The mafia boss forbidden bride
When she unzipped it, Elisa’s heart dropped.
It was red. Not a soft, elegant red, but a bold, fiery crimson—the kind that demanded attention. The dress was barely there. Thin spaghetti straps held up a plunging neckline that dipped scandalously low, stopping just above her navel. The fabric clung like a second skin, every curve exaggerated. At the sides, the material was held together by delicate gold chains that left slivers of her waist exposed. And the slit—God, the slit—ran up her left thigh, stopping just below her hipbone.
It wasn’t just sultry. It was obscene. She could already imagine how every eye would follow her, what they would whisper. She looked like a mistress, not a wife. And
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