Rebirth: The Devil's Lunatic

Chapter 9: Dressed To Offend

Elena/Ileana Pov.

Lucia stared at me as though I had personally insulted every member of the Italian aristocracy.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

I glanced down at my outfit, then back at her, raising an eyebrow. Was there something wrong with it?

I wore a tight, dark-red leather skirt that stopped mid-thigh, a cropped white vest revealing a tiny sliver of midriff, and a sleek black leather jacket. Knee-high black leather boots with heels completed the look.

Personally, I thought I looked magnificent. But then, I had never particularly cared for other people’s opinions.

“Didn’t I ask you to get her something suitable?” Vittorio snapped, turning his glare onto his wife.

Lucia’s expression tightened with defensiveness. “I did! I sent Elia to give her a dress.”

“Then why isn’t she wearing it?”

“I don’t know!”

“Call the maid.”

A few minutes later, Elia appeared before us in the foyer, looking pale and thoroughly uncomfortable.

“What is the meaning of this?” Vittorio demanded, his voice echoing in the hall. “Didn’t your madam give you a dress to deliver to Ileana?”

The maid looked back and forth between them, trembling slightly. “I don’t know what happened, sir.”

“Didn’t you give her the dress?”

“Yes, Madam Lucia! I swear I did,” Elia squeaked, wringing her hands. “I took it directly to her room myself.”

All eyes turned toward me.

I stood quietly, watching the chaos with growing inner amusement. What an entertaining little family.

Then I lowered my head, clasped my hands loosely in front of me, and summoned the frail, trembling tone of a timid young girl.

“She did give me a dress,” I murmured softly.

Lucia whirled around to face me. “Then why aren’t you wearing it?”

“When I came out of the bathroom, it was ruined,” I whispered, letting my voice waver just enough. “Someone tore it into pieces. I couldn’t wear it.”

Silence descended over the foyer.

Vittorio’s jaw clenched, his expression darkening as he looked at his wife.

Lucia’s eyes widened in genuine panic. “It wasn’t me! Why would I do something like that when I know how important this dinner is?”

She sounded genuinely offended. I nearly smiled. Nearly. Lucia had always struck me as the sort of woman who could lie through her teeth and still expect applause for her honesty.

Her suspicious gaze suddenly shot toward Bianca.

Her daughter immediately looked away, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

Interesting.

Lucia might not be willing to expose her precious Bianca in front of Vittorio, but I had seen enough to understand what had happened. And judging by the way Bianca was avoiding everyone’s gaze, she knew I had seen right through her little scheme, too.

“How did you even get those clothes?” Lucia demanded, turning back to me, trying to deflect the attention.

I blinked at her innocently. “These?”

I glanced down at my outfit as though I had only just realized what I was wearing.

“Oh... the people at the hospital gave me some presents before I left,” I said softly, almost shyly. “They were very nice to me. They gave me some lovely outfits.”

The memory of Dr. Vane’s terrified, blood-drained face flashed through my mind. Lovely was certainly one word for our dynamic.

“They must have liked you very much,” Bianca muttered under her breath, her tone dripping with venom.

I looked at her and offered a small, sweet smile. “I think they did.”

Her lips pressed into a tight line. Oh, this was fun.

I lowered my head again, twisting my fingers together in fake anxiety. “I’m sorry. If my clothes aren’t suitable, I can stay home. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

Vittorio’s jaw tightened even further. “No. You’re going.”

“But—”

“It’s too late to arrange another outfit. We’ll make do with what you have on.” He adjusted his collar and looked toward the front entrance. “Let's go.”

Just like that, the matter was settled. Vittorio didn’t care what I wore; he cared about what I could do for his social standing. And if marrying me off into the D’Angelo family was the opportunity he had been waiting for, he wasn’t going to let a ruined dress stand in his way.

I followed them toward the door. As I passed Bianca, I turned my head slightly and flashed her a sharp, knowing smirk.

Her eyes widened in shock. She blinked once, then twice.

I almost laughed out loud. Poor girl. Perhaps she needed her eyes checked.

The ride to the D’Angelo estate was anything but peaceful.

We traveled in a spacious black SUV with dark tinted windows, the driver completely isolated from us behind a privacy partition. I sat quietly by the window, gazing out at the passing streetlights while Vittorio continued to dismantle Lucia’s dignity.

“You had one job,” he growled, his voice tight with controlled fury. “One job, Lucia! All you had to do was make sure she had something appropriate to wear.”

“I did what I was supposed to do!”

“And yet she showed up dressed like a street delinquent!”

Lucia’s face flushed red. “How was I supposed to know she would refuse to wear the dress?”

I pressed my lips together to hide my laughter.

Refuse?

That was certainly a creative way to describe finding a garment shredded into confetti.

“You should have checked on her yourself,” Vittorio snapped.

“I sent Bianca!”

“And look how well that turned out!”

I turned my face toward the glass before they could see my smirk. For a man who had spent five years pretending his youngest daughter didn’t exist, Vittorio seemed remarkably invested in her appearance tonight.

But I understood the game. This dinner wasn’t about family. It was about power, alliances, and whatever wealth he hoped to gain by tying the Bellucci name to the D’Angelos. And apparently, I was the bargaining chip.

How touching.

I settled back into the leather seat, enjoying watching Lucia get chewed out without having to lift a single finger.

Perhaps returning to this house wasn’t going to be entirely boring after all.