What The Don Wants
Isla~
I hated masks.
Not just because they itched or made it hard to breathe...or, worse, messed with my makeup, but because they were the perfect metaphor for everything I had grown to despise in this new world of mine: secrecy, deception, danger dressed in elegance.
"Do we really have to wear these stupid things?" I grumbled, holding the ornate mask delicately between my fingers as the limo hummed smoothly beneath us.
Dante didn't say anything right away. He was seated beside me in the back of the stretch limo, his posture relaxed as ever, one long leg casually draped over the other. He turned his head toward me, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement behind his unreadable expression.
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