She dressed me in a pale yellow floral dress, pinned my hair into a painfully tight bun, and reminded me to smile, But smiling was the last thing I wanted to do. She held my hand as we stepped downstairs. “They’re already here,” my dad said, giving us the look to hurry up. We all made our way outside. Enrico Giordano arrived in a fleet of black. A sleek limo followed by six matching exotic cars. Then the door opened… and I forgot how to breathe. He stepped out, towering at 6'4", broad-shouldered and built like a god. His dark curly hair was dusted with a few silver strands at the temples, and his perfectly tailored coat hugged his form like it was made just for him. His green eyes—sharp, unreadable—met mine, and I felt like a deer caught in headlights. He walked like a man who owned the world. And maybe he did. He walked toward us, and my heart raced like crazy. “You must be Sofia,” he said, his voice low, deep, and rich. “Delighted to meet you, sir,” I said polite
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