inside me.
And then, unexpectedly, Adrian's voice cut through the tension.
"I don't think a prostitute could afford that dress."