3
Dante
She looked too damn good in black.
I had the dress made to my specifications with high slit, low back, and delicate straps that barely held against her curves. Not modest. Not subtle. Because subtlety was for men who didn’t want the world to see what they owned.
Arianna was mine.
And tonight, I was going to make sure everyone knew it.
She sat in the back of the car with her arms crossed, refusing to look at me. The soft lighting inside the Rolls-Royce brushed against the slope of her collarbone, the silk of her dress clinging like sin. I reached across the seat and adjusted the delicate chain I’d fastened around her throat. It was a thin gold collar with no charm. Not yet.
“Keep your chin up,” I said.
“Why?” she muttered.
“So they can see what happens to a princess who get
