The Don’s Obedient Doll Was Never Real
My barely-there black sequin dress caught the light of the disco ball.
My makeup was sharp and aggressive: blood-red lips and smoky, winged eyeliner that formed a seductive cat-eye.
I imagined Rocco's frown, the disgusted look in his eyes he'd give me before telling me to go back and change.
But this was the real me, Rosalie Thorne, the Thorn Principessa, who never had to dull her edges for anyone.
Just like now. Julian had booked us the prime circular booth in the center of the club.
Across from me, a male model, barely twenty, was blushing as he stared at my collarbone.
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