Chapter 2

THE MONSTER IN A SUIT

~GISELLE~

The Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel smelled like lilies, old money, and blood.

Technically, it smelled like expensive perfume and chilled champagne, but I knew better. I looked around the room, scanning the sea of black tuxedos and designer gowns.

Every smile here was a baring of teeth. Every handshake was a calculation of weakness. This wasn't a party; it was a shark tank, and I had just been tossed in with a cut on my leg.

"Stand up straight," Julio hissed in my ear, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of my upper arm. "And smile, Giselle. You look like you’re walking to the gallows."

‘I am,’ I wanted to scream. ‘You sold me to the executioner.’

Instead, I widened my smile until my cheeks ached. "I am just dazzled by the decor, Papa."

"Good. Stay dazzled. Stay quiet. And when I introduce you, you lower your eyes. Lorenzo Romano is a traditionalist. He likes his women submissive."

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. I smoothed the fabric of my dress…a blood-red satin gown that clung to my curves like a second skin. Julio had chosen it.

It was backless, with a plunging neckline that felt less like fashion and more like false advertising. ‘Look at the merchandise,’ the dress screamed. ‘Look at what fifty million dollars buys you.’

We moved through the crowd, parting the sea of minor mobsters and corrupt politicians. I could feel eyes on me. Sticky, heavy gazes that slid over my bare skin. Usually, I would stare back with icy boredom, the disguise I had perfected over a decade. Tonight, I felt naked.

And then, the crowd parted for real.

Near the center of the room, standing beneath the massive crystal chandelier, was the Romano clan.

They looked like royalty from a dark fairy tale. Lorenzo Romano, the Don, sat in a red armchair like a king on a throne, holding a cane he didn't really need. He was sixty, with silver hair and eyes like flint.

But I didn't look at the King. I looked at the Prince.

Alessandro Romano.

The air left the room.

He was taller than I remembered. Broader, too. In a room full of men trying to look dangerous, Alessandro looked like the danger they were all trying to avoid.

He wore a tuxedo that was cut to perfection, bringing out the width of his shoulders and the pointy power of his waist. His hair was dark, swept back from a face that was too harsh to be handsome, yet too striking to look away from.

A sharp jaw, a straight nose, and a mouth set in a bored, cruel line.

He wasn't drinking. He wasn't talking. He was just standing at his father's right hand, scanning the room with eyes the color of a frozen lake.

Blue. Cold. Dead.

"Ah, Julio," Lorenzo’s voice scratched through the air, dry as parchment. "You’re late."

My adoptive father bowed his head slightly…a submission that made my stomach turn. "Apologies, Don Romano. My daughter needed time to prepare."

Julio stepped aside, presenting me like a prize heifer at a county fair.

"Giselle," Julio said, his voice dripping with fake pride. "This is Don Lorenzo Romano. And his son, Alessandro."

I forced my legs to move. I curtsied, a small, graceful dip that felt ridiculous in the twenty-first century. "It is an honor," I lied.

Lorenzo looked me up and down. He didn't look at my face; he looked at my hips. "She has good breeding hips, Julio. Wide. Sturdy. She will carry strong sons."

I felt heat rush to my face…..not embarrassment, but pure, white-hot rage. I was a top-tier law student. I spoke five languages. And to this man, I was just a vessel for his legacy.

"She is perfect," Julio agreed.

Then, for the first time, Alessandro moved.

He stepped forward,His shadow covered me, dark and chilling, blocking the light from the chandelier. Up close, he was terrifying. There was a small scar cutting through his left eyebrow, a tiny imperfection that only made the rest of him seem more deadly.

He didn't bow. He didn't smile. He just looked at me.

Those blue eyes examined me. They started at my curls, moved down to my eyes, stayed on the pulse fluttering wildly in my throat, and then dragged slowly…..insultingly slowly…down the plunging neckline of my red dress.

I waited for him to speak. To say hello. To say anything.

He just stared, his face bored, as if he had bought a car and was checking for scratches.

"She's small," Alessandro said finally. His voice was deep, a dark rumble that vibrated in the floorboards beneath my feet. "She will break."

My chin jerked up. The insult bypassed my fear and hit my pride. "I don't break easily, Mr. Romano."

The silence that followed was deafening. Julio gasped. Lorenzo chuckled dryly.

Alessandro’s eyes snapped back to mine. For a second, something flashed in that blue ice. Amusement? Anger?

"We will see," was all he said.

He turned away, dismissing me completely. He grabbed a glass of scotch from a passing tray and took a sip, turning his back to me to speak to his father.

I stood there, humiliated. My face burned. I had been sold, inspected, and found wanting, all in the span of thirty seconds.

"Get me a drink," I whispered to a passing waiter, my voice shaking.

The waiter, a young man with greasy hair and a nervous twitch, stopped. He held out a tray of champagne flutes. I reached for one, my hand trembling slightly.

The waiter didn't let go of the tray. He was staring. His eyes were glued to my chest, to the exposed skin the red dress couldn't hide. He licked his lips, a grotesque, hungry movement.

"Beautiful dress, Miss," the waiter murmured, his gaze lifting to my eyes with a sleazy boldness. "If you need help taking it off later…”

The glass shattered.

I flinched as bits of crystal exploded on the tray.

I hadn't seen Alessandro move. One second, his back was to me. The next, he was there, intimidating over the waiter like a storm cloud. His hand….large, veiny, and terrifyingly strong…was wrapped around the waiter’s wrist.

He squeezed.

The waiter dropped the tray. Crash. Champagne soaked the carpet.

"A-Ah! Sir! You’re breaking it!" the waiter squealed, dropping to his knees.

The music in the ballroom didn't stop, but the people nearby went silent. They watched with bated breath. This was the show they came for. The Reaper at work.

Alessandro didn't shout. He didn't look angry. He looked... efficient. He leaned down, his face inches from the waiter’s sweating forehead.

"You have eyes," Alessandro said softly, his voice carrying a deadly calm.

"Y-Yes, sir”

"Keep them on the floor," Alessandro whispered. "If I see them on her again, I will carve them out with a spoon and feed them to you."

The waiter went pale, all blood draining from his face. "I am sorry! I didn't know! I didn't….”

"Go."

Alessandro released him. The waiter scrambled away on his hands and knees, disappearing into the kitchen.

My heart was beating against my ribs like a trapped bird. I stared at Alessandro’s back. He had defended me. But it didn't feel like chivalry. It felt like... ownership. A dragon guarding its hoard.

He turned slowly to face me. The boredom was gone from his eyes, replaced by a dark, simmering intensity that made my knees weak. He stepped closer. And closer. Until the tips of his expensive leather shoes touched the tips of my heels.

He smelled of sandalwood, expensive scotch, and violence.

I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. But I couldn't move. I was paralyzed by the mere gravitational pull of him.

He reached out.

I flinched, sucking in a quick breath, my body tensing for a blow. I expected him to grab me, to hurt me, to punish me for the waiter’s stare.

His hand stopped inches from my face. He didn't touch me. He just let his knuckles hover near my cheek, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. A shiver violently racked my body, visible and undeniable.

"Don't tremble, gatta," he whispered, the Italian word of affection rolling off his tongue like dark honey. "I haven't even touched you yet."

He pulled back, his cold blue eyes locking onto mine, promising a thousand dark things for our wedding night.

"But when I do," he added softly, "you will have a reason to shake."