THE MAFIA'S PRISONER
"It's better than the alternative."
I swallowed hard. He was right, and that made me even angrier.
I glanced at the door. The guards hadn't moved. I didn't have the upper hand. If I refused, it would only make things worse.
With a deep breath, I shoved the clothes under my arm. "Turn around."
Trent hesitated, his hands flexing at his sides. Then, without another word, he turned his back to me.
I changed quickly, my skin crawling as I pulled the dress over my head. The fabric clung uncomfortably, hugging every curve like a second skin. It was designed to draw attention—to make me look like I belonged in this world of crime and excess.
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