My Mafia Mate: Escaping the Alpha
Apparently, Mother was sick of him being late for dinner, so she slit his throat and then ate her dinner beside his corpse.
But that was just a rumour.
“There, put that on,” Mother ordered, handing me a tiny black dress which seemed too small to cover the important bits.
I put it on reluctantly, and stared down at myself awkwardly.
“I don’t think this is going to fit, Mother,” I tried to get out of wearing the dress.
There was a higher chance of being mistaken for a prostitute in that garb than in anything else I could possibly have worn.
“It will fit,” Mother insisted, her eyes growing cold at my reluctance to follow orders.
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